Quarter Year

Earlier in the night we crossed railroad tracks and someone waved me into the buddhist temple, Azure and I stalled at the door. A young monk walked up behind us and encouraged us to go in – he spoke really quickly, and not really in English, but in English. He kept repeating the same words: Pagoda, Buddha, and so on, to the point I couldn’t understand him hardly at all. He took us in to the major sanctuary and we prayed to three images of Buddhas – one of which was an American. I meditated for about three minutes and it felt great. The monk (from Calcutta) told me to make a wish, so I wished for the happiness of everyone around us in the temple. I think that was a good, manageable wish.

Closer to the images, Calcutta monk prayed out loud – he chanted quickly in an unevenly dropping tone, some kind of human noises I’d never heard, like a creative bird’s call or a controlled, rhythmic sigh. It sounded like a few people had choreographed the chant, but it was just him. The power cut out and his prayers continued to run, the thread that connected the darkness to the light. The lights flickered back on and he kept praying.

When we were all finished I donated $1 to the box in front of the image of the American Buddha.

Calcutta monk took us outside sanctuary (still in the temple) and brought out a book (which he carried on him regularly, I guess) that had monthly calendars going back to 1900. I found out I was born on a Saturday. Azure was born on a Tuesday. We walked around the pagoda and found the Saturday Buddha image and poured water on him nine times (good luck for each of our family members) then five times on the dragon underneath, and I’m not sure why. He took us to another Buddha room that had Buddha’s footprint. This whole time he was talking about things I wasn’t really following. He did say that they meditated from 4am to 7am, then collected alms at 8am. They then meditated for three more hours in the evening, which I think is when we met him.

The monk was gaunt – he seemed to eat almost nothing. He even said that he was weak. His teeth were bad and he looked years older than me, though he was only 28. At 18 he became a monk and left Calcutta for Yangon. Here in the monastery, they speak Sanskrit, and apparently he speaks Pali (what the Buddha spoke, maybe Nepalese?) and he says he speaks English. He said that he does not speak Burmese, which is strange considering he’s lived here 10 years. The monks study English, I guess, but it didn’t show: they were incomprehensible a lot of the time. A Bhutanese monk (we later met) giggled the whole time and spoke in such a weird cadence I’ve never heard before. Another Burmese monk spoke bad English as well.

He invited us back to the monks’ living quarters, which we were pumped to see. As we walked out of the temple something strange happened: a man in plain clothes started yelling at the monk, kinda challenging him. Calcutta monk kept walking and from behind we saw him raise a fist and throw it down to the ground, as if he were grabbing whatever anger he had and casting it off. After 10 years I’d expect him to be able to let that pass, but maybe not. There were several things that the monks did that I was surprised about, considering my understanding of the practice. For instance, Calcutta monk was showing us around as if we were his pets (ego) and was jealous when we talked to other monks. Also, he told us that certain things would be good luck, for ourselves, people we loved, our businesses, and so on. And my thought was, “Why the focus on self-serving things like business?” I guess there are people in all religions – young people – who are looking for something and latch onto religion. I think almost all the monks we met tonight might have been like that – just latching onto the practice for the sake of having something. I mean, that’s harsh of me to write, but I saw little evidence of their wisdom. The monks rattled off different Buddhas, different pagodas, they talked about a reverence for their teacher, but it was all kinda shallow stuff.

Calcutta monk took us to see his teacher, who, it turns out, was one of the leaders of the 2007 revolt. He didn’t speak any English (in fact the monks spoke less English than most people we met in Myanmar) so we just smiled and did some ritualistic stuff. Since I was dressed in my sarong thing I knew we’d attracted attention outside, and I could just imagine – as the monks rattled on – plain clothes policemen congregating outside the monastery waiting for us to come out. I’m pretty sure we weren’t followed, though. The teacher gave us each some laminated cards with pictures of Buddha that will make nice bookmarks.

The coolest part of the evening was when Calcutta monk led us into his room – the dormitory where the monks all lived together as in a fraternity. The part they lived in was a wooden addition to the concrete building – something like the wooden house we saw at Sam’s on Lanta. It was a wide porch with wooden boards and walls. We entered his room (after he knocked and told his roommates there was an American girl with him) and sat on the floor. His two friends (Bhutan and Myanmar) sat in front of us with him while people came and huddled behind us to watch the show. They were all interested to see the foreigners sitting in here. Calcutta monk brought out his English phrase book and showed us how he studied, but it was futile, even when I saw the words he was saying I hardly understood him. He was a nice enough guy – good intentions I guess – but just strange.

We sat and went over the same information over and over again. There was some nice music outside, sounded like a Burmese version of swing music or jazz. I read before we came that the Burmese can talk for an hour and not say anything, and this was definitely a night where that happened again and again. The Bhutanese monk smiled and giggled a little nervously. The Burmese monk (who theoretically spoke the best English) talked with Azure as she struggled to understand.

It was very peaceful on their little porch – just evening time in a monastery. Everyone was relaxed. In the little room were some posters of famous monks (who are revered for their messages, as we would have a poster of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in our room). There were a couple hammocks that double as beds. There were woven mats on the ground, used as sitting surfaces or beds, as well. I don’t remember seeing any candles, but I gotta think they were there.

It was a fascinating night – we got to see how the monks lived, we walked down an intense market street at night and down the train tracks, we meditated as the lights went on and off in an enormous temple, we looked at the stars in the middle of a huge city.

As we walked home (we kinda had to force our way out of there) I imagined being in the middle of millions of people with the lights off, as people lived hundreds of years ago, on an obscure sea. A movie theater let out and the air-conditioned air spilled into the alley. We walked down a very dark stretch and felt completely safe. We walked down an alley with dozens of other people with colonial buildings rising on each side. People smiled at us. The boy who made us some sugar cane juice earlier in the day was still making it as we got back to the hotel, eight hours later. The stars were bright above Sule Pagoda, even in the heart of the city.