Changing winds

While I suppose all climates are influenced by wind, the consequences on northern Taiwan of air currents sailing in from the Pacific versus down from Mongolia or more distant Siberia is rather dramatic. Those initial days after my arrival were enveloped in bone chilling temperature and winds which were not flowing in from the Pacific. Apparently the extreme cold temperatures of recent weeks have devastated the fisheries with massive die offs in the Penghu islands, an archipelago off Taiwan’s western coast. Evidently I communicated the quality of the temperatures here rather vividly in my previous post. Several friends responded by email with words ranging from subtle suggestion to directive command to go out and buy some more clothes! By that first weekend the winds had already changed. Over the past week the temperatures have ranged from cool to balmy, the skies from blustery and torrential downpour, as is the case at this moment, to sunshine with puffy cumulous clouds.

As a somewhat obscure but perhaps entertaining aside related to weather, I’m going to include a recent delightful email interchange with staff at Wunderground (or Weather Underground), a website I consult regularly for forecasting. Glean from the exchange what you will about humanity’s persistence in this world and the power of articulating what you want.

RE: Wunderground’s lost personality?!‏

Hi there – I have been a faithful Wunderground visitor for years…am on an extended stretch of global travel and use your site to stay in touch with the skies back home and other places. Having just concluded a month of travel in India, I’ve surfaced to find the faces disappeared from your site…now it’s just like any other weather website…what about the puffy cheeked clouds and the smiling sun? What a disappointment.
amy

Dear Amy
Thank you for your loyal patronage – and I’m sorry we have disappointed you with the icon switch – I spoke with our development team and very soon we are introducing an option where you can choose your icon set – so you can have your puffy cheeked clouds and smiling sun back. I’ll let you know when that is up and running…….
Thank you for your feedback – we aim to please everyone and rely on such feedback.
Kind regards.
Toby
www.wunderground.com

Toby – thanks so much for your response to my inquiry. Keep up the good work. I would like to think we live in a world multi faceted and technologically advanced enough to create room both for neutral and puffy cheeked cloud icons! I’ll look forward to the option if/when it comes.
amy

Dear Amy

Just to let you know that you can have your puffy cheeked icons back – if you are a paid member you can select your icon set by clicking on ‘members settings’ on the left hand bar – if you’re not a member then you just need to click ‘preferences’ on the left hand bar – and then select the ‘icons conditions’ option.
I hope the smiley faces brighten up your day again!

Best regards
Toby

Toby -

Thank you so much for restoring the personality of my Wunderground experience. Please share with the Wunderground staff that the puffy cheeked clouds and grinning sun have brought a renewed smile to my own face, regardless of the predictions.
be well and thanks so much for your response
amy

 

Miscellaneous Odds & Ends

During my stay with Nic’s family I was given the eldest Isaac’s room. The two boys slept in one room, Nic, Melanie & the girls in another. They told me several times that it was no imposition to have me and Isaac didn’t make a single disgruntled sound or gesture. I may be falsely interpreting, but even with this being a half American family, their relationship to space and privacy seems indicative of the more porous sense of private space I have found in Asia.

On two occasions since arriving in Taipei after being introduced as a Zhongyi, Chinese doctor, the Taiwanese friend to whom I’ve been introduced has promptly held out their forearm, with the expectation I take their pulse, and begun telling me about the, in both cases, protracted respiratory problems they’ve been having. For those unfamiliar with Chinese medicine, the pulse is one of our diagnostic tools, thus the presentation of the wrist. The second of these two encounters was a woman who had never even been to a Chinese doctor in her native Taiwan. There seemed some allure to the anomaly of this white skinned Chinese doctor. She explained she had been taking western cold/cough medicine for 2 months, antibiotics for the last 4 week. I suggested that Chinese herbal medicine would be very beneficial and as I didn’t have access to a full pharmacy here that I could find the name of a good local doctor. She parroted the words I associate with Republic of China (ROC) propaganda I heard on a variety of occasions during the three week mainland visit I made with our school for clinical observation in 2006, ‘Chinese medicine is slow, Western medicine is fast, ‘ to which I responded, ‘you’ve been taking western medicine for 2 months and you’re still sick?!’ Ann, Nic’s sister in law, was able to provide the name of a local doctor which I passed along. Ann and I mused about the seeming backwardness of my promoting Chinese medicine in Taiwan.

