Here a Monk, There a Monk

Thailand is a Buddhist country comprising 95% of the population but only a fraction who practice strictly. In our short visit we’ve seen countless temples (there are 30,000 in Thailand) elaborately decorated and plentiful with images of Buddha, all smiling and serene. Mike and I were both unprepared for the prevalence of the monks. For some reason, we expected them to be tucked away so that we would have only fleeting glimpses. We couldn’t have been more wrong.

Everywhere there are orange robes against tan skin and bald heads. Some robes are bright orange with yellow sashes and others are burnt orange (University of Texas orange). We were told that some monks live in the forest and their robes are brown. We’ve seen small boys to old men, stooped and small.

It was explained that practicing Buddhists have five rules to follow:
1. No killing
2. No stealing
3. No adultery
4. No lying
5. No alcohol
The monks, however, have 227 rules.

We, of course, saw monks at the temples and along the streets collecting their daily alms in the early morning (donations are their only way of surviving). In the temples, they offered blessings to small groups of barefoot, kneeling people by dipping a small, round wicker brush (like a round whisk) into water and sprinkling the people. Mike and I went to the large temple, Doi Suthep, on the hilltop in Chiang Mai and had the opportunity to be blessed by a monk who was sitting cross-legged in a chair. Afterward, with a donation, he tied a simple white yarn around the wrist of those blessed. I was passed over to a helper as monks are not allowed to touch a woman (one of the 227 rules). He did, however, tie Mike’s string. It was a very nice experience, although, I have to say, we were on the front row and got drenched. That little brush holds a lot of water.

It’s an odd feeling to be a forbidden object. One of our tour guides shoved me to one side as a group of monks passed explaining that I needed to give them plenty of room as they should not even brush up against a woman. Sure enough, I was walking along a narrow street behind two tiny Thai women. The women were browsing the inevitable row of vendors. Suddenly, they squished themselves over to one side – odd, I thought – and then I saw the oncoming monk. After he passed, far to our left, they moved over and continued their browsing.

This is only one of the many ways that we’ve seen for people to offer their offerings or pay their respects. Many times people bring a white or pink lotus flower, other light small yellow candles or pots of burning oil. One can buy a small, gold bell, write your name on the clapper and hang it in the temple. There are packages of materials to buy for the monks. Some contain food, a few orange marigolds, and even toilet paper. We also saw people selling bags of fish and small cages of tiny birds outside the temples. People buy them to set free representing their troubles swimming or flying away. There is a lot of concern about the spirit world. Each home has a small house on a pole in the backyard. That is the house for the spirits of ancestors. Each day an offering of water, food, incense or flowers is made to keep the spirits happy. As we drove along the highway outside of the city, we passed outdoor centers with plants and pots and these colorful little houses. It was like a Garden Ridge Pottery for spirit houses. We also saw people sitting in the temples shaking containers of sticks. Our guide had me try it. The round cylinder holds many plastic sticks with numbers. I shook the container until one stick - only one - fell out. It was an 11. We went to the side where small papers gave information for each number. For me, my "desires are accomplished." That sounds right. Whatever the offering to be made in the temples, the people bring it or buy it just outside. They remove their shoes before entering so that shoes are piled outside, walk across the cool, smooth entrance and step inside to the soft carpeted interior. They quietly kneel in front of the Buddha image, bow and deliver their offering.

We saw this play out at temple after temple. For some reason, at the temple Doi Suthep the offerings were particularly compelling. I was struck by the atmosphere of reverence that pervaded the temple grounds even in the midst of clueless tourists, inappropriately dressed, staring and snapping photos. Imagine trying to conduct a church service with camera-totting tourists wandering about.

But for all the devotion, it was startling to see monks in the street, walking about, doing regular things and even sight seeing. We chuckled at a group of four young monks who posed for their photo with the guard at the Grand Palace. The monks we saw live in small rooms surrounding many of the temples. Their laundry, orange robes, hangs outside drying like large orange blankets. But it’s the little activities so common for us that seem out of place for them. We watched a monk line up to use the ATM. Another was talking on his cell phone. A group of 10-12 year old boys in their orange and yellow robes browsed the aisles of a convenience store puzzling over chips and candy. A monk on our flight from Chiang Mai to Bangkok scrambled along with everyone else to retrieve his bag from the overhead bin.

