The Bow Can't Always Be Relaxed (Part 25)

John Wittenberg gives a number of personal reflections on his journey through Thailand and countries in the region, 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. His stories appear regularly on Thailandblog.

The right direction

After an unprecedented deep sleep I wake up early and head for Wat Umong, because my Canadian friend Bill is being ordained as a monk today. The third white man in twenty-five years. He welcomes me with a broad smile and Vichai (the monk I was ordained with at the same time) embraces me against protocol.

Bill was at my ordination last year, and now the tables are turned. I have a lot of respect for this social worker who stands up for abused underage children in Vancouver. I feel his joy of coming deep into my heart, I return the same strength, with Vichai as the radiant center.

I actually run into Songserm, he shakes my western hand warmly. It is my teacher who has hung up his monk's robes in exchange for a beautiful woman. I also meet her and Buddha speaks wisely when he asserts that nothing in the world can so captivate a man's mind as a woman, to which I am free to add that she can at the same time bring you to heavenly ecstasy.

Songserm is now in business, his wife is a real estate agent, and his arrival is less surprising to me now that I know Bill bought a house from her. Bill's Thai wife greets me warmly and reveals to me that my arrival means a lot to Bill. It makes me shy, a seldom welling trait. It is the first time for me that I passively experience the ordination ceremony and fragments of recognition awaken.

In my mind I whirl to my ordination, it fills me with warmth and since then it supports me in my doings every day. After the ceremony only a group photo remains and then traditionally everyone leaves the temple and leaves the new monk to his lonely fate. But I want to be with Bill for a while.

I teach him to put on the robe. My well-developed instinct to make life as pleasant as possible does not let me down, even when I was a monk, I still know my way around the temple complex, so that I can decorate Bill's house nicely.

I arrange a few extra mattresses, even manage to find a good chair and stealthily I sneak through the undergrowth, out of sight of the abbot with my rustled things on my toes to Bill's cottage.

Sufficiently installed, we look back on the consecration. It makes my heart glow. My decision to become a monk is one of the best decisions of my life. Being a Buddhist always very subtly steers me towards a refined direction in life. A life in which compassion should be given a more central place. My dear friend Harry Poerbo put it so aptly: "There are times in life when you should seize it as a pointer in the right direction".

A heart that will last a very long time

After saying goodbye to Bill and Vichai, I visit Wat Umong Juw, now the monk with the hip frame. He sits on a chair in front of his house in a motionless silence, looking into nothingness and at the same time comprehending as much as possible. We look so often at so much and at the same time we see nothing.

Juw's movements are patient and slow, as are his words and thoughts. He still knows perfectly the details of our last conversation. I am quick-witted, full of movement and impatience and I forget so much.

Filled with admiration, I rogue in his company with a deep desire to make up for my shortcomings by copying his character. But a little later those good intentions are stranded again. Why are characters so often stronger than will? Or do I polish my rough stone a bit smoother through self-analysis? Despite all the wonderful theories and intentions, after saying goodbye to Juw, I quickly fly to Bangkok.

After an abrupt, hard landing of a student pilot, I buy gifts efficiently, because I know the way around and know the lowest price. Time is running out now and in a curse and a sigh I'm in Holland. Planes have become buses for me. I buy a ticket and get in and out just as easily.

But the jet lag is a different case, in the beginning I ignored it and became a wreck for a week, now I occasionally sleep for an hour and within two days I am above Jan and the gentleman again. I am warmly welcomed by my cousin Pamela and her friend, the adonis Lex, and we drive straight to my mother in Bronovo.

I see a pale little mouse lying in bed and mother and I embrace each other in tears. “I missed you so much” and I hold in my strong arms the weakened body of the woman I love most. Her love taught me to give. She's the one who gave me life and cleaned up my puke when I came home dead drunk from a wedding at the age of XNUMX.

A day before my divorce from Maria, I was the main man standing in front sharing joy or crocodile tears with the in-laws and a day later I was put away in the garbage and not even invited to the cremation, so to speak. But my mother is always there. That is the unconditional love of a mother for her child. The older I get, the more I realize its value.

The next few days my sister, niece and I sit around my mother's bed and it is amazing how fast the recovery starts. With her cheerful mood and typical Dutch straightforward character, coupled with humorous sentences, she is adored by the nursing staff. She visibly improves and within a week she is sleeping in her own bed, with her heart pumping again.

Those are nice days. Very nice with these three women. The four of us forming a bond that is unbreakable. Each with its own specific character. And fully accepting each other with that. Each giving his own life with radiating love for each other. These three women massage the scar in my heart and that makes the pain that sometimes arises easy to bear.

But the most important thing now is my mother's heart that beats as before and now lasts a very long life again.

The eternal smile I want to reflect in my soul

My mother and I, endlessly drinking tea together in her cozy living room, look outside, where dark clouds roll in and a drizzling rain defies the mood of my usually sunny mood. “I feel so much better now, just enjoy Asia for a while if you will; the operation went very well”. These beautiful words from my mother did not fall on deaf ears, and in fact, they went down like God's word in an elder. And even more so, before the sentence was finished I already ran to the travel agency for a plane ticket.

Within two days I will leave for Thailand again, continuing my search for that eternal smile that I want to shine in my soul.

- To be continued -