On one of my final days with Nic and his family, several of us walked a well traveled trail of alternating dirt and shallow stone steps from their small town Shanzhihou down through the verdant forested hills to Tianmu. Nic has seen monkeys on an early morning walk along the trail. I imagine during spring and summer the cicadas must be deafening. As it was the first glimpse of sun and mild temperature in weeks, the path was filled with people, particularly elders out taking advantage of the day. Perhaps three quarters of the way down we encountered a little resting place, some benches, a vendor selling oranges, another with some sweets, and an elderly man with a display of free books about Buddhism.

My last few days in that household were characterized by emotional warmth and vibrancy of the familial revolving door with Melanie’s parents back from 3 weeks in the US, and the 3^rd sister Ruth returned from a business trip. There were large shared meals in and out of the home, toasts for the New Year, kind words extended to me as a new member of the family and an open invitation to visit breakfast, lunch and dinner throughout the remainder of my stay in this country.

***

Snow & Charlie’s home is in the opposite direction of the small commercial area of Shanzhihou from Nic & Melanie’s, about a 20 minutes walk. The bus stop, grocery store and cluster of restaurants advertising stir fried lamb meat and noodles additionally includes a 7-eleven & McDonalds to lend some texture to whatever image you might have of this forested mountain. Snow & Charlie’s home is delightfully situated at the end of a small lane of houses with only trees beyond. The room where I sleep, that of their daughter Alice currently in her first year at Carleton College, is on the back side of the house, nestled closely against another house. While the winds persist into the night, there is no other sound. There is no street noise. I have slept deeper and more restfully since my arrival here than I recall in months.

Their front of their home faces north looking out to Xinan, or New Peace Valley, where homes are not too densely nestled amongst a sea of green forest. Although I’ve seen it only once, on a clear day Qixingshan is visible, it being the tallest or second tallest peak in the Yangmingshan area. While situated in a small ‘village’ of 30 or so homes, a minute’s walk down the hill and around the corner leads to a one lane-ish paved road which weaves up the hill, forest on either side. I can identify only bamboo, elephant grass, and some extraordinary tree sized prehistoric looking ferns similar to those I’ve seen in Australia’s subtropics. I have gone out for a run or walk most days.

Higher up the hill some of the forest has been cleared for housing developments, massive retaining walls line the street. In this area as well as during my few sojourns into the city I have been extremely unimpressed by the architectural texture. While there are rather opulent and more creatively designed homes in the Tianmu area, most homes here on the mountain are one and two story flat roofed box like structures. Apartment buildings are only garish enlargements of the same theme. While some structures are constructed of more traditional brick, dull and pragmatic raw cement constitute the lion’s share. Snow explained that most homes were built of brick with tiled roofs prior to cement’s introduction to Taiwan perhaps 30 years ago. However, with the forces of wind and rain here, tile roofs simply can’t compete with the functionality of cement and in some cases corrugated iron. I imagine the roofs must have extraordinary drainage systems considering the rainfall. A typhoon some years ago dumped close to a meter of rain here within three days.

***

Lantern Festival

The 15th day of the 1st lunar month is the Chinese Lantern Festival. According to the Chinese tradition, at the very beginning of a new year, when there is a bright full moon hanging in the sky, there should be thousands of colorful lanterns hung out for people to appreciate.

Origin

There are many different beliefs about the origin of the Lantern Festival…all related to religious worship.
One legend tells us that it was a time to worship Taiyi, the God of Heaven in ancient times. The belief was that the God of Heaven controlled the destiny of the human world. He had sixteen dragons at his beck and call and he decided when to inflict drought, storms, famine or pestilence upon human beings. Beginning with Qinshihuang, the first emperor to unite the country, all subsequent emperors ordered splendid ceremonies each year. The emperor would ask Taiyi to bring favorable weather and good health to him and his people. Emperor Wudi of the Han Dynasty directed special attention to this event. In 104 BC, he proclaimed it one of the most important celebrations and the ceremony would last throughout the night.

Another legend associates the Lantern Festival with Taoism. Tianguan is the Taoist god responsible for good fortune. His birthday falls on the 15th day of the first lunar month. It is said that Tianguan likes all types of entertainment. So followers prepare various kinds of activities during which they pray for good fortune.

