Suja and I set off from Bangalore on the midnight train January 3 for Chennai, where we would catch a short flight to Colombo about 24 hours later, arriving in the Sri Lankan capital about 1 a.m. January 5. We planned a five day pilgrimage, visiting temples where Buddha preached.
In Chennai before dawn, we were greeted by hard rains filling the streets. A three wheeled auto rickshaw was our transport to Suren and Boona Rao’s home, Suja’s kin we would spend the day with until heading to the airport around 8 p.m.
“The Buddha visited temples 2500 years ago in Sri Lanka,” Suja said, quoting various travel guidebooks. A Buddhist herself, Suja had lived in Colombo as a young girl when her father was posted to the Indian embassy. I began studying the Buddha’s life and words last spring, and was keen on following his footsteps. “He must have come by boat,” I said, picturing him traveling down the east coast of India to the small island of Sri Lanka in the Indian Ocean.
British occupiers were the more recent visitors, leaving only one year after India was freed from being a colony of England, in the late 1940s. I had been reading a book on India’s small oil industry that boomed in the late 1800s and early 1900s, and learned something that seemed so interesting, yet obvious. Once the British Empire was certain of Napoleon’s death, funds previously allocated to defense began pouring into exploration for natural resources. Quests for gems, coal, oil and more were launched. Sri Lanka was known as Ratnadvipa, the Isle of Gems. King Solomon was said to have given a great Sri Lankan ruby to the Queen of Sheba, and Marco Polo came shopping in the 13th century for jewels. A 400 carat blue sapphire in the British crown was mined in Sri Lanka, then called Ceylon.
Maybe I will get some earrings, I thought. For 10 years, I have only worn a pair of gold amethyst hoops made for me in Chennai in 1998. That year, I accompanied the Dali Lama on the Way of Peace, a pilgrimage he co-sponsored with the World Community for Christian Meditation. I remember one of my fellow pilgrims, an American named Maryellen, chided me for buying jewelry on a pilgrimage.
“Bethany, this is the time for detachment!”
My husband Thurmond had given me money to buy myself something beautiful. “Maryellen,” I explained, “I need something to detach from.”
Wearing my birthstone, a purple stone considered to carry spiritual powers, has suited me well. But the idea of a different stone, set in a smaller earring, has been coming up. I joke I buy my earrings for others, as I can’t see them when I’m wearing them! Perhaps that sounds silly, but I actually mean it. What colors frame my face, what design do I present the world? Here I was, on yet another pilgrimage, still thinking about what to detach from!
The Triple Gem
A central teaching of the Buddha’s 45 year ministry instructs us to, “take refuge in the triple gem and be freed from suffering.” This treasured trio includes the Buddha, who teaches us to be good; the Dhamma, the teachings of the Buddha and the Sangha, the community of his disciples. My grandmother Purcell gave a similar instruction, “If you want to be happy, be around happy people.”
It is said one formally becomes a Buddhist by seeking refuge in the Triple Gem or Tisarana. Rather than chasing happiness and fearing sorrow, the Buddha taught a disciplined, moderate approach, called the Middle Path or Way, to be liberated from misery. He also said that the greatest refuge is oneself.
It has been fun to find so many of Buddha’s words mirror the teachings of Jesus, perhaps none as basic as the importance of fully loving ourselves before we can genuinely love anyone else. Self love has been a big challenge for me. About three and a half years ago, a new friend said she wished I would make loving myself my New Year’s resolution. Thurmond readily agreed with her. I couldn’t image the process, it seemed unrealistic and mysterious.
“You can search throughout the entire universe for someone more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and that person will not be found anywhere,” Buddha said. “You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.” Contemporary Buddhist author Sharon Salzberg writes in Lovingkindness, the Revolutionary Art of Happiness, “When we truly love ourselves, we want to take care of others, because that is what is most enriching, or nourishing, for us.”
I understand that nourishment. One of my computer files is called Self Care and Development. Over the years, it has grown to include precious folders, including essays on India, dream journals and dietary wisdom. My study of Ayurveda began with yoga and quickly grew into a desire to share the common sense health care wisdom of India with friends and family. Well established in self care, I became a servant of others. These days, when I look in the mirror, I see my mother and my Grandma Tante, and it is easy to love me.
