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November 1999
Return to ONE POWER
November 1999...of Monks and Priests...
Tibetan monks from the Drepung Loseling Monastery (now India) were in Boise last week to create a mandala sand painting for healing the earth, followed by a Saturday evening performance of Mystical Arts. When one of the 3 parking spaces in front of the Art Gallery on parking-challenged BSU campus was waiting, knew I was supposed to be at the mandala opening ceremony. Making up for time lost resenting all things "religious", I now unabashedly seek the presence of holy persons. Sitting on the gallery floor, below the table chalked with mandala prep lines, I studied the monks, standing squarely as they began the ceremony to establish sacredness. The interpreter explained that Tibetans believe every place is sacred.I love watching how people stand--feet parallel? toed out? (Now for monks!) Below deep red robes and gold "shawls", wrapped so right arm is bare, was everything from heavy boots to wing tips. Such young men, I thought, seeing the monks' childlike, unlined faces, bright with spirit and life. Later I spied a few gray hairs among the short haired heads (probably not as young as I thought). As the ceremony began, enjoyed watching one arrestingly attractive monk peak around at the worldly crowd, while fellow monks appeared deep in their practice of chanting and blowing horns.
In startling contrast were the hard, perfected blank faces of the young--dyed and pierced--trying to appear unimpressed by this extraordinary event. A large group of children observed, some dramatically covering their ears as the long horns blasted, a few watching with interest, others clowning for attention. Curious adults observed the entertainment cautiously. Wondered what the monks thought of the show!! My mind flipped to something I'd read recently about how most of us go through life like corpses. Verily: monks brimming with life, surrounded by living corpses. Stunning contrast.
That evening the sunset during class was so sensational we dancers kept dancing over to the windows to watch and exclaim. Oranges and golds shifted into deep purples, across row after row of clouds, announcing: The monks are here! Afterwards Eileen and I dashed over to hear the (interpreted) evening talk on the meaning of mandalas. One more time my parking place was free!
Studied the alert monks on stage. The magnificent chanter who opened the evening with a multiphonic invocation had the features of a wild Hun from the Steppes of Asia--he could have starred in a samurai film. His full mouth down turned dramatically and "angry" eyes pulled back, giving him a formidable appearance! Suddenly the fierce face shifted and beamed holy radiance! I'm fascinated by the inner peace that makes each unique face beautiful. What stories they could tell!
Here in the western worlod it's unthinkable to forego the material world, pass up ownership, pursuit of sex and breeding, to devote one's life to the mystical, intangible, spiritual. Although I knew nothing of the personal lives of the monks, sensed a centeredness and acceptance rare in the western world. Intuitively I knew they would not make fun of me or anyone. They have a softness sometimes described as both masculine and feminine. After the "talk" I watched the monks frolic with each other and their local hosts, easily putting an arm around a child or another man with a naturalness that brought instant tears to my eyes. No fear or defensiveness in those men. Watched as they scampered off into the cool night, matching red parkas thrown over shoulders--used to living in high mountains!
The next day I stopped by to see the mandala sand painging and was startled to find it looked nearly finished. It's the ultimate sparkling birthday cake, with detail I never imagined. How quickly the monks' hands, steadied on silk pillows, rasped the sand into fine lines and curves. Their tan bodies seem relaxed and strong at the same time. Again I was touched as I watched the ease with which the monks interrelated with each other and with visitors: no strangers in their world. After months of touring, it's obvious that some of the monks have picked up English. Ever alert to body language, I saw only warmth, respect and humor among them. The greeting in the eyes of the monk I purchased the CDs from was just like in the books.
Deeply regretted not being able to witness the closing ceremony--watch the sand brushed up, then ceremonially poured it into Boise River, spreading the healing message on its way. (Can use all the models I can get for letting go!) Instead, I had a fine opportunity to practice Buddhist non attachment, since I just can't get another yoga sub this week! Heard it was a wonderful experience.
During the week someone in yoga class asked if the Tibetan monks were worth seeing. Silence implied I was probably the only one taking part, so I responded "For me, just being in their presence is a gift; their gentleness is unlike anything I've ever experienced." "Well, they don't have any stress", came back, stopping me cold in my mental tracks. The respondent explained, "They don't have to make decisions; they just do the same thing every day." I was thinking of reports of torture, year long escapes across the mountains, families torn apart, millions killed.
