Buddhist temple

	Tum, tum came a thundering sound piercing the air as it woke me up. 

I slowly put my yellow robe on and walked out to the main temple where
the sound came from. It was still dark outside. A chilly wind rubbed my face
and my right bare shoulder. Hardly anything was moving besides me and
those dangling leaves of the Boddhi trees near my abode. Everything seemed
to be quiet waiting for a dawn to creep in.

	At the temple, in front of the big Buddha statue, an elder monk
lit a row of candles and incenses. Then he led all the monks to pray in
praise of Buddha. Rhythmic sounds flowed to every inch of the temple. I
hardly understood a word for they are in Pali - a language only Buddhist
scholars can understand. Anyway, they were sweet to my ears. Sometimes my
eyes became fixed on the flickering flames of the candles while my nose
caught a pleasant scent of incenses...

	As a boy, I liked to come to the temple either with my parents or
by myself to play soccer. Life in those early days was easy - maybe
because I was just a boy and didn't know anything about the world, or
maybe because my parents were wealthy enough that we could afford nearly
anything. The temple was just a few blocks from my house so I could go
there whenever I felt like playing soccer, even though my ball usually
rolled down the river which ran beside the grounds of the temple. I
didn't care; I had a lot of balls, and it was not hard to find someone to
play with. All my neighborhood kids liked to play soccer anytime,
anywhere - even in the street. We were told not to play at the temple for
it might hit a monk. If that happened, our parents would feel guilty all
their lives for not stopping their offspring from harming the sacred
person. We, children, tried our best not to kick the ball whenever a monk
was around. We were respectful of him too, for we knew our chance of
playing at the temple again depended on him. So as long as anything awful
didn't happen, we just fooled around there.

	People liked to come to the temple too, but for a variety of
purposes. Some came because they wanted to get a lucky number in the
coming lottery. They would bring milk, coffee even money to their
preferred monk. They always said if they won big this time, they would
build a new temple, or anything the monk would like to have. These people
kept coming every day before the lottery day, even though few of them had
ever won even a small amount of money. They seemed to live in their dream
rather than in reality. Some came because the temple was such a quiet
place (when we weren't around) that they could take a sound nap under the
Boddhi tree. Some came because by talking to the monks, their worries and
anxieties seemed to go away. In fact, these monks were simple folks; most
of them were farmers' sons. They wanted to go to school, but couldn't
afford it; so they became monks to get some education. In my country,
Laos, besides school, the temple is the center of learning. By being a
monk, one can learn to read, write and do arithmetic. That's good enough
to help one become literate and to be a good citizen in society.

	When I became of age, I rarely went to the temple. School taught
me everything that I needed. I knew science, math, philosophy, literature
and politics. I thought I was sophisticated enough. Why should I learn
from those semi-educated monks? Any scholars who learned from the monks
must be crazy. I could say that to anyone except one person - my father.
It might be better if I tell you a little bit about my father. He
received a good education in France, but he wasn't like his fellow
scholars who always looked down on their own people. He once said we were
all wearing masks. Why should we act as if we were different from other
people? My tongue itched to answer back: Aren't we different?
Intellectually, some are smart; some are quite stupid. Economically, some
are wealthy; some are wretched. But I couldn't say a word. His conviction
never failed him.

	A couple of years ago, I had a chance to understand what he
meant, but it was too late; he had already passed away. By responding to
his last wish, I ordained to be a Buddhist monk. The temple was still the
same old one, but time had left its mark on every piece of wood, on every
stone, and even on the dust which covered the walls, the roof and the
pathways. Strolling around in a yellow robe, I saw the tree that I had
kicked the ball against in a different way. It was not just a thing - a
tree, but a part of us. See, it had grown old, its leaves were falling.
Soon, it would decay like my father.

	We think we are special. We have the privilege to destroy
anything that's in our way in the name of progress or just for our
pleasure. We don't seem to know that while we destroy nature we gradually
destroy ourselves. Before, many birds had built their nests in this tree;
now only a few were left. You could hardly hear its singing at all. By
the far end of the temple, the river was flowing as usual. Sometimes, its
surface reflected the twinkling light of the sun. It was like a
sparkling diamond floating on the top of a big transparent canvas. From
the shore, I could recount my innumerable lost balls. They were gone like
the current.

	We might say this is the same river we used to see. In fact, it's
not. What we see is just an illusion of the way we want the world to be.
Our mind is like a river; when it is undisturbed, we can see its bottom.
That's the essence of life - to see the world as it is, not with its
cover on. We should be like a fish which just swims, feeds itself and
lives its life. It doesn't want nice clothes to put on, it doesn't store
its prey waiting for other needy fish to come along and be its slave. It
doesn't have ethics, morality; it doesn't learn philosophy, psychology;
and it doesn't need technology. But it does live a happy life, and in
harmony with nature as well.

	I think we are conditioned by the tradition, the way of thinking
that we take everything for granted. This gradually compounds until at
last we hardly know who we are, and why we live the way we do. We should
not just indulge ourselves. There are many things to learn. Socrates said
"The unexamined life is not worth living." I got the impression that if
we just take some time off to see ourselves, we might see something
deeper - something that completely changes our point of view and our mode
of life as well.

	I was at the temple for a month living a simple life. My two
meals a day, one in the early morning and the other at noon, consisted
mostly of cereal and vegetables. They had no taste, but they kept me
alive. That's good enough. We should not live to be a slave of taste,
smell, sound, sight and touch, but to gain wisdom and to know ourselves
(monks don't have an evening meal because Buddha wants them to utilize
least food, to have more time to study and to know how people feel when
they have nothing to eat). Being a monk helped me to notice people from
all walks of life deep down to the core, especially during the Buddhist
festivals. They came in groups, dressing up from head to toe. They were
government officials, businessmen, officers, teachers, farmers and
workers. Each one was distinctive by the way he acted, talked, walked,
stood and even smiled. By an instant rush of mind, we conclude that they
they are all different. The government official liked to speak with a
commanding voice while his eyes looked straight into the eyes of his
listeners (farmers and workers), forcing them to realize that they were
inferior. They would keep their arms folded, their legs closed tight and
their heads bowed down most of the time. Eventually, the government
official consciously or unconsciously thinks he is the mask he wears.
Little does he realize that his mask is just a way of deceiving himself.
One day, he might think he won't have to die at all.

	At another side of the temple, my eyes rested pensively on the
endless gray graveyards. Their owners were once like us. Relentlessly,
they went after their ambitions, their creed and their greed. If they
were still alive, I wonder what they would think of their past actions.
Would they live the way they were? Or would they have a different life?
My father said that he was happy, he didn't live a greedy life. He is
like the sun that is setting; before the dark approaches, we can see how
beautiful the twilight is.

	The flames of the candles still mixed with smoke of the incenses.
At the horizon, the sun just began to emerge. Birds were singing a
melodious song along with the pleasant breeze. Sometimes, leaves were
falling down. Tum, tum the drums were ringing again reminding me of
Buddha's words:

Cease to do evil,
learn to do good
and purify your own mind

as I stood up and went back to where I came from...

Hakphaang,
Kongkeo Saycocie

The river of life

When the sun is about to

I always dream