The third story, Buddhism first entered China during the reign of Emperor Mingdi of the Eastern Han Dynasty. That was in the first century. However, it did not exert any great influence among the Chinese people. One day, Emperor Mingdi had a dream about a gold man in his palace. At the very moment when he was about to ask the mysterious figure who he was, the gold man suddenly rose to the sky and disappeared in the west. The next day, Emperor Mingdi sent a scholar to India on a pilgrimage to locate Buddhist scriptures. After joumeying thousands of miles, the scholar finally returned with the scriptures. Emperor Mingdi ordered that a temple be built to house a statue of Buddha and serve as a repository for the scriptures. Followers believe that the power of Buddha can dispel darkness. So Emperor Mingdi ordered his subjects to display lighted lanterns during what was to become the Lantern Festival.

http://www.chinavoc.com/festivals/lantern.htm

My one foray into the city this week was to view the Lantern festival exhibition. I took the bus and subway into the Chang Kai Shek memorial where Snow explained there would be hundreds of lanterns. I emerged from the subway to find Taipei’s equivalent of a Tiananmen Square utterly vacant but for a few people purposefully walking across the space in the waning light. It was beautifully clear night. I wandered around the perimeter, then approached the memorial structure itself where I found two security guards,

“Ni hui shuo yin wen ma?” Do you speak English?
“Bu hui.” no. ‘
“hmm”…PDA dictionary consult, “deng long you mei you? zai na li?” lanterns, there aren’t any? where are they?
“Ahhh! deng long, deng long, mei you.”

This was followed by a long stream of Mandarin out of which I plucked enough to grasp that the lanterns were not there but rather at the Sun Yat Sen memorial where I could travel by subway. So back I went and a smooth transfer and two subway lines later I emerged to see a big sign in Mandarin & English TAIPEI LANTERN FESTIVAL.

Suspended orange lanterns lined the street leading to one of the open air exhibition’s multiple entries. It was a bit like walking into the Disney Land light parade, although that memory is of a good 25 year vintage and questionably accurate. I arrived to find the sides of a broad pedestrian area lined with illuminated float like scenes appropriately honoring the zodiac animal of the year, the mouse. I didn’t pay close enough attention to determine the material with which the ‘lanterns’ were made, although it must be something other than paper-maché considering they have to stand up to the elements. I simply ogled and reveled in being surrounded by illuminated larger than life sized inanimate mice singing, dancing, sailing in boats, playing instruments, my personal favorite a line of mice doing the dragon dance. Suspended above the walk way surrounding the main memorial building, a large imposing Chinese pagoda type structure, were individually hand painted lanterns, probably several hundred (round, square and tube shaped). They were decorated with river & mountain scenes, birds, flowers, fish, fruits, trees, sea animals, people. While the sophistication of painting varied rather widely, the collective effect was positively stunning and each was a precious work of art and intention in its own right.

One of the most striking elements of the experience was this very calm civility pervading the crowd, and it was a lot of people. There was some baseline sanctity. While a few individual vendors were selling little electric glow wands or toys that was it. No big marketing schtick, no grotesque food booths…just light…just hundreds of hand crafted illuminated figments of the imagination being witnessed and enjoyed by the people of this city. I wandered and wandered amongst them and finally wound my way to an alternate subway stop to make the trek home. 2 subways and a bus later I arrived at the Shanzhihou. I walked the 20 minutes or so along a road lined with bamboo rustling in the wind, the wind which I left behind when I descended from the mountain into the city. An almost the full moon lit my walk more elegantly than the street lamps, but the lights had their own function illuminating the twisting pattern of a misty rain whirling in the wind.

 

Come evening of the official Lantern festival, the day after I saw the exhibition, with a full and clear moon illuminating the sky, Nic and his children came over to join Snow, Charlie and me on their second floor balcony which faces out to the valley. For the 12 years they have lived here, there has been a Lantern Festival fireworks display put on by a number of families in the valley. A few plumes, not sure about terminology for fireworks, went up beginning just after 7pm. Fireworks were then sent up first from a location, assumedly a house, furthest up the valley. After 15-20 minutes there was a pause, during which we chatted and shared tea and Snow’s pumpkin pie after which time there was a clatter of low to the ground fireworks at the next house in line and it progressed like this serially for some 2 hours. Charlie and I mused about the cost and logistics considering the mammoth barges used often in large urban areas for such displays. My favorite element of the evening occurred after the conclusion of the third house’s show A dozen red lanterns emerged one by one. Lit down on the valley floor, each sailed up first to the east and then the winds carried them gracefully up the valley to the west until they disappeared out of site into the night sky. There was a grace to that visual gesture of sending light forth into the sky I found extremely beautiful.