As if experiencing Tibetan monks creating a mandala wasn't enough excitement for the week, smitten by David Chadwick's biography of an early Japanese Zen master Suzuki Shunryu master, I could not pass the opportunity to hear one his students from the Zen Center in San Francisco talk on "Meditation and Letting Go" Friday evening. Good thing! Zen priest Layla Smith was strikingly ordinary, crystal clear, yet another extraordinary teacher to come out of the '60s. To think I stopped at Tassajara in '70 or '71 while Suzuki-roshi and Layla were there is just another example of life coming full circle. At the time I had absolutely no interest in matters spiritual, rather, I was afraid to even go into the building!
When Layla described sitting practice as strong body work, a light bulb lit. Yes, yes! As we sat for a mere 15 minutes I was near bliss to be in the presence of yet another gentle master teacher and to have had affirmed again that sitting is the ticket to opening the spine, breathing freely, and calming the mind. Maybe I can learn to sit still yet! Could sense how changing weight on the sitz bones might shift breathing, release back and shoulders and create that famous warmth. Regretted not being able to attend workshop. At last a sitting teacher I'd feel safe with. My spirits soared in the presence of Layla echoing Suzuki-roshi's simple "Come sit with me".
Followed by dreams more chaotic than ever! Yoga, monks and now zen sitting all intertwined, the inner-outer dance intensifying. In the last dream of the morning I stood before an old man with watery eyes in a Tibetan like land, who I knew was acknowledging my learning to come from the heart. A tear ran down his cheek; he handed me a cone shaped fur hat. I was smiling.
The biggest surprise was that I awoke at 2 minutes before the alarm, got up and sat semi-zen for 20 minutes, as the day dawned and reminded me:
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you,
Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want,
Don't go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the door sill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don't go back to sleep.
----Rumi.All day Saturday synchronicity was at play, creating unexpected meetings and surprises. Beautiful shirt sleeved day on the Greenbelt. Never remember experiencing such an Endless Autumn before. It's like the pause button froze autumn on the way to winter. Gold leaves, blue sky.
Saturday evening I confidently went off to see the Tibetan Monks Sacred Music and Dance performance only to learn it had been sold out quite a while. What! Hung out 'til able to buy ticket and slip in the 3rd row by some bored kids. Not me, bored! What a fascinating culture! The Dalai Lama is one thing, but what about all those wild deities! The snow leopard dance was absolutely the cat's meow! Interesting evening, more surprise encounters, like running into a fellow I'd met in Boise, several years back, before I moved here.
Sunday morning, armed with a mountain of pads and pillows (convinced that physical comfort is an underrated key to sitting meditation), joined the local Buddhists I'd met Friday evening to practice sitting. Loved listening to the leaves rustling on the mild breeze, just outside the window. One by one, most of the sitters excused themselves to participate in the tradition of interviewing with visiting teacher Layla. During the second sitting, got my right hip supported so I didn't think I'd die! Eureka! Wonderful morning. I was unusually at home, because the host and hostess had the same vintage Kenwood amp I once had; a pile of Rumpole of the Bailey videos; and a framed poster of the Exum Guide School, tapping into a wave of old memories. Afterwards, I tasted the kinship of sangha during introductions and chatting.
In the car I changed into a spring green dress to match the day and cut up red onions before going further up the hill to my own church potluck. What a fabulous variety of folks under one roof! Perhaps something science of mind is known for?
My interfaith week ended that evening with a concert by my favorite organist, young Sean Rogers, and his colleague Barbara Bond, soprano. Barbara, dressed in an bustled green taffeta opera dress, opened the concert, singing the glories of Psalm 150 as I'd never heard them, then introduced herself as a priest! How times have changed!! A handful of us, enjoyed an evening at the Meridian Met, as Sean showed off the new organ, ending with Bach's famous Fugue. Episcopalians get my vote for food: Barbara's pate plus artichoke hearts stuffed with dilled shrimp! Oh, and wine!
What an outrageous, High Holy Week! Visiting monks and priests, splendid sunsets, good food and company, and sychronistic happenings that could only have happened during such holy week. I'm grateful for those who brought the monks to Boise, for discretionary time to experience them, and for all the wonderful music to be found in innumerable choirs and musicians in the area.
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