Steeped in Buddha and Ceylon Tea
Anticipating long periods of sitting on trains and in airport lounges, I packed a backpack of books for the journey. I also bought another bag full in the temple bookshop and Buddhist cultural center to keep my mind and heart centered in and on Buddha.
Training the mind, like a playful puppy, is a mighty theme of my fifties. The Buddha calls hunger the greatest affliction, as, unlike other afflictions and addictions, it has to be appeased daily. When we spend our days either consciously or unconsciously fixated on what and when we will eat, all our interactions are driven by craving. “I want, I want. I don’t want, I don’t want.” Watch your thoughts for an afternoon. See if you can find something that isn’t a like or dislike. As Salzberg says, “It is not a coincidence that the word passion derives from the Latin word for ‘suffering.’ Wanting and expectation inevitably entail suffering.” Greed springs from craving.
The shorter our list of demands on the world, the greater our experience of joy. If I really want tea for breakfast, and am unwilling to enjoy a nice steaming cup of just hot water, suffering follows. I am having such fun seeing how little I need to feel joyous!
Intellectually knowing the folly of craving is not necessarily enough to kick this primal habit of craving. I have had to create disciplined routines, reducing the frequency, proximity, amounts and types of foods I eat. Such limits have taken the charge out of mealtime, so I honestly am only thinking of food when I’m hungry. What a concept!
With the greatest affliction at least identified and contained, I have been awakened to another way of being in the world. Rather than seeing it as something out there to react against or toward, it has become a welcoming and intimate home. Separation is no longer a theme. Instead, I am experiencing something beyond connection, almost a shared identity or union of inner and outer world.
Just this morning, I caught a wasp that flew into my room. He was working so hard at the screen to get out. Trapped in my metal cup, his cries were amplified, and sounded nearly identical to toddler Nagesh’s cries I heard through the night. Their insistent, high pitched whines both signaled something must change; Nagesh heads to the pediatrician today for deworming.
One of my many book companions on the trip described the process of meditation, which I can also apply to how I feel in the world today. At first, we observe life as out there, seeing what is happening like waves riding the ocean, coming to shore and disappearing. Eventually, we see ourselves as part of the ocean itself, underneath the water, completely emerged in life. Finally, we know we are the water itself, no separateness. I do know that now.
The Teachers of Colombo
Our teachers in the capital city were the door men, the waiters, the soldiers and the beggars.
At the Grand Oriental Hotel, built in the British heyday at the port authority, pairs of men would stand for 12 hours a day, graciously greeting us and holding the doors open for our arrivals and departures. Our frequent treks in and out, to temples, churches and restaurants gave us multiple contacts with the doormen. Simply waving and passing through was not an option. On our fifth and final day at the GOH, I saw Isanka as my son. His attention was so kind and present; like I was the only woman he was opening the door for today. (We are emailing now, I am helping him polish his resume and cover letters for employment in Italy, as any mother would.)
Our waiters were very similar. There expressionless, professional faces quickly gave way to beaming, radiant smiles when we complimented the rice or pointed to our empty plates. Clearly, they had figured out that service can be joyous.
Like Ireland, an Island of Bloodshed
Continents and time zones apart, Colombo reminded me of Belfast. Two islands, the cultures and rules twisted by British colonization, engaged in ancient, ongoing battles over power and resources.
Since 2002, the fighting in Sri Lanka has escalated, when peace talks broke down between the natives and the Tamil Tigers, a segment of society that originally came from India as laborers. When independence was achieved, unlike Singapore, the Sri Lankan government did not declare all factions within the country on equal footing. Rather, Sri Lankans are given preference over Tamils in hiring, housing and the like. Such discrimination foments rage and revenge. The day we arrived on the island, we learned one of the government ministers had been gunned down by the opposition when walking out of a temple. The day we left, we learned of a roadside bombing near the airport, that killed several, including members of the opposition. Throughout our stay, we heard of other bombings and were stopped repeatedly at armed checkpoints to show our passports.
Manning those checkpoints were skinny Ceylonese youth in camouflage, holding huge and heavy 40 or 50 year old rifles. Wary as they bent down to look into our cabs, they worked hard to look tough, even suspicious. Again, seeing them as my son, we parted with big smiles and nods, assuring one another of our safety. How frightened they must have been facing every oncoming vehicle in the smoky night air: would they live to see our taxi pass?