***

Much of this week has been about settling on a rather profound level. Arriving here, the rest and peace of this place and the rhythm of study has helped me register my own level of fatigue, my hunger for constancy, and the complexity of emotions present as I look to a return to Seattle. I spoke to my folks today via Skype. They have a couple surrogate grand children spending the weekend with them who are soon moving to Ohio. I asked the one who was listening in how she felt about the move and she said clearly, “I’m excited and I’m scared.” And I told I feel the same way.

Since my arrival in Taiwan, I have been struck repeatedly by this quiet, humbled question…what did I do to merit all this? How can the fountain of generosity and good fortune continue to flow in my direction? I am grateful for the myriad karmic forces and the wisdom which directed me here. Is this quiet refuge the most optimal environment for complete language immersion? Not quite. However it will be enough, it will be valuable and there is a constellation of factors which make this an ideal and precious sanctuary for me at this moment as I mentally prepare to take off my traveling shoes and enter a very new chapter of life.

新年快乐 xīnnián kuàilè

Happy New Year of the Rat

In addition to the mantra this too is the pilgrimage, I’m going to add a subtitle; it’s all about contrast as this period of travel has been and continues to be characterized by profound dichotomy. My flights across SE Asia and the South China Sea were smooth & seamless. As I flew into Taipei, the orderliness of the world below was evident from the aerial view; the street lay out and lighting periodicity distinguished by a regular, linear quality in contrast to India’s pandemonium. On my way to the Calcutta airport I peered through dust coated windows, sitting upon bottomed out seats watching the world go by as detailed in the previous post. I exited Taipei customs to be greeted by my name on a hand written sign held by a driver prearranged by my host Nic, who I had never met. The driver motioned for me to put on something warmer before we left the terminal and then indicated for me to wait at the curb. Shortly thereafter he arrived in an unblemished, shiny, leather upholstered Mercedes. We sailed along pristine, organized, almost silken roads for close to an hour, long after dark, shortly before midnight, the highway exceedingly quiet, not a single horn. Eventually we wound our way up Yang Ming Shan, a forested mountain on the northern edge of Taipei.

Nic, along with his daughter Rachel (6) and niece Serena (8) were waiting up to greet me even at that late hour. He extended Sunday invitations to join their family at a New Year’s brunch followed by viewing the big New Year’s blockbuster CJ7. And so once again I have been graciously folded into the life of another family.

***

It is cold here, really quite cold low 50s down into the 30s. I was warned about this by a friend who, having lived here a number of years, implored me to go hang out on the Thai beaches rather than arrive in Taiwan in February. The mountains see even more severe weather with thick misty fog, blustery winds and colder temperatures. They have not seen the sun here in several weeks. Sounds like home. However, here few buildings have central heating and homes are warmed sparingly by space heaters which leaves a lot of space unheated. Having sent most of my winter clothes home, some after leaving Europe, some from Australia with Ewan, I am on the border of not having enough to stay warm…just on the border. And in the midst of it being cold, the mountains here are lush, verdant and stunningly beautiful.

My first morning here I found my way to the kitchen and met Janine, a Philippino woman who is the family’s live-in help. In chatting over several days I have since learned Janine has two daughters at home, ages 5 & 7 who live with her parents and husband, and whom she speaks with every day. She explained it is extremely difficult to find work which pays a living salary back home. Recently many professionals have reverted to this form of domestic or other work abroad in order to earn a reasonable income. She has been here about a year. Janine prepares all meals here and tends to most domestic tasks in the house. I have felt disoriented not able to engage and interact with my hosts as they prepared food, and further at a loss when I wasn’t allowed to assist in the preparation or the washing up.
Breakfast and that first morning were spent just being, absorbing, observing the movement here in this family. The Goulds live in a cluster of homes which were originally built for American military personnel. The extended family of Nic’s wife Melanie, parents, sister and brother in law, kids, all live in a house within this same compound of about 30 homes. Melanie’s parents are away for New Year’s, but even without them there is a regular revolving door of adults and kids which bring a vibrant warmth and vitality to the home. Serena & Rachel who greeted me that first evening are not only bright and articulate little human beings, but have a tender and beautiful sisterly rapport between them. Ann, Melanie’s sister, both of them Taiwanese, completed her Chinese medical training, intriguingly at a Californian school, after which she remained in the US practicing for several years. She is now in the process of preparing to take exams for the Taiwan certification. This entails epic levels of classic medical text & western medical memorization. One of my American teachers did all of his training in apprenticeship here in Taiwan and spoke of the grueling exam preparation.

