Rugged Interdependency - Amaravati Buddhist Monastery
Rugged Interdependency - Amaravati Buddhist Monastery Rugged Interdependency - Amaravati Buddhist Monastery
Golden Highways Revisited: 1998ering reveals a few familiar faces from the Chicago retreat and many more fromRichard’s evening sessions. We set the stage and speak of the attitude of learning– the model of the mind’s own nature as pure, infinite and bright and, like into CSLewis’ Wardrobe: the further in you go, the bigger it gets.Warm summer night – it’s 10:00ish by the time we close but the dusk light isstill in the gloaming, soon it will be midsummer.June 20 th – 22 ndSitting in the departure lounge at Washington Dulles airport, the steam of a midsummerafternoon and the haze of thunderstorms has filtered in here, regardlessof the “passengers only” rulings. At my back the clear English accents of the stewardessesexchange their news and pass away the mounting minutes before takeoff.The air burbles and clings to the skin like peach-juice.All the contacts with the Michiganders have faded – only Sulipon and hermother came by this morning and Richard had been busy tidying up his variousstray lines of business. On our way back from the retreat at Ortonville, as we speddown the summer highway towards a temptingly empty collection of hours, hehad casually mentioned that Barbara Brodski and John Orr (the former BhikkhuPiyavanno) had also just finished a retreat in the area and (along with 20 or so oftheir closest students) they would be at Barbara’s house that evening in Ann Arborand would be very pleased if I were able to drop by...“The odds are slim and getting slimmer by the minute,” I replied – my energylevels and capacity for one more thing having been reduced to zero or very closeto it.The last hours of the retreat had flowed by easily. These days were the firstreal heat of summer and had held the broad lawns, the rush-bordered lake andthe graceful silver birches in a grip like that of curling tongs. Even at 9:00 p.m.,when the sun was dipping at last to the horizon and we emerged from the eveningsession, the air was still close and steamy. Geese grazed in the falling light by thelake and a few folks carried on with some walking meditation as the color finallydisappeared from the day.I had talked that evening on Milarepa (who was on a Thangka above the shrine,observing the Ten Commandments, also affixed to the wall), on listening and thepossibilities of practice as a layperson. Simultaneously I was working my waythrough Breakdown– a novel by the painter John Bratby, recommended by Richard– which was a riot of color from the late ’50s but, as a novel, about as coherent as ateddy boy rumble down at Flodden Road. It had the weakest ending of any book Ihave read in a long time but it made an interesting contrast to the manicured auraand order of the Henry Butzel Center and the Precepts and routine of the retreat.Sunday morning – the Solstice – the sun rose above the trees before 7:00 a.m.and the air was still warm from the night before. Above the roof of the main building– through the white branches of the tallest of the birches – there hung a perfectfingernail moon and its accompanying morning star, poised a few feet to its left.96
Golden Highways Revisited: 1998We diminuendoed at 10:00 a.m. closing with some more stern encouragementson the Five Precepts. Once again the folks were wide-eyed at the concept of hiriottappa(moral sensitivity) as blessing rather than neurosis but, by now, they seemedto get the point. Judaeo-Christian conditioning always seems to incline the hearttoward identifying with the feelings of regret around harm that we have done ordishonesty that we have displayed. It inflames the feeling of “I am guilty and abad person” whereas hiriottappa manifests without any quality of “I” involved init at all. It’s still an emotionally painful feeling but it needs to be to do its job. Justas physical pain is nasty but by that protects the body, so too hiriottappa is painfulbut it protects the heart. It’s only when the ego hijacks it and takes it over that ittransmutes into a neurotic guilt fixation.Glenn, Sandra (this day was also her birthday) and others all plugged noblyfor a repeat next year – to every one of these the reply was given: “The future isuncertain.”June 23 rdThe night flight passed easily and sleeplessly – washed down with The Apostle,The Man in the Iron Mask and an absurd comedy about an anthropologist in NewGuinea. As the last movie drew to its close we tilted for landing and pulled up tothe terminal in a chill and grey, rainy English summer morn. Welcome home.Zipping though the arrivals, a fellow called Ray from Amaravati steppedforward to say hello