Simply walking out of the hotel or into a church required using certain sides of the street, crossing on approved corners and answering questions. My heart ached for this little country, surrounded by one sea yet drowning in division.
Temple Ceremonies
From the moment we entered the Gangaram temple in the heart of Colombo, Suja and I were both wrapped in the serenity. Giant painted clay Buddhas, from five to 20 feet in height, stood silently or reclined along the walls, giving us the tiniest of adoring smiles. Around us, Buddhists and tourists moved through the ancient halls, some snapping pictures, others chanting reverently and leaving fruit and floral offerings at Buddha’s feet.
Our plans called for visits to three temples: Gangaram, Kelaniya and the most famous in the central city of Kandy, an eight hour round trip cab ride.
We also enjoyed an English mass at St. Philip Neri’s, a beautiful Catholic church in the heart of the rundown market district and some quite prayer time in St. Peter’s Anglican Church near the seashore.
Of course, the pilgrimage was really an extension of our New Year’s Day Extravaganza. Suja described it as, “doing our rounds.” We began at 6 a.m. meditating at the Sri Aurobindo Ashram in downtown Bangalore, followed by meditation at the Sikh temple, the Gurudwara; followed by Mass and candle lighting for the New Year at St. Mary’s; and lastly, pujas with one of our cooks, Lalita, at a majestic Hindu temple. In all places, we lifted up the world’s families, asking for the end of misery. “May all sentient beings be happy,” we asked, in the words of Buddha.
At Gangaram, a young Sri Lankan Buddhist priest took us into the temple’s private museum, where hundreds and hundreds of precious gifts from all over the world are displayed in dark wood and glass cases. Buddhas from Korea, Malaysia, Thailand, the Philippines, Japan and beyond stared back at us, with varying expressions of disinterest and loving-kindness. I thought about the artists who carved, painted or sculpted such tributes. “All of these were made with love, Suja,” I said. “Only love causes one to create such work.”
Our young priest also gifted us with multi-colored bracelets of blessed thread, which he tied on our right wrists. We received additional blessings from him, and simply by being allowed to meditate on the holy grounds.
For the Kelaniya temple, we bought purple lotus flowers to offer and a large plate of mixed fruits and nuts. Cashews are one of the country’s premiere crops. The custom of putting these gifts at the alter is not hard to understand. What is different than Western customs is that after the prayer time, we were expected to take our platters and walk about the temple, offering the foods to strangers. Suja said her personal prayer has always been, “May no one go hungry in my presence.”Photo caption: Receiving blessing from the priest at Kelaniya Temple in Sri Lanka, January 2008As her tenant for two winters running now, I can assure you, hunger is no visitor in her home!
Another Buddhist custom is to ceremoniously water the Bodhi tree. Buddha’s story begins with him sitting under the Bodhi tree, and declaring he wouldn’t get up until he figured out the meaning of life and how to be happy. A friend mentioned how close Buddha’s 39 days of waiting for enlightenment under the tree are to Jesus’ 40 days in the desert.
Bodhi trees are a big part of all temple grounds; devotees are invited to fill steel or plastic pots with water and thoughtful walk around the tree, splashing water upon the trunk. Watching the young and old carry out this task with such earnest joy was my privilege.
We both found our silent meditations in the temples extraordinarily easy. The cool marble floors held us securely, and the past echoes of other meditators seemed to keep us upright yet grounded. Though I have learned to not be attached to the quality of any meditation, I will remember these as among the deepest and most restful, to date.
Bookstore Gentleman Beggar
Both book addicts, Suja and I were excited about perusing the shelves of the temple bookshop in Kelaniya. Directly to the right of the threshold, a gray haired man with a bandaged right leg sat, propped against the building. So dignified yet friendly, he didn’t initially appear to be begging. His approach was not the standard one we see on the streets of India and Sri Lanka, where an infirmed person points to their trouble or pantomimes the need to eat and stares painfully into your eyes. He simply sat and briefly looked at us.