Noonish my first day here we headed to Charlie & Snow’s for brunch (Charlie also American & Snow Taiwanese). They are lovely people. Their two grown children are now at college in the US. Snow learned about acupressure/channels etc, in the process of translating for a foreigner here studying acupuncture years ago. While she has some knowledge and an acute interest, her livelihood has been teaching English. After lunch we walked along the roads of this mountain, down a lengthy run of aged stone steps, slippery from the cold damp, some two solid weeks without reprieve. Further along the road we followed a small paved path leading up amongst the houses to one recently converted into a tea house by the artists who live there. It was stunningly adorned, a beautiful aesthetic throughout the small wooden house, evidently solid wood homes are rare. While not by western standards, there was a spacious feeling to the interior, natural lengths of wood left with their organic contours making up bar and one long table, a rather high ceiling, several metal sculptures elegantly poised throughout the place. It was utterly exquisite in location and feel and spirit. While open since July, they only discovered the tea house, maybe 20 minutes walk from their home, in this past month. We did not have time to stay but simply to have Charlie and Snow share their recent discovery with us.
They invited me back to their home for the Lantern Festival 10 days from now. Evidently there are three families which live in the valley below. Each family devotes an est. $30,000 on fireworks for which there is prime viewing from Snow & Charlie’s deck. They celebrate the festival by gathering friends at their home every year. I felt warmly welcomed and look forward to returning to their home.
We left their place and drove down off the mountain to an affluent ‘burrough’ of Taipei called Tianmu where a lot of ex-pats live. We entered a rather posh mall, movie theatre included where we saw the film CJ7, lighthearted & entertaining which while in Chinese had English subtitles, an unexpected pleasure. As we arrived rather early and the movie theatre lobby is a barrage of video games and other sensory stimulus, Melanie and I took the kids to the lower levels to let them tear through retails store aisles. My goodness by the looks of the retail establishments there appears to be a lot of expendable income here.

***

It is interesting to note things which initially seem familiar, but upon closer inspection have a distinct Taiwanese flare. For example cross walks. Here the crosswalk man leans forward as if into the wind, striding almost a hop to his fluid, kinesthetic body. The device counts down the time for you, and when it hits 10 remaining seconds, not only does the light flash, but the lithe little crosswalk man speeds up, like an animated cartoon character.

It has been such a delight to be back in a world in which Chinese medicine is such a part of the common parlance. Ann and I have had several lengthy discussions. She provides regular treatment to family members. My education and soon to be profession are a known entity here which require no introduction, explanation or justification as is often necessary when you speak of acupuncture or herbal medicine in the US. On one occasion here the evening meal was followed by a simple herbal soup ~ a lovely Lian Zi, Gou Qi Zi & Hong Zao tang. It’s just part of how things are done here.

On a completely separate note, but also in the realm of commonality, Melanie, Nic’s wife, began practicing Tibetan Buddhism several years ago and it seems to be an important part of her/their lives. They traveled with the children to visit her Rimpoche in India this winter. They have an elaborate shrine room here in the house where I meditate in the morning and are quite interested in the journey Cris and I just completed. While our practices may be very different in flavor and nature, there is a sense of resonant sensibility which I appreciate.

I don’t have many observations otherwise. I feel some of my time since arrival has been spent decompressing from India. And the majority of it has been spent here on the mountain, simply taking in the ins and outs of family life which are conducted, at times simultaneously, in English and Mandarin.