One of the experiences I wanted to have in Thailand was to participate in a Buddhist meditation session. There is a temple in Bangkok that conducts three sessions a day in English. We located it just across from the Grand Palace and I made plans to return for the 7-10AM session. Dressed all in white, I took the boat with the local workers early in the morning while it was still dark outside. No one was at the center except a young woman cleaning the floor, so I sat outside and waited with my shoes neatly in the rack. As I waited, I watched the monks returning from collecting their alms. Old men, middle-aged men and gangly teenagers with feet still too big for their bodies walked past holding their alms bowls and carrying bags of provisions that had been given to them. Some had two bags; others had six. Eventually, a kindly monk turned into the center and invited me inside. I was apparently the only one that morning. I suppose meditating at 7AM is not a top tourist attraction. I signed in and waited for the “master.” Soon young women emerged from the back in long dresses of palest lavender. They were well versed in the ceremony. They grabbed a cushion, so I grabbed a cushion. They sat on the floor, so I sat on the floor. An old monk with a smiling face arrived and stood on the raised platform along with the other men (men and women were separated). He chatted with the women and was apparently telling jokes as he had everyone laughing. After the stand-up routine, he sat in the front with a crackling microphone and everyone started chanting and bowing to touch their foreheads to the floor. I followed as best I could. Then they all stood and started walking very slowly across the floor. I copied and wondered if this was the process for the next three hours. I had the door in sight.

About then I noticed another monk sitting at the information desk. He motioned to me to sit with him. We welcomed me to the session and told me about Vipassana or Insight Meditation – meditating to simply acknowledge what is happening in the body or mind in that moment. Frankly, he startled me. Having been coached to stay away from the monks, he was not what I expected. He was maybe a few years older than I and had sparkling eyes and freckles across his nose. He looked me directly in the eye with an unwavering gaze. I had trouble maintaining eye contact feeling somehow that it was forbidden, but he never faltered. He led me to another room while the others continued their walking. Our room was long and narrow with white tile walls and a grey tiled floor. A pile of cushions sat at one end with a simple, metal, folding table at the other holding the image of Buddha. Three fans provided the only cooling in the room on a sticky, humid morning.

First was walking meditation. All I needed to do was maintain focus on my body as I slowly walked, stood, turned and repeated– over and over. He chanted for me, “Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, standing, standing, turning, turning, turning, right foot, left foot,…..” His voice was soft and comforting. After several passes he had me continue saying the words to myself. Nothing could be so simple and yet when he stopped chanting I felt that the training wheels had been removed.

After a little walking meditation, he instructed me on the seated meditation. The principle was the same except say, “Rising, falling, rising, falling” with every breath. And if my foot went to sleep I was to focus my attention on it until “it passes.” Hmmmm. He showed me how to get onto the mat, sit and fold my hands with intention. Here was the first problem. My legs are not flexible enough to sit in a yoga pose like this. He rallied and had me pile up several more cushions until it was more like a chair. There we sat – rising, falling. He told me to continue with 30 minutes seated and 30 minutes walking. And he left.

I sat as comfortably as possible and focused on breathing. The only sound was the whir of the fans and an occasional bell or barking dog. I don’t know how long I sat before I lost touch with my foot. I tried focusing on it, but wasn’t willing to wait it out. Shaking and stomping brought it back around. I was thankful to be the only one in the room.

You’d think it would be easier to focus while walking and talking to yourself and yet I still found myself thinking about things – wondering what time it was, what Mike was doing, realizing that I might be hungry. On one pass I noticed the table at the end of the room. The metal feet had been wrapped in orange fabric. I wondered how many bare toes had bumped it. Ouch! But then I zoned out and could only feel my feet. It’s amazing how much feeling is in the bottom of your foot. I felt the heel touch the cool surface first, the ball and the side with the toes – each one of them – following. I could feel the gaps between the tiles as I progressed slowly. It was good. It was peaceful. And it was a glimpse.

With one more seated meditation the time was up. I can’t say that it flew by but it didn’t feel like three hours either. I thanked the kind monk, left a donation, retrieved my shoes and left to meet Mike. As I walked out of the temple complex, I could still feel the bottoms of my feet. They were extra sensitive as I felt the cushion of my shoes under me. The rest of me, however, was still in a daze and overly sensitive to the noise and bustle of the street. I had to sit for awhile before we could continue with our day….another temple.

As for the life of the monks, I wish I understood more and maybe I’ll learn more in time. For now, the monks here, there and everywhere will remain an inspiration and a mystery.