As the doormen, waiters and soldiers became my son, I easily greeted this gentleman as my father. Who else could he be? I first gave him a modest contribution, and went back into the book shop. Suja did the same. But standing at the shelves, a feast of affordable Buddhist literature, (I bought Buddha’s most famous work, the Dhammapada, with a full commentary and translation for $4 usd) I could think of nothing but the intense wish to go back out and give more to my father. We had a package of cashews with us for a mid afternoon snack; we both consider this nut one of the greatest of earth’s creations.
I put more money and the cashews in the gentleman’s hands. He nodded. I swelled with love and dodged back inside to hide in the dispassionate presence of books.
Finishing our transactions, Suja and I stepped back outside, and she again, gave the gentleman some cash. I looked at him and felt we had known one another forever, and loved each other in that knowledge.
Buddha calls such donations Dana, the Pali (ancient language) word for the practice of generosity. Generosity in itself has a transformative power, as it allows us to both let go and give away at the same time. Free of our wanting and craving, free of our sense of mine and my, we experience layers of joy within one generous act. I felt joy knowing I wanted to give the cashews. I felt joy giving the cashews. I still feel joy writing about giving the cashews.
Dana is the first of the 10 qualities of an awakened mind, according to the Buddha. I think the Buddha may well have become an accountant if he hadn’t become the Enlightened One, as he has so many numbered teachings: the eight fold path, the four noble truths, the four necessaries, the three modes of discipline, the three moral roots, the three immoral roots, the ten kinds of evil, the ten meritorious deeds and more.
Our last stop within the temple grounds was before the giant white stupa, the familiar domelike building with a pointed, steeple-like top associated with Buddhist shrines. I saw the stupa point to the brilliant blue sky, thin clouds crossing, and recalled another line from the Buddha, also mentioned in Salzberg’s book: “A mind filled with love can be likened to the sky with a variety of clouds moving through hit---some light and fluffy, others ominous and threatening. No matter what the situation, the sky is not affected by the clouds. It is free.”
Over and over, Sri Lanka was teaching me about this freedom. My life, all of it, is my own making. I am the architect of this house. I choose to be attached to some belief that later causes me pain because it doesn’t pan out. I choose to share in the lives of those I am near at this moment, rather than yearn for my companions on the other side of the world.
(Ironically, on our third day in the city, a Sri Lankan native who managed our hotel restaurant confided that the Buddha had, in fact, never come to this country. But it was good for tourism to promote this myth, he added. Fortunately, we weren’t attached to needing this truth to enjoy our visit.)
From the moment we entered our third class train in Chennai, and found our seats right next to the stinking toilet, we had choices to make. We chose laughing, and stuffed wet wipes in our nostrils, sleeping solidly for 6.5 hours. There was the situation, and then there was what we brought to it. The situation in itself had no power, we infused it with power.
(Seated next to the toilet on our flight to Sri Lanka and our train back to Bangalore, we laughed even more. Each time we were seated by a toilet, I would ask Suja, “Are we enlightened yet?” Thurmond has pointed out I have a proclivity for toilet closeness. My little trailer in Florida is across the road from the treatment plant. And my tent in the Sivananda ashram in 2004 in Neyyer Dam, India, was next to the composting toilets.)
If you can’t laugh when difficulties arise, one way to respond to them is to imagine how the Earth handles changes and calamities. It observes, it remains, it is accustomed to change. It bears all without emotion. Just like the sky, unchanged by clouds.
What Do I Really Need, Anyway?
Beyond seeing my role as chooser, I see the distinction of wanting something outside myself is an alienating act in and of itself. What do I really need, anyway?
Our first morning in Colombo, crossing a major intersection in the city and obviously looking confused, we were approached by a kind young man who inquired if we needed help. One word led to another, and we were soon traversing the city to a jeweler he knew was having a sale! Without mentioning jewelry, it was being mentioned to me.
A hour or so later, I walked out of Traditional Gem Mine, Ltd, wearing pale blue natural topaz earrings. Jeweler Ramahan spoke with me and we talked about meditation. He was interested. I shared what I knew and told him it would help with his overeating and tension. He pledged to begin his practice. He said, “I am no longer approaching this as a sale. I want to have you wear something that is just for you.” He looked into my eyes, and we smiled. Walking over to a drawer, he pulled out the earrings. “These are pure, clear and peaceful. These go with your eyes and with you. This is what I want you to wear.” Suja inspected and declared they were good quality and a good price. I felt as if my husband had become the jeweler and gifted me with beautiful stones and sentiment.
