A Day at the Wat
Living behind the secure walls of a Buddhist temple, one is immersed in the rigidity of a daily monastic schedule that only has slight variances for special holidays. At 4 a.m. precisely, the first bell of the day is sounded. It is a large brass bell, hung from a branch of a tree in the men’s quarters. It is awaiting its new home, a very glamorous bell tower that is presently being constructed. You feel its tone reverberating in your very bones. There is no sleeping through the first gong. By the time the second gong sounds mere seconds later, you are as fully awake as awake can be. And so are the dogs. A unified mournful canine howl, as melodic as any Gregorian chant, although possibly lacking in certain religious refinements, reverberates off the stone walls from every direction. As each proceeding gong enters your body over the next minute, you feel infused with intense energy, and are ready to begin the day.
Turning on the light, I see the 12 by 7 foot room that has become my home. The wooden frame bed with its half inch thin felt mattress (luckily I brought my own foamy along), with a small bedside table are its own furniture. There are two wooden dowels suspended from the wall at the far end to hand my assortment of white clothing. Walking into the bathroom, I debate whether or not I have the nerve this morning for a cold shower.
Jumping into the cold shower for a few moments in my simple bathroom, I am refreshed and eager to begin my morning meditation. By the time that I walk over to the library in the dark, I can already hear the beautiful chanting of the nuns from their special building on one side of the plaza. Taking a moment, I try to allow their melody to massage my spirit. Minutes later, the monks begin their chanting from the main temple kitty-corner to it. From the meditation hall on the third side of the open plaza, a monk and his Thai students are chanting their morning prayers. Though different sounds and different chants, the male and female voices blend together and harmonize the soul. I could live many lifetimes and never tire of this beatific morning ritual, long before the sun makes its first appearance.
I love entering the library first thing in the morning. Only a few white clad figures come there before breakfast. Many, like Lucy, prefer to have their first meditation of the day in the privacy of their room. Not I. Walking up the marble steps, opening and closing the squeaky metal gate to keep the dogs out, entering the building, my excitement builds. I love the feel of the cool marble underneath my bare feet. Old wooden cabinets filled with books in the Thai language, line the long hallway. The dark wooden posts and beams give the hall a sense of strength, and the various inscriptions on the ceiling are intriguing.
But most of all, I love the alter with the large dark Buddha. There are as many Buddha statues in Thailand as there are ancient pillars in Italy, each one special and unique in its own right. I can rarely pass a Buddha statue without feeling a sense of awe. Some statues touch one more than others. The white teak Buddha at Wat Buparam on Taipai Road right outside the old city in Chaingmai leaves me breathless. The small vibrant green Buddha at Wat Doi Suthep is stunning. But none has touched me as much as this Buddha. His hands and fingers connected in a unique posture with the thumb of each hand pointing towards the index and middle finger, he speaks of the union of heart and mind. Each time I look into his self-reflective face, his presence encourages me to look within myself with compassion and forgiveness. He is my David who I look to for self-guidance each day.
I begin my practice, as we are taught, by making three slow kneeling prostrations in front of the Buddha. Upon rising, I walk to the middle of the long hall, and start my slow meditative walk towards him. I walk back and forth for about 45 minutes, continually bringing my focus back to my slow deliberate footsteps every time it wanders. Then I place a mat in front of the Buddha and sit for an equal length of time, and attempt to focus on my breath This is my favourite meditation of the day. My mind is clear, affording me better concentration, and my body is fresh and comfortable.
Around 6:15am, another bell vibrates announcing breakfast. I walk slowly towards the cafeteria. Placing my sandals by the steps, I enter the cafeteria barefoot, as we do in all the buildings. There are a number of small round tables about 12" off the ground. To the right of the door is the area for the men. The women sit towards the back, and further to the right of the men's area is where some of the monks sit when they come to eat in the cafeteria. Most of the monks fill up their alms bowls with food from daily contributions from the community, and as far as I know, eat in their own quarters. I suspect that the few monks who eat here are those who work outside the monastery and have to leave early. Between these areas is an altar with a golden Buddha. I pick up a mat to sit on, and a laminated sheet of the morning prayers. Peeking through the open door to the kitchen, I see some of the nuns sitting cross-legged on a platform cutting vegetables for lunch. Others are sitting on their haunches washing pots and utensils in a large basin of water on the floor. Some are cooking food over the gas burners. There is a sense of peacefulness and joy as they go about their work.
