A Journal of Mystical Inclinations Toward the One

TRAVELS

June 15, 2006

Buddha's Coming Day (Buchonim Oshinal)
by Anna Cybele

Before me a lamp I crafted today with 17 chopsticks and folded strips of paper with prayers written into them. A fresh cool breeze wafts in from the balcony, out over which lay fields just flooded and planted with tender green stems of rice; crickets and frogs are filling the sounds waves with their mantras. The taste of chocolate covered sunflower seeds mingles with the dark soil remnants of a sacred tea that was broken into bits and soaked under steaming water for me to consume in the presence of 5 curious and delicately jovial monks.

It was a beautiful ride to the monastery in the setting sun on winding roads nearly more narrow than the car, further and further until the first glittering lanterns could be spotted hanging along a dirt path. On foot, my young friend and I ascended. The lanterns led to newly lain stone steps leading up to a portal with more steps and more lanterns, pink lotus flowers flickering like the heart flickers with a sudden joyous memory.

A door opened next to the stairs, 2 monks bowed bolting from the door and swiftly alighting the remaining steps to join a procession of chanting people, which we too soon joined. At first just walking paces behind, around the back of several huge traditional-style buildings and sub-temples, our voices soon were drawn out of our breathing and walking and palm touched palm raised before our hearts, heads bowed, unexpected harmonies sometimes ringing. Once in front of the main temple, smiling-eyed Buddhas looking down over those gathered, the words and tones were changed, energy was gathered in concentration and a final bow; dispersal. We walked into the temple itself, bowing head to ground bent over lowered knees 3 times.

The monks had descended the temple stairs to the main courtyard where the lamps were strung in 2 sets of 4 equal squares. They semi-circled and conversed, we stood at the top of the stairs looking down, as did others from the procession. When we too had descended the stairs, after an introduction I was greeted with smiles, shy laughter, and many attempts at phrases in English. Finally when the "Where are you from?" came out and I slowly answered, "I am from New York," an extremely tall monk from Portland OR told me that I didn't sound or seem American and I nodded that that was a common comment. Several of the other monks were overtly motioning us to interact, but despite the language commonality, neither of us seemed so intrigued by the fact of seeing another person from our own country. The tall man walked away to remove his sash, two other monks gawked at me in ways that created some uncontrollable laughter, and a third monk of more serious stature walked up to me raising my right arm to slip a bracelet of tiger-eye beads around it. We soon descended from the courtyard to a private room for tea; special tea.

We started with Chinese tea, a rare leaf, the best available, strong and slightly bitter, of course. The tall monk entered the room, no doubt coerced by the others. 10 years in Korea, 2 days in Chungju, 6 months in a Christian monastery of the ascension back in Oregon. He left after his small teacup had been refilled several times, and before the other two monks from before had entered, already I was laughing. Many questions followed, did I think the smile of the Buddha in the temple and in my face were the same, and how did I think the concepts of Buddhist mercy and Christian love are different or the same. There was little chance for me to make an answer, let alone understand the nature of the questions. I dubbed the gabby monk who had sat with his knee intentionally touching mine as "monkey monk", which at first he was offended by until it was somehow translated in a way that told him I thought he was cute like a monkey.

***

We drank the darkness of the forest tea, which tasted like some pure element, like the way Mercury might taste if it were tasteable. Talking was near ceaseless, eyes were not averted, nor sought to be, I was aware of every blessed breath and all of the glorious similar moments of the past when I'd been in the presence of those whose lives are spent creating good intentions to will into the whole of humanity. It was a great moment to bring me back to myself, to the greatness I seem to recall my being had been at previous times. Surely some great fate is calling to me through the mundane routines I've given myself up to. There is so much more than I can see, potential is limitless…

…only reflections to be shared and inhalations to be released, heart strings to be warmed by the very sanctity of this great mystery we all share.

Happy Coming Day of Buddha, may inspiration laced with truth and contentment find it's way to you and guide you along your sacred path of our sacred existence.

Posted by Emmanuel at 01:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Editor

Emmanuel Gomez has travelled 'round the world several times by tricycle, llama, and hand-held birthday balloons. His dream is to out-eat the Black Widow in the challenging extra-spicy pakora division. When land-locked, he can be reached at emmanuel@saffronjournal.org.

Travel Blogs

Links