***

These recent days have been spent investigating the variety of language institutes in Taipei, initially via the internet and yesterday with visits to the three major schools in town. Additionally I have waded through websites with information about tutoring English and housing possibilities. It is an energy intensive process, even with the generous help of Nic and his family. I learned rather quickly about the limitations created by my March 19^th flight home. It happens to awkwardly sever the school term for all the programs I have looked into. I could have figured that one out if I had given it half a critical thought and some investigation before arrival. However, when scheduling that flight, it felt and continues to feel like a desirable and necessary opportunity for Ewan and I to share some time. There were also forces other than critical thought at work. Individual tutoring from one of these schools is the primary alternative way to study Chinese with my time here, although a costly one. Considering the information I now have, I could choose to either alter my flight or alter the undetermined nature of my horizon in Taiwan. At this threshold, I am leaning toward the latter. I know the internal resources I would need to muster in order to truly take advantage of all that is available here in terms of language and medical study. In being honest with myself, I don’t have the internal stamina, interest, or desire.

I am currently pursuing creative ways to maximize this focused period of time to include disciplined independent study, a home stay and some form of tutoring arrangement. I may be asking too much. I have been so graciously tended, even carried along this lengthy journey. We’ll see what the winds have in store for me.

***

This week has moved rather slowly. It has been exceedingly cold, even the Taiwanese have been queueing up to buy supplemental space heaters and there has been frost here in the mountains. Enhanced by sporadically driving wind and rain the cold seeps through window panes and cracks in the wall. My fingernails have been bluish grey much of the week.

Cris passed through Taipei for several days en route home and Nic and I went into the city to meet him. It was a positive delight to see a smile on Cris’ face, a spring in his step, and hear his positive reflections on our journey considering all the ups and downs. Nic took us to a couple different museums including one which memorializes the 228 Incident/Massacre (wiki has a reasonable synopsis), and a history museum which had the most beautiful and whimsical display of Czech puppets. What a contrast to my recent museum visits in Calcutta. The curation manifested a great deal of care, attention, and resources which are simply not present in the Indian subcontinent.

On another day I ventured down into the city to purchase a Chinese textbook and meet some folks for lunch. At this moment, I can articulate questions in Chinese like, “where is the bus for Jiantan?” However I am utterly clueless in deciphering the stream of Mandarin which flows in my direction in response. Combining my pinball technique of question reiteration and the rather universal gesture for that way I make my way.
Holy cows & mountains this is an ordered culture. I made my way down from Yangming shan by bus and subway, about a 40-45 minute journey. The subway is immaculate; cleaner than many of the surfaces upon which I have eaten in the past month. There are explicit and beautifully illustrated diagrams within the subway marking exits, landmarks, and where one will emerge on the street level. I was particularly enamored with the waste-less subway token system. One is issued a plastic coin for the value of the journey, swipes the coin (which emits I don’t want to know what electronic radiation) allowing entry, and upon exiting at the other end depositing the coin allows one to exit the subway. Hands down the most modern and innovative public transport ticketing I have encountered.

One of my colleagues back in the US, Michael who warned me not to come here in February, gave me the name of several foreign contacts here in the city. I made arrangements to meet Paola for lunch and arrived to find her accompanied by another of the contacts I had emailed before arrival, another Michael and his mother visiting from the Bay area. The four of us shared a lovely and relaxed lunch. Paola, British & Italian, practiced Chinese Medicine in England and spent several months in mainland China last year. Having left her practice she moved to Taiwan in November to study Chinese, beginning from scratch. Michael arrived in Taiwan 4 years ago, has studied Chinese medicine in the US and China, and is now married with a 2 month old baby. I felt very warmly welcomed, both of them eager to offer the insight they have into the process of settling.

***

I have continued contributing to this narrative since my arrival, and yet been reluctant to post this writing still unclear about how this next month will look. I like being able to wrap things up in tidy packages. It’s not always possible in life, in fact often isn’t, but my proclivity to do so remains.

In the process of investigating language schools I also looked at sign boards for language exchange and housing. Nic commented that we need to get me a cell phone pronto; a purchase I have avoided thus far in this life for a variety of reasons. Facing the suggestion of a cell phone and the prospect of a more in depth housing search actually elicited a mild nausea. I found myself rather deeply reflecting on how I really want to spend this time. While I am interested to explore the wonders of Taipei, I realized that I am more drawn to have this be a quiet and internal period…time for daily sitting, focused study, conversation getting my brain into Mandarin, simple life. Limiting it to those variables feels quite critical as I have decided my return to the NW March 19th will be a definitive one, for now. I’m tired of moving. I can say that plainly.