I pick up a partitioned metal plate that reminds me a bit of the plates that I used to eat TV dinners on when I was a child. I fill up a glass with water and grab a metal spoon, the only implement that we eat with. Returning to the little table alone, I prostrate myself three times in the direction of the Buddha, and sit on the mat on the floor and wait for the prayers.
An old nun who must be stricken with arthritis, has already walked slowly to one of the tables, with the aid of her cane, and slowly and painfully has lowered herself onto the floor. It doesn't take long to realize, however, that this old nun is anything but frail. It is she who rings the bell for breakfast and lunch, and watching her yank on the bell chord one day when I arrive early, I could easily mistake her for a spry young woman in her twenties. Listening to the power and spiritual passion that is in her voice as she chants the morning prayer more than makes up for the unappealing food which, shall I say, resides well below the level of gourmet. For several moments as her voice rings out in both Pali and Thai, we are all catapulted onto another level of being. I read the English translation of the prayer one morning. There is verse after verse about giving gratitude to food that has no physical beauty, that does not stimulate our desires, that we can remain unattached to, that only feeds our bodies, not the cravings of our minds and emotions. Well, the food certainly fulfills that prayer. There is no emotional eating here. Strangely enough, I do not mind, for it is her voice that satiates my appetite.
I have learned to eat slowly and with some modicum of mindfulness as I sit in silence. After finishing, I slowly rise and prostrate myself in front of the Buddha three more times. At first this exercise of prostration that one does about 8 times a day felt very odd. It feels so unlike anything I have ever done before. Not being a Buddhist, at first it seems forced to adopt someone else's traditions. After awhile, however, I come to see this as simply an expression of gratitude for all that I am being offered, and look forward to this simple act of appreciation. Going out the back, I silently join the others in washing our few eating implements. Even this mundane act is done slowly and mindfully, and I actually have come to enjoy it.
At first we sit there each morning for a decent spell, simply relaxing and trying to be silent. Thai people are not known for their abilities in silence; they love to talk and do so all the time. We try not to get drawn in by the Thais who are on their group retreat. People often ask me how I can be silent for days at a time. For me, that is the easiest part. After hours and days of self focus, mindless chatter seems like such a distraction. The only person I have trouble not speaking to is Lucy, as we are both so used to sharing everything that goes on in our lives.
As the days go by and we become more and more focused on getting our ever-increasing number of hours of meditation in (up to and exceeding 12 hours a day), our leisure time decreases. So back to the library it is for several hours of walking and sitting before the second and last meal of the day is served at 10:30 a.m. The routine of lunch is identical to breakfast.
According to Buddhist practice for those living within the wats, there is to be no eating of solid foods after twelve noon. Liquids are acceptable. The thought of having almost twenty hours between meals at first sounds daunting. How am I going to overcome the hunger, I wondered before I came here? How will I ever focus on meditating when all I will be able to think about is food? Strangely enough, this doesn't happen that often. Sure, there are a few moments of being hungry, but I usually come to enjoy the feeling of emptiness that is such a rare experience for an over-eater like myself. Walking back from a meal one day, I realize that I actually enjoy the emptiness before a meal more than the fullness afterwards. Interesting. It soon becomes apparent that we are engaged in another realm of consciousness by living within the monastery walls meditating all day long, and hunger just doesn't seem to get that much airtime.
Outside the upper gate, a Thai lady arrives every afternoon at 5 pm time with a lit barbecue underneath a huge pot of soy milk that she serves in small plastic bags for 4 baht (about Cdn$.13) ) each. She has a separate pot of hot sweet syrup that she adds to each plastic bag. Now, hot soymilk is not normally on anyone's gourmet hit parade, but it is amazing how good it suddenly tastes. So every afternoon Lucy and I have a soymilk date at what we affectionately begin to call 'The Bar'. This is the one time of the day where we allow ourselves about half an hour to talk and share what we have been going through. And (here comes the confession) a few times we snuck behind a tree to give each other a quick kiss, feeling like guilty school kids afraid that they are going to get caught.