The Buddha taught about the compassionate heart, the motivating principle of his life as dedication to the welfare and happiness of all beings, out of sympathy for all that lives. Salzberg brilliantly concludes, “Out of this arises a sense of purpose, a sense of meaning so strong in our lives that no matter what the circumstances, no matter what the situation, our goal or our greatest desire at any moment is to express genuine love.” In Buddhist or Pali terms, that expression of genuine loving-kindness is called Metta.
Blessed with my gems, the bigger gift of the day was blending into the lives of supposed strangers, expressing and experiencing genuine love. In Sri Lanka, I chose to end the distinction of stranger. It no longer makes sense. Like craving and aversion, the separation of stranger is a self-created force, destined to bring me sorrow. Buddha teaches that craving and aversion come from ignorance, and ignorance is the root cause of all of our problems, our defilements. “Delight in the destruction of craving,” he preached. “Self conquest is the best of all conquests. Attain purity by eradicating craving. Purify yourself gradually.”
All of this change is achieved through practicing equanimity, that balance that Vipassana meditation teaches (see my essay on Impermanence). Meditation teaches us to be in the present, realizing that the past and future are our own inventions. Both are simply present moments. That is all we have and it is plenty. We learn to see without judgment or expectation, but with clarity and compassion. Anger is no longer generated. Nor is loneliness. Every point and every moment is now home. As Buddha said, “They abide in peace who do not abide anywhere.”
Leaving the jewelry shop, our young host shared his worries, as both his parents had died of diabetes. I again spoke of yoga, meditation and the need to reduce white rice consumption. (Studies have shown excess rice is converted to glucose and results in higher rates of diabetes in this part of the world. All Basmati long grain brown rice is exported and it is not possible to buy any in India, I’ve tried.) He called us his Indian and American mothers. We knew he would get a commission from bringing us to the shop, and we were thrilled. Yes, we had yet another son and he was successful.
We Miss Kandy Temple
Driving back from Kelaniya, Suja and I were quiet.
We had listened to elderly women, dressed in white, a sign of purity, chant from their worn prayer books. We had seen young mothers teaching their tiny children how to water the Bodhi tree. We had watched our taxi driver lovingly distribute the fruit platter to others. We had looked into the eyes of Buddha statues, paintings and carvings.
After lunch and a rest, we ventured out for one of the fanciest five star hotels in the city. Our modest hotel lacked the grandeur of the Cinnamon Hotel, the Taj and the Hilton. So, we would auto rickshaw to these majestic buildings at the end of each day, with our bag of books, plonk down (Suja’s verb) on one of the marvelous giant couches and order a pot of tea with extra pot of water and heated milk. Drinking tea in this land of tea with our books and temple memories was the height of contentment.
When a live jazz quartet from Germany played, we were over the moon. No one else was in the lobby! The concert was for us alone. During the week, we also were treated to marvelous piano and two bands singing golden American oldies. We gratefully embraced these moments, not craving, just appreciating.
Tapping and wiggling in our cushy seats to the German jazzmen, a truth crossed my mind.
Returning from Kelaniya temple, I told Suja I didn’t need to go to Kandy temple the next day. “It is an eight hour drive and I don’t need to see another temple. I get it now. I get what Buddha was teaching. I don’t need anymore evidence.”
Beyond expressing her great relief at not having to make the grueling trip she asked, “When did you decide this? Why?” I couldn’t give her an exact answer.
Suddenly, during one of the livelier jazz numbers, I could.
“It was the moment the man smiled, when I placed the cashews in his hands,” I wrote on a note I passed her. “I knew I needed no more temples.”
Bethany Knight
Bangalore, India
January 11, 2008
This pilgrimage was dedicated to Buddhist friend Janice Tait, who we hope will travel with us on our next spiritual journey.
For further reading:
Salzberg, Sharon, Loving-kindess: the Revolutionary Art of Happiness, Shambala, Boston, 2002
Rosenberg, Larry, Living in the Light of Death, Shambala, Boston, 2001
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