Having approached them with a proposal earlier in the week, Snow and Charlie, the folks in whose home I ate New Year’s lunch that first day after my arrival, have agreed to have me board in their home for the remainder of my stay in Taiwan. Snow will provide formal tutoring 5 days a week with informal conversation as presents itself in a way comfortable for us both. Snow and Charlie live in another village a bit further up the road, about 20-30 minute walk. I imagine making a journey off the mountain into the city once or even twice a week. And so the last month of this journey will be here amongst the wind, trees and people of Yang Ming Shan. After this interval, my toes slightly wet with this language & culture, I will return to the US to start the next chapter of my life.

Conclusion of the Pilgrimage

Not in Bodh Gaya anymore

We made our way slowly east from Bihar into the state of West Bengal, descending into a more sultry climate. After 10 hours in transit, we arrived via the Poorba Express train to Howrah station. The shunting crawl at which we traversed the suburbs of Calcutta illustrated how words like express are entirely contingent upon one’s geographic location. The increased comfort of the 2^nd class coach, relative to 3^rd, was further enchanced by the train being largely empty for the latter half of the journey.

After bargaining for the fare, we followed our taxi driver pausing as a traffic police guard halted the oncoming cars for pedestrian passing. One large TATA truck careened through the gesture. The police guard hollered and swiftly wielded a wooden baton shattering the passenger window. Rather wide eyed I instantaneously recalled my final morning rounds, only hours before, at the Mahabodhi temple.

We arrived in Calcutta without hotel reservations which made the entry more cumbersome than either of us anticipated. Our taxi inched its way from the train station to the Chowringhee area through ‘very traffic jam’ as our driver commented. We stopped at hotel after hotel to find them all fully booked. After a half dozen attempts, Cris elected a very upscale hotel where they could accommodate us for two nights after which we moved to a less opulent hotel geared toward Indian business men. And so after a broad range of lodging from humble temple rooms, to the dark, damp, cold night in Sonauli to the lovely garden courtyard in Varanasi we checked into the finest hotel I have ever stayed in. I felt like a bedraggled ruffian walking with my backpack through the lobby. While this threshold in my journey seems almost intrisically surreal, I believe the nature of our lodging those first days contributed to this quality.

***

I spent last autumn and early winter deliberating about my plans after graduating from school. February last year, day four of a week long meditation retreat, the itinerary for this quasi epic journey arose. There’s simply no other way to phrase it. It was like watching a map draw itself. After the retreat’s conclusion I tested the waters by sending emails to Belgium, Israel and Australia, knocking at the door of friends and family to see if there would be proverbial room at the inn. Each came back with a resounding YES! While the details evolved over the months, even more than anticipated with Ewan’s entry into my life, the nature, the marrow of the journey has not changed. Today, I board a plane for Taipei. Today, six countries and one essential leg of this voyage conclude. Since boarding the train in Bodh Gaya, those hours watching mile after mile of the Indian countryside slip by I have felt both a tremendous amount of internal movement along with a feeling of being suspended in time and space. As if in free fall, the world has been moving at an astonishing rate with a concurrent quality of complete stillness.

Over these recent days I have experienced a broad range of emotions of excitement and joy to fear and overwhelm. By blessed introduction from writer and translator Bill Porter (Red Pine), I have a place to arrive, an old friend of his who has lived in Taiwan a long while, and knows everybody. Originally I questioned the wisdom of accepting this offer as Nic and his wife live outside of Taipei some distance, up a mountain. At this moment, I am doing mental prostrations in both Bill and Nic’s direction for a safe haven to land while I find my sea legs in a very new place still in the process of digesting the many facets of my travels in India.

***

Calcutta

I will summarize my final days in India in a rather limited manner. A trip to the Indian museum stands out most vividly amongst the few sites visited. The museum houses an extensive collection of Buddhist sculpture, mostly dating from the 5^th to the 10^th century CE, and excavated from the places in which we had just traveled. For the first time I was introduced to Gandharan sculpture, a blend of Grecian and Indian influences. It was the first time I have seen a Buddha with Roman features. Additionally and what most stirred me amongst the collection was the Bharhut Stupa Gate. An entire room is dedicated to the railings and gate of a stupa dating from the 1^st and 2^nd century BCE. From the museum description, “Profusely carved in red sandstone depicting scenes from the Buddha’s pre-birth stories, floral and animal motifs; besides yakshas, yakshinis, and devatas, the Bharhut remains constitute visual store-house for the reconstruction of the political, social, economic and cultural history of India during the 2^nd-1^st centuries BCE.” Beautiful round symmetrical carvings, maybe 18” in diameter, constitute a large amount of the railing, from winding leaves to peacocks, elephants to flowers.