After our brief date, I head back to the library or my room for several more hours of meditation before heading off to a good night's sleep by 10p.m.
Turning on the light, I see the 12 by 7 foot room that has become my home. The wooden frame bed with its half inch thin felt mattress (luckily I brought my own foamy along), with a small bedside table are its own furniture. There are two wooden dowels suspended from the wall at the far end to hand my assortment of white clothing. Walking into the bathroom, I debate whether or not I have the nerve this morning for a cold shower.
Jumping into the cold shower for a few moments in my simple bathroom, I am refreshed and eager to begin my morning meditation. By the time that I walk over to the library in the dark, I can already hear the beautiful chanting of the nuns from their special building on one side of the plaza. Taking a moment, I try to allow their melody to massage my spirit. Minutes later, the monks begin their chanting from the main temple kitty-corner to it. From the meditation hall on the third side of the open plaza, a monk and his Thai students are chanting their morning prayers. Though different sounds and different chants, the male and female voices blend together and harmonize the soul. I could live many lifetimes and never tire of this beatific morning ritual, long before the sun makes its first appearance.
I love entering the library first thing in the morning. Only a few white clad figures come there before breakfast. Many, like Lucy, prefer to have their first meditation of the day in the privacy of their room. Not I. Walking up the marble steps, opening and closing the squeaky metal gate to keep the dogs out, entering the building, my excitement builds. I love the feel of the cool marble underneath my bare feet. Old wooden cabinets filled with books in the Thai language, line the long hallway. The dark wooden posts and beams give the hall a sense of strength, and the various inscriptions on the ceiling are intriguing.
But most of all, I love the alter with the large dark Buddha. There are as many Buddha statues in Thailand as there are ancient pillars in Italy, each one special and unique in its own right. I can rarely pass a Buddha statue without feeling a sense of awe. Some statues touch one more than others. The white teak Buddha at Wat Buparam on Taipai Road right outside the old city in Chaingmai leaves me breathless. The small vibrant green Buddha at Wat Doi Suthep is stunning. But none has touched me as much as this Buddha. His hands and fingers connected in a unique posture with the thumb of each hand pointing towards the index and middle finger, he speaks of the union of heart and mind. Each time I look into his self-reflective face, his presence encourages me to look within myself with compassion and forgiveness. He is my David who I look to for self-guidance each day.
I begin my practice, as we are taught, by making three slow kneeling prostrations in front of the Buddha. Upon rising, I walk to the middle of the long hall, and start my slow meditative walk towards him. I walk back and forth for about 45 minutes, continually bringing my focus back to my slow deliberate footsteps every time it wanders. Then I place a mat in front of the Buddha and sit for an equal length of time, and attempt to focus on my breath This is my favourite meditation of the day. My mind is clear, affording me better concentration, and my body is fresh and comfortable.
Around 6:15am, another bell vibrates announcing breakfast. I walk slowly towards the cafeteria. Placing my sandals by the steps, I enter the cafeteria barefoot, as we do in all the buildings. There are a number of small round tables about 12" off the ground. To the right of the door is the area for the men. The women sit towards the back, and further to the right of the men's area is where some of the monks sit when they come to eat in the cafeteria. Most of the monks fill up their alms bowls with food from daily contributions from the community, and as far as I know, eat in their own quarters. I suspect that the few monks who eat here are those who work outside the monastery and have to leave early. Between these areas is an altar with a golden Buddha. I pick up a mat to sit on, and a laminated sheet of the morning prayers. Peeking through the open door to the kitchen, I see some of the nuns sitting cross-legged on a platform cutting vegetables for lunch. Others are sitting on their haunches washing pots and utensils in a large basin of water on the floor. Some are cooking food over the gas burners. There is a sense of peacefulness and joy as they go about their work.
