The Bow Can't Always Be Relaxed: The Inner Journey (Part 16)

John Wittenberg gives a number of personal reflections on his journey through Thailand, which were previously published in the short story collection 'The bow can't always be relaxed' (2007). What started for John as a flight away from pain and sorrow has grown into a search for meaning. Buddhism turned out to be a passable path. From now on, his stories will appear regularly on Thailandblog.

The floating wreckage around me

There I am, in the robe in front of my house, surrounded by beautiful trees with a glorious banana tree as an irresistible breaking point in the middle. The thoughts are turned inward. What do I actually feel? It's the loneliness!

I really feel alone and I love being around people. It is true that it is a voluntarily imposed silence within me, but that must be compensated with a large gift. I think about the choices I make in my life. Looking back, but also the future. It doesn't make me so much insecure, rather unpleasing.

I think too much about Maria again during these moments. Her birthday is approaching and the sad moments return unwelcomely. Staring at that beautiful banana tree makes me wistful. If only I could take a knife and cut away Maria's love and her smile. Gone forever. In one go, razor sharp.

The study of the Dhamma has taught me above all that everything is impermanent, absolutely everything, nothing is eternal. This knowledge, convincing as it is, does not help me now. But why not? Is it too good to be true? Our quest in life is a continuous step. It never ends. My quest is a Socratic one, I ask endless questions and am never satisfied with the answer. Like an artist who never sees his work completely reflected, right in his head.

But Buddhism does not want to be a philosophy. It doesn't dig deeper and deeper and that's what makes it so happy. So fresh after all these centuries. There is remarkably little sadness in Thailand. Or is it, but is it a repressed sadness? When I look around me, the Thai are really a sincere and cheerful people. Real pleasure seekers and they love to make others happy. Hardly Calvinistic melancholy.

Buddhism definitely has a beneficial effect on the cheerful mind. Preached non-violence makes a person stronger in the long run. Transferring the suffering suffered to the one who inflicts it on you seems very naive at first sight, but here it finds a healing balm for the wounded soul. This general character trait makes this people cheerful.

Is it so Dutch of me to muse in front of my house? Am I now forced to find the deeper insight here as a monk? Is it there? Or do I need more time than those mere three weeks? Or do we just find it in the path of everyday life? Don't force it I would say.

Still, I feel some tension as a monk: the pressure of coming home with a good story. “How enlightened are you now, John?” I sense a mocking question coming on. I already have the answer ready (as I always have an answer ready:) “Sure, four kilos”, because I don't drink beer here and have learned to ignore the evening hunger.

I see the sun slowly disappear behind the trees now and long for my life outside the temple again. The big bad world is the world I want to be happy in. Perhaps the lesson of this reverie is that I don't have to dive to the bottom, do a little snorkeling from time to time, and otherwise just float gently with the wreckage around me.

Another ice cream man

With callused blisters under my feet I carefully walk home and see the dark night pass into a clear day. This is my last Binthabad. I got a dirty jacket and some coins from a shabbily dressed man. It belongs to a deceased relative and I carry it to the temple in monk arms. It is a symbolic gesture to support the deceased in his journey.

Normally I divide all the money received among three befriended monks (who are always amazed that I get so much, they hardly get anything themselves) but I keep these received coins myself and keep them in my begging bowl. This is the greatest gift I have received. I will forget a lot in my life, but on my deathbed I will remember this. This man does not realize the magnitude of his gift and I am eternally grateful to him. For me it is the culmination of my ordination as a monk. These coins are invaluable. They symbolize to me that no matter how poor you are, giving is so much more beautiful than receiving!

The last breakfast is eaten and then I walk around and pay a farewell visit to an almost transparent monk who was unhappy as an accountant in his younger years. He is not yet 35 years old, but his demeanor is that of an old man. His skin is pale as wax and his fingers are long and skinny. Large jam jar glasses cover his cavernous eyes. He can no longer go to Binthabad because the traffic and people around him make him dizzy and torment his mind. He makes few demands on life and therefore needs little. He prefers to be alone in his spotless house, listening to sermons by Buddhadasa Bhikkku, recorded on twenty cassettes.

He is happy to receive me to practice English. This extremely fragile monk intrigues me greatly. He listens to the Voice of America at seven and the BBC World Service at eight. He looks up the words he doesn't understand later and that's how he learned English. So withdrawn and self-absorbed, but aware of world events and interested in my life.

He talks very carefully and extremely thoughtfully and is visibly pleased with my visit. I would have liked to spend a little more time with him. I give him my home address and some tasty snacks. I think that the monastic life is a godsend for him. Here he can contentedly let his life slide in a desired step, which makes him a happy man.

When a monk decides to return to normal life, he goes through a special ceremony. His first act is to repent for the offenses committed against another monk. (I've stood with my hands on my hips, laughed out loud, bit into rice, and sat with my legs wide apart, but I'll leave it as it is.)

