4:10 a.m. Blearily claw out of mosquito net. Shake crickets from pants.
4:15 a.m. Yoga on the roof by the light of stars and the waxing moon.
5:00 a.m. Fluff cushions.
5:30 a.m. Walking meditation, i.e. look like the living dead on the veranda while Indian people stare.
6:00 a.m. Sitting meditation, i.e. practice perfect awareness of all my various itches.
6:30 a.m. Silent breakfast. Coffee. Sensual delight called "delicious."
7:30 a.m. Think about starting reading for anthropology.
8:30 a.m. Start reading for anthropology.
10:00 a.m. Teatime, the most glorious of hours. Chai, cookies, peanut butter, bannanas... Extensive conversation about far-flung topics.
10:30 a.m. Anthroplogy.
12:00 p.m. Nap. Lay spread-eagle on my bead, listening to the clack of my fan, praying that the power doesn't go out.
1:00 p.m. Lunch, i.e. more sensual delight that includes, but is not limited to, YOGURT.
2:00 p.m. Think about starting to think about my senior comps project.
2:15 p.m. Wander into town to buy pens (so much writing by hand has caused all pens to actually run out of ink). Dodge cows, rickshaws, people, garbage, and baby goats.
3:00 p.m. Pay a visit to the Mahabodhi temple and the Bodhi tree. Merge with chanting pilgrims. Burn bare feet on hot marble walkways. Taste peace beneath wide, wise boughs.
4:00 p.m. Teatime (oh glory). More peanut butter. More cookies. More chai.
4:30 p.m. Fluff cushions.
5:00 p.m. Walking meditation, i.e. focusing very hard on my feet and the little sweat droplets trickling down my back.
5:30 p.m. Sitting meditation, i.e. hoping that I consumed enough caffeine during tea to keep me from keeling over right there in the meditation hall.
6:00 p.m. Dharma talk from our teacher U Hla Min (who looks like a very wise tree frog, especially when he is sitting cross-legged).
6:30 p.m. Dinner, which usually consists of soup, and, with luck, more peanut butter.
7:30 p.m. Conjure motivation for shower. Hope the swarms of mosquitoes have avoided the shower stalls.
8:00 p.m. Sit in the library with various ordained monastics, smelling the bookish smell and attempting to read for class.
9:00 p.m. Brush teeth. Live on the edge--use tapwater.
9:15 p.m. Fall into bed, and scawl scattered thoughts in journal.
9:30 p.m. Pull mosquito net into creepy-looking sleeping beauty tent. Sleep.
9.24.2009
9.19.2009
Do Nuns Miss Hugging? ...or... Ruminations on the Impermanence of Hair
Sister Molini is chanting as she takes out a heavy pair of shears and prepares to cut long curls. In Burmese, she sings of how hair is an impermanent element of our bodies that leads to the mistaken conception of self, and, as she snips, long swaths of hair fall lifeless into a white sheet. Then she takes out a single-bladed razor, and gently begins to shave.
We Westerners were given the unique opportunity to ordain as Burmese monks and nuns for a week, and the ceremonial head-shaving was the first step of the ordination process. Monks and nuns also have to adhere to 10 strict precepts--they cannot eat after 12:00 p.m., for example, and they must refrain from singing, dancing and listening to music. They are highly respected by all laypeople, and are expected to act with extreme restraint.
Now, I know what you might be thinking, but you are wrong. I did not ordain as a Burmese nun. I watched as the hair piled up into the white sheets, I watched the nuns change into robes the color of sandstone, and I bowed reverently to the 18 newly-ordained Western monastics.
The choice not to ordain was not a hard one for me, but I'm not entirely sure why. Is it because I don't want to shave my head again? (For new readers, I shaved my head almost two years ago in Fez, Morocco. This experience was not nearly as symbolic or beautiful as the ordination. As I rode through the Sahara desert on a camel with food poisoning and a newly shaved head, I remember thinking that the ridiculousness of my life had reached its culmination.) Is it because I enjoy eating dinner, or because I need to be able to handle money this week so I can go to the internet and write fellowship proposals? Is it because I think I will break the precepts? Is it because I'm afraid?