I pick up a partitioned metal plate that reminds me a bit of the plates that I used to eat TV dinners on when I was a child. I fill up a glass with water and grab a metal spoon, the only implement that we eat with. Returning to the little table alone, I prostrate myself three times in the direction of the Buddha, and sit on the mat on the floor and wait for the prayers.
An old nun who must be stricken with arthritis, has already walked slowly to one of the tables, with the aid of her cane, and slowly and painfully has lowered herself onto the floor. It doesn't take long to realize, however, that this old nun is anything but frail. It is she who rings the bell for breakfast and lunch, and watching her yank on the bell chord one day when I arrive early, I could easily mistake her for a spry young woman in her twenties. Listening to the power and spiritual passion that is in her voice as she chants the morning prayer more than makes up for the unappealing food which, shall I say, resides well below the level of gourmet. For several moments as her voice rings out in both Pali and Thai, we are all catapulted onto another level of being. I read the English translation of the prayer one morning. There is verse after verse about giving gratitude to food that has no physical beauty, that does not stimulate our desires, that we can remain unattached to, that only feeds our bodies, not the cravings of our minds and emotions. Well, the food certainly fulfills that prayer. There is no emotional eating here. Strangely enough, I do not mind, for it is her voice that satiates my appetite.
I have learned to eat slowly and with some modicum of mindfulness as I sit in silence. After finishing, I slowly rise and prostrate myself in front of the Buddha three more times. At first this exercise of prostration that one does about 8 times a day felt very odd. It feels so unlike anything I have ever done before. Not being a Buddhist, at first it seems forced to adopt someone else's traditions. After awhile, however, I come to see this as simply an expression of gratitude for all that I am being offered, and look forward to this simple act of appreciation. Going out the back, I silently join the others in washing our few eating implements. Even this mundane act is done slowly and mindfully, and I actually have come to enjoy it.
At first we sit there each morning for a decent spell, simply relaxing and trying to be silent. Thai people are not known for their abilities in silence; they love to talk and do so all the time. We try not to get drawn in by the Thais who are on their group retreat. People often ask me how I can be silent for days at a time. For me, that is the easiest part. After hours and days of self focus, mindless chatter seems like such a distraction. The only person I have trouble not speaking to is Lucy, as we are both so used to sharing everything that goes on in our lives.
As the days go by and we become more and more focused on getting our ever-increasing number of hours of meditation in (up to and exceeding 12 hours a day), our leisure time decreases. So back to the library it is for several hours of walking and sitting before the second and last meal of the day is served at 10:30 a.m. The routine of lunch is identical to breakfast.
According to Buddhist practice for those living within the wats, there is to be no eating of solid foods after twelve noon. Liquids are acceptable. The thought of having almost twenty hours between meals at first sounds daunting. How am I going to overcome the hunger, I wondered before I came here? How will I ever focus on meditating when all I will be able to think about is food? Strangely enough, this doesn't happen that often. Sure, there are a few moments of being hungry, but I usually come to enjoy the feeling of emptiness that is such a rare experience for an over-eater like myself. Walking back from a meal one day, I realize that I actually enjoy the emptiness before a meal more than the fullness afterwards. Interesting. It soon becomes apparent that we are engaged in another realm of consciousness by living within the monastery walls meditating all day long, and hunger just doesn't seem to get that much airtime.
Outside the upper gate, a Thai lady arrives every afternoon at 5 pm time with a lit barbecue underneath a huge pot of soy milk that she serves in small plastic bags for 4 baht (about Cdn$.13) ) each. She has a separate pot of hot sweet syrup that she adds to each plastic bag. Now, hot soymilk is not normally on anyone's gourmet hit parade, but it is amazing how good it suddenly tastes. So every afternoon Lucy and I have a soymilk date at what we affectionately begin to call 'The Bar'. This is the one time of the day where we allow ourselves about half an hour to talk and share what we have been going through. And (here comes the confession) a few times we snuck behind a tree to give each other a quick kiss, feeling like guilty school kids afraid that they are going to get caught.
After our brief date, I head back to the library or my room for several more hours of meditation before heading off to a good night's sleep by 10p.m.
posted by Ralph at 12:16 PM
<< Home