and carry me off, along a mobile but depressing M25 – everythingis very green but the skies are heavy and ready to deliver more of theirmoisture very soon.We pull into Amaravati to be met by Ajahn Attapemo and the sight of the newcloister walls – the whole of the courtyard has now been given over to the creationof the Temple and its attendant structures and today they are pegging out, andstarting the digging, on the Abbot’s kutī by the lily pond.Stepping into the sālā, Ajahns Vipassi, Akiñcano and Upekkhā are clusteredin a post-gruel chat together; at the other end Luang Por Sumedho is ensconcedwith some new visitors. Now we are really home again! The scene of hundredsof days of meeting and greeting and talking in such ways – with dear friends andDhamma-farers – comes back with a sweet aftertaste. I sit down and join them as ifno time had passed. An hour goes by in their company, then with Luang Por andthen and then … I don’t make it out of the sālā until 2:00 p.m., when I beg relieffrom the latest round of well-wishers and news bearers. I snooze deeply for anhour and then go to Luang Por’s caravan for another chat at 3:00. Patimokkha recitationat 4:00 in the Temple – fluidly rendered by Tan Jutindharo (thankfully theyweren’t depending on me to do it) and then the evening flowed on to the pūjā anda talk from Luang Por Sumedho.It’s a small crew of bhikkhus these days (Ajahns Viradhammo and Kusalo wereaway) but all seems very harmonious. By the time we got to the Dhamma talk,however, it was so harmonious I almost merged with the furniture – delerium was97
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Golden Highways Revisited: 1998ering reveals a few familiar faces from the Chicago retreat and many more fromRichard’s evening sessions. We set the stage and speak of the attitude of learning– the model of the mind’s own nature as pure, infinite and bright and, like into CSLewis’ Wardrobe: the further in you go, the bigger it gets.Warm summer night – it’s 10:00ish by the time we close but the dusk light isstill in the gloaming, soon it will be midsummer.June 20 th – 22 ndSitting in the departure lounge at Washington Dulles airport, the steam of a midsummerafternoon and the haze of thunderstorms has filtered in here, regardlessof the “passengers only” rulings. At my back the clear English accents of the stewardessesexchange their news and pass away the mounting minutes before takeoff.The air burbles and clings to the skin like peach-juice.All the contacts with the Michiganders have faded – only Sulipon and hermother came by this morning and Richard had been busy tidying up his variousstray lines of business. On our way back from the retreat at Ortonville, as we speddown the summer highway towards a temptingly empty collection of hours, hehad casually mentioned that Barbara Brodski and John Orr (the former BhikkhuPiyavanno) had also just finished a retreat in the area and (along with 20 or so oftheir closest students) they would be at Barbara’s house that evening in Ann Arborand would be very pleased if I were able to drop by...“The odds are slim and getting slimmer by the minute,” I replied – my energylevels and capacity for one more thing having been reduced to zero or very closeto it.The last hours of the retreat had flowed by easily. These days were the firstreal heat of summer and had held the broad lawns, the rush-bordered lake andthe graceful silver birches in a grip like that of curling tongs. Even at 9:00 p.m.,when the sun was dipping at last to the horizon and we emerged from the eveningsession, the air was still close and steamy. Geese grazed in the falling light by thelake and a few folks carried on with some walking meditation as the color finallydisappeared from the day.I had talked that evening on Milarepa (who was on a Thangka above the shrine,observing the Ten Commandments, also affixed to the wall), on listening and thepossibilities of practice as a layperson. Simultaneously I was working my waythrough Breakdown– a novel by the painter John Bratby, recommended by Richard– which was a riot of color from the late ’50s but, as a novel, about as coherent as ateddy boy rumble down at Flodden Road. It had the weakest ending of any book Ihave read in a long time but it made an interesting contrast to the manicured auraand order of the Henry Butzel Center and the Precepts and routine of the retreat.Sunday morning – the Solstice – the sun rose above the trees before 7:00 a.m.and the air was still warm from the night before. Above the roof of the main building– through the white branches of the tallest of the birches – there hung a perfectfingernail moon and its accompanying morning star, poised a few feet to its left.96