The official short ritual is as follows: I pass through the temple gate as a full-fledged monk for the last time, kneel three times before the abbot and chant: "Sikkham paccakkhami,gihiti mam dharetha" (I give up the exercise, would like to acknowledge myself as a layman ) and I repeat this three times to make sure I really want it. Then I retire and take off my monk's robes and dress entirely in white.

I bow to the abbot three more times and recite: “Esaham bhante ,sucira-parinibbutampi, tam bhagavantam saranam gacchami ,Dhammanca, bhikkhu-sanghanca, upasakam mam sangho dharetu, ajjatagge pamipetam saranam gatam” exalted one, though he was long ago absorbed into Nirvana, along with the Dhamma and the monks. May the monks recognize me as a lay follower who took refuge from this day, as long as my life lasts).

Then I get the answer from the abbot: "I mani panca sikkhapadani nicca-silavasena sadhukam rakkhit abbani" (These five rules of practice I will keep well as constant precepts). Very dutifully I then say: “ama bhante” (Yes, my honor) to the following precepts: “Silena sugatim yanti” (In virtue) , “Silena bhagasampada” (In virtue, obtaining wealth), “Silena nibbutim yanti” (In virtue attaining Nirvana), "Tasma silam" (Thus will virtue be pure). I get some water sprinkled and then I retire to change my white robes for my regular clothes, bow three times to the abbot and I'm an ice cream man again.

Champagne and jewellery

Together with Phra Arjan, we walk to his house after my departure and I take a seat on the floor again and look up at his desktop again. We used to be on the same level.

I receive my final Dhamma instruction; the world can easily be divided into two parts: monks and laity. The monks can devote themselves to the heavenly affairs supported by the laity who have to work up a sweat for it. I will now dedicate myself to management again, said Phra Arjan, but a monk should keep his distance from these worldly matters.

“But Phra Arjan, you are also managing your meditation center now, aren't you?” And then I just get a smile back. I have noticed it more often, my sober view of the way things are not so much abhorred but simply ignored. It is completely outside the realm of experience. Knowledge is simply absorbed, not criticized. Feelings not described, but accepted as they are without further communication. This is not analyzed but memorized.

Criticism is not parried, not so much out of ignorance, but out of - feigned or not - respect for the other opinion. At least that is how the Thai legitimize their behavior. I experience it differently. The tolerance for dissenters is certainly high and a very valuable aspect of Buddhism; the exaggerated fanaticism of Islam finds no breeding ground here.

But tolerance is not yet liberalism. The idea of ​​enlightenment has quickly passed by. There is little mention of modernism. A lecture by Phra Arjan is always a monologue. Of course questions may be asked, but the answers are simply a repetition of the foregoing.

Strictly speaking, the doctrine is very dogmatic, inflexible. I understand that you can't turn Buddha into a whiskey-drinking teenager who goes to the disco every Saturday night. But to equate listening to pop music with murder, stealing and violence is completely unworldly.

When I ask what is wrong with a vigorously studying son, kind to his parents, but who still listens to pop music, it is repeated - smiling, that is - how bad the world outside the temple is. It is therefore not surprising that fewer and fewer young people go to the temple.

Now I have to be careful not to generalize too much and play the wise nose. I've only been a monk for a few weeks and I can't seem to take off my western glasses. Many a servant of God in Holland will jump for joy at the interest the young people still have in the faith here.

My ordination is but a dull event compared to that of a Thai. Half the village walks out in front of a float where the arriving monk is hailed as a sun king. Invitations to the family and friends are sent with the message to forgive all sins of the new monk and to celebrate the feast with the family. From far and near -similar to a wedding- they flock with their good gifts for the young monk and for the temple.

It is socially absolutely recommendable - if only for a short period of time - that a man has been a monk. Even the king exchanged his palace for a monk's cell for a short time. The government and many other employers even give three months of paid leave.

Because the whole society is so steeped in Buddhism (more than ninety percent claim to be Buddhist) and many a respected citizen has been a monk themselves, the institution can wallow in a blissful and uncritical bed of worship. But at the same time there is the danger of missing the rapid development that Thailand has been experiencing in recent years.

So far everything is going smoothly here. There is even a television channel where a wise monk gives hours of monologues. Phra Arjan won't talk to me for that long, now it's time to say goodbye. Little subtle and very worldly is pointed to the donation pot. Now it's my turn to smile silently in revenge. But I'm not the angriest and donate with due dedication. Then I say goodbye to Vichai, Surii and Brawat with a filled envelope. They can use that very well for their studies. They have assisted me pleasantly, sometimes even in a wonderfully mischievous manner.

Vichai, who became a monk with me, was previously a novice for twelve years and has never touched, let alone kissed, a woman. He wants to start a family later and is terribly curious about how to approach a woman. He sees me as a real James Bond.

I'm partly to blame for that by making champagne my drink of choice and teaching him the best pick-up line for later when he wants to approach a woman: "Do you like jewellery?" It is clear that I am ready again for the beautiful sweltering angry grown-up world. And I fly back to the Netherlands with a warm heart.

To be continued….