Whatever my reasoning, it appears that I am still to attached to the things of this world to become a Buddhist nun, even if just for a week. And the funny thing? I'm totally ok with that. I admire those of us who chose to ordain, but, while I appreciate many things about Buddhism, renunciation of things like hugging and dancing is not something I can completely reconcile. And maybe--even though I have already shaved my head--I really am attached to my hair.
And, like I mentioned in my last post, I'm excited like hell for the thousands upon thousands of lives it will take my highly un-enlightened self to sort things out.
Tomorrow we will throw the hair into the river.
We Westerners were given the unique opportunity to ordain as Burmese monks and nuns for a week, and the ceremonial head-shaving was the first step of the ordination process. Monks and nuns also have to adhere to 10 strict precepts--they cannot eat after 12:00 p.m., for example, and they must refrain from singing, dancing and listening to music. They are highly respected by all laypeople, and are expected to act with extreme restraint.
Now, I know what you might be thinking, but you are wrong. I did not ordain as a Burmese nun. I watched as the hair piled up into the white sheets, I watched the nuns change into robes the color of sandstone, and I bowed reverently to the 18 newly-ordained Western monastics.
The choice not to ordain was not a hard one for me, but I'm not entirely sure why. Is it because I don't want to shave my head again? (For new readers, I shaved my head almost two years ago in Fez, Morocco. This experience was not nearly as symbolic or beautiful as the ordination. As I rode through the Sahara desert on a camel with food poisoning and a newly shaved head, I remember thinking that the ridiculousness of my life had reached its culmination.) Is it because I enjoy eating dinner, or because I need to be able to handle money this week so I can go to the internet and write fellowship proposals? Is it because I think I will break the precepts? Is it because I'm afraid?
Whatever my reasoning, it appears that I am still to attached to the things of this world to become a Buddhist nun, even if just for a week. And the funny thing? I'm totally ok with that. I admire those of us who chose to ordain, but, while I appreciate many things about Buddhism, renunciation of things like hugging and dancing is not something I can completely reconcile. And maybe--even though I have already shaved my head--I really am attached to my hair.
And, like I mentioned in my last post, I'm excited like hell for the thousands upon thousands of lives it will take my highly un-enlightened self to sort things out.
Tomorrow we will throw the hair into the river.
9.18.2009
"No pains, no gains."
My job is to fluff the cushions before meditation. My rambunctious monkey-mind enjoys fluffing cushions. Together my mind and I arrange the cushion pads in neat rows, and then fluff up the navy-blue sitting pillows to look like an orderly garden of blue mushrooms. This is nice. The problems begin when we start having to meditate; when my mind only gets the subtle whoosh of my breath for entertainment. Below is a transcript of what goes on between my rapscallion of a mind and me during meditation:
Breath. Pay attention to your nostrils.
Cars are going by outside. They are honking.
The birds are singing in cacophonous harmony with the horns.
Soundsoundsound... but nudge back to breath. Nostrils.
Sweat dripping. It was a dumb idea to cut bangs.
BREATH.
Do I have enough motivation for this?
When it comes down to it, I really do enjoy sensual pleasures. Like cheddar cheese. And hugs.
Ah! Lower back pain. Numbing toes.
Mind, please? There is breathing.
You must shuffle your thoughts away. Like cards. Hearts.
Fulfilling your potential?
Maybe I can focus simultaneously on my back pain and on my breath.
Nostrils. In... Out...
STABBING PAIN IN ANKLE.
I wonder if they will have french toast again for breakfast. I am passionate about french toast.
Come on brain! You're sitting at the place where the freaking Buddha was enlightened!
Settle down.
Listen to breath.
Be breath.
Air flowing through nostrils.
Oh wow I'm finally figuring this out!
Wait, that was a thought.
Damn.
...and so on and so forth for another 25-55 minutes, two times every day. As you might imagine, this is very challenging. It's only been a week since we started the practice, though. As our teacher (who incidentally bears an uncanny resemblance to a wise tree frog) pointed out, "no pains, no gains." So I will continue to make an effort, although I'm beginning to get the feeling that the sort of effort that meditation demands is much more subtle that the effort I would conjure for something like a frisbee workout. I really haven't figured it out.
When things get really hopeless, however, I console myself by thinking that the seventeen-thousand-million lifetimes it will surely take me to become enlightened will at least be adventurous.
There is SO much more to say about my life in Bodh Gaya... Like how the hindu pilgrims have come in fluorescent hoards to celebrate a festival that coincides with the waning moon, how yesterday the hindus in the monastery made a shrine under the Jeep's hood and performed puja over all the telephones because it was "machine day." Also, monastic life is way more strict than I originally anticipated--I can't wear any shirts above mid-thigh or pants above ankle, I must blow mosquitoes rather than swat, and I am expected to refrain from touching the opposite sex for the duration of the term. The food is spectacular (more YOGURT), the chai is an unending bounty, and the monsoon thunderstorms are everything I could dream of. There is not enough electricity in Bodh Gaya, so I can often be found doing reading by candlelight. The Buddhist pilgrims will start coming soon, in massive numbers.
So yes, it is a challenging environment, but I've been perfectly happy since I've gotten here, in a way that I can't fully explain. I have long conversations over tea, I think about life, and I learn about Buddhism. So, all "pains" aside, it's a good time to exist.
Breath. Pay attention to your nostrils.
Cars are going by outside. They are honking.
The birds are singing in cacophonous harmony with the horns.
Soundsoundsound... but nudge back to breath. Nostrils.
Sweat dripping. It was a dumb idea to cut bangs.
BREATH.
Do I have enough motivation for this?
When it comes down to it, I really do enjoy sensual pleasures. Like cheddar cheese. And hugs.
Ah! Lower back pain. Numbing toes.
Mind, please? There is breathing.
You must shuffle your thoughts away. Like cards. Hearts.
Fulfilling your potential?
Maybe I can focus simultaneously on my back pain and on my breath.
Nostrils. In... Out...
STABBING PAIN IN ANKLE.
I wonder if they will have french toast again for breakfast. I am passionate about french toast.
Come on brain! You're sitting at the place where the freaking Buddha was enlightened!
Settle down.
Listen to breath.
Be breath.
Air flowing through nostrils.
Oh wow I'm finally figuring this out!
Wait, that was a thought.
Damn.
...and so on and so forth for another 25-55 minutes, two times every day. As you might imagine, this is very challenging. It's only been a week since we started the practice, though. As our teacher (who incidentally bears an uncanny resemblance to a wise tree frog) pointed out, "no pains, no gains." So I will continue to make an effort, although I'm beginning to get the feeling that the sort of effort that meditation demands is much more subtle that the effort I would conjure for something like a frisbee workout. I really haven't figured it out.
When things get really hopeless, however, I console myself by thinking that the seventeen-thousand-million lifetimes it will surely take me to become enlightened will at least be adventurous.
There is SO much more to say about my life in Bodh Gaya... Like how the hindu pilgrims have come in fluorescent hoards to celebrate a festival that coincides with the waning moon, how yesterday the hindus in the monastery made a shrine under the Jeep's hood and performed puja over all the telephones because it was "machine day." Also, monastic life is way more strict than I originally anticipated--I can't wear any shirts above mid-thigh or pants above ankle, I must blow mosquitoes rather than swat, and I am expected to refrain from touching the opposite sex for the duration of the term. The food is spectacular (more YOGURT), the chai is an unending bounty, and the monsoon thunderstorms are everything I could dream of. There is not enough electricity in Bodh Gaya, so I can often be found doing reading by candlelight. The Buddhist pilgrims will start coming soon, in massive numbers.
So yes, it is a challenging environment, but I've been perfectly happy since I've gotten here, in a way that I can't fully explain. I have long conversations over tea, I think about life, and I learn about Buddhism. So, all "pains" aside, it's a good time to exist.
9.10.2009
Speed Thrills But Kills*
This morning I watched the sun rise over the Bodhi tree and the Mahabodhi temple. If you've ever seen a picture of the Mahabodhi temple, let me tell you that, in real life, it's actually seventeen times larger. The Bodhi tree itself (which is said to be genetically identical to the one under which the Buddha was enlightened, and planted in the same spot) reaches its multifarious arms outward rather than upward, and leans on lovingly made red crutches. As I watched the sunlight drown out the waning moon and stain Bodhi leaves golden, I heard the chanting of monks and the shuffle of pilgrim feet.
The train--with its glorious preponderance of chai and soothing rock--took me here, to Bodh Gaya, where I will live in a Burmese Vihar and adhere to precepts of monastic life. I am slowly orienting myself to a lifestyle and a place that is dramatically different from anything I've ever experienced before. There is so much more to write, but I'm late for lunch. Stay tuned.
*The phrase "Speed Thrills But Kills" was posted alongside the highway that runs from Gaya to Bodh Gaya. I noticed it with interest as the driver of my Jeep accelerated to Mach 2 on the wrong side of the road, weaving between cyclists, cows, and other obstacles.
The train--with its glorious preponderance of chai and soothing rock--took me here, to Bodh Gaya, where I will live in a Burmese Vihar and adhere to precepts of monastic life. I am slowly orienting myself to a lifestyle and a place that is dramatically different from anything I've ever experienced before. There is so much more to write, but I'm late for lunch. Stay tuned.
*The phrase "Speed Thrills But Kills" was posted alongside the highway that runs from Gaya to Bodh Gaya. I noticed it with interest as the driver of my Jeep accelerated to Mach 2 on the wrong side of the road, weaving between cyclists, cows, and other obstacles.
9.06.2009
Delhi
India.
Heavy wet heat and teeming streets. Construction workers napping using broken slate for a pillow, beggars, businessmen in impossibly starched suits, and cripples. Cows. Crumbling sandstone monuments hidden between jungle-trees and spectacular birds.
I'm staying in the YMCA tourist hostel in New Delhi until Tuesday, enjoying monkeys' morning antics and ogling the deliciously clear swimming pool. The beds are firm enough to remind me of Tibet, but, here in the tropics, the food has seven-million times more fire.
I visited Delhi when I was fifteen, and it's a very peculiar and dream-like sensation to retrace my steps of six years ago. Perpetual deja-vu.
It's exciting to be back in India with all of its color and vividness, and Delhi is fascinating, but I find myself oddly eager to settle in in Bodh Gaya. I've been on the move a lot lately, you see, and I'm ready for sit for a while, reflect, and wage a war of peace with my unkempt mind.
Heavy wet heat and teeming streets. Construction workers napping using broken slate for a pillow, beggars, businessmen in impossibly starched suits, and cripples. Cows. Crumbling sandstone monuments hidden between jungle-trees and spectacular birds.
I'm staying in the YMCA tourist hostel in New Delhi until Tuesday, enjoying monkeys' morning antics and ogling the deliciously clear swimming pool. The beds are firm enough to remind me of Tibet, but, here in the tropics, the food has seven-million times more fire.
I visited Delhi when I was fifteen, and it's a very peculiar and dream-like sensation to retrace my steps of six years ago. Perpetual deja-vu.
It's exciting to be back in India with all of its color and vividness, and Delhi is fascinating, but I find myself oddly eager to settle in in Bodh Gaya. I've been on the move a lot lately, you see, and I'm ready for sit for a while, reflect, and wage a war of peace with my unkempt mind.
9.03.2009
From the British Aisles
The orientation for my study abroad program takes place in London, and thus I find myself surrounded by double-decker buses and exciting accents. I arrived yesterday morning, and, upon landing, I caught a train from the airport to Paddington station. I emerged from the train into a grey persistent rain shower (England certainly knows that it's September now) and then proceeded to get wonderfully lost on the streets of London as I sought my hotel and ate hard-boiled eggs. I felt free.
I'm leaving tomorrow already for New Delhi, and it's almost laughable how little I'll be able to see during my first visit to Western Europe. Mostly I've been in a nondescript classroom at London University talking about life in rural India, working on my summer assignments that I didn't quite manage to finish, or sleeping. I guess I'll just have to come back one day...
I did, however, behold the Rosetta Stone at the London Museum.
Have I mentioned that I'm totally and hopelessly in love with the rain? The coat I haggled for on the streets of Lhasa is admirably impermeable, and I'm seriously considering puddle-walking as a post-graduation occupation.
I'm leaving tomorrow already for New Delhi, and it's almost laughable how little I'll be able to see during my first visit to Western Europe. Mostly I've been in a nondescript classroom at London University talking about life in rural India, working on my summer assignments that I didn't quite manage to finish, or sleeping. I guess I'll just have to come back one day...
I did, however, behold the Rosetta Stone at the London Museum.
Have I mentioned that I'm totally and hopelessly in love with the rain? The coat I haggled for on the streets of Lhasa is admirably impermeable, and I'm seriously considering puddle-walking as a post-graduation occupation.
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