Over our final days, Cris and I shared reflections on the journey, our learning about each other, ourselves. Interestingly, folding in all the hiccups and challenges, particularly of the first week on the road, both Cris and I felt satisfied and fulfilled with the nature and flow of the trip. Neither of us was inclined to change much of anything, even the tough pieces. Were someone to inquire about doing a similar trip I would simply modify suggestions based on their interests, needs, threshold for discomfort and uncertainty.

It was all a part of the pilgrimage…every step. I believe it’s safe to say neither Cris nor I could have done this trip without the other. I am extremely grateful for his having created an opportunity for me which I may not have encountered or pursued otherwise in this lifetime. Through both our interactions and other aspects of the journey I have learned more about human communication, my own misconceived and potentially injurious expectations and critical nature. On this journey I experienced a very intimate discomfort with my own affluence and privilege. And particularly in Varanasi, I felt a strong aversion to being a voyeuristic tourist, or perceiving myself as one.

Ewan just sent me what feels like an extremely poignant passage from the end of Ryszard Kapuściński’s Travels with Herodotus, a book which played a pivotal role in catalyzing our relationship.

Herodotus learns about his worlds with the rapturous enthusiasm of a child. His most important discovery? That there are many worlds. And that each is different. Each is important. And that one must learn about them, because these other worlds, these other cultures, are mirrors in which we can see ourselves, thanks to which we understand ourselves better—for we cannot define our own identity until having confronted that of others, as comparison.

And that is why Herodotus, having made this discovery—that the cultures of others are a mirror in which we can examine ourselves in order to understand ourselves better—every morning, tirelessly, again and again, sets out on his journey.

It’s all part of the pilgrimage and it will continue to be so, every breath, every step of every day until the end of this life.

***

 Calcutta did not pause for breath
as I sat that last morning on the narrow
tawny window seat of a hotel designed
for businessmen, the breakfast menu
a short list of paratha, puri & vegetables.
Outside the streets have been hosed down.
Trucks must pass every morning
as the day before I looked out 
upon darkened asphalt and wondered
about rain, but there was no rain. 
Kerosene stoves ardently burn
producing the morning’s tea, strainers
already wet and heavy with leaf,
clinging milk skin, the scent of cardamom,
filling the gutter a growing pile of discarded
palm size terracotta cups, whole and broken.
Calcutta is awake and moving, moving
broad banana filled baskets and easy chairs
atop human heads, moving rebar and cement
in carts pushed by hand or pedaled by foot,
moving woman on motorcycles, side saddle,
vibrant saree silk flowing cape-like
mystically evading ensnarement
in the rear wheel spokes. 
And crows, as they do everywhere, are
perched upon telephone wires, heckling
the human world from their lofty post.

And it was through a taxi window en route to the airport that I registered my final visual blur of India* vibrant and decrepit TATA trucks {Cris informed me along the way, noting our TATA bagged tea in multiple locations, that the company has recently bought Jaguar and maybe Lamborgini?} * Saturday morning fish market lining the hosed down streets * carts piled with fresh cut sugar cane being pressed for its milky juice * a wide array of items being carried atop human heads ~ broad banana filled baskets, enormous non-descript white plastic bags, several plush easy chairs * bicycle rickshaws arranged as if spooning each other for a night’s rest, not yet awakened for a day’s work * as indication throughout this country of construction happening somewhere nearby piles and piles of brick * the otherwise relatively drab streets vibrantly accented with colorful flowing sarees and shiny foil packets of the herb/tobacco mixes which it seems every single taxi/tuk tuk/bicycle rickshaw driver chews * empty chicken cages {vacant due to recent avian flu scares} * marigold malas (lays) threaded and hung for ritual offering * legions of sunshine yellow taxi cabs * men in wrapped in short sarongs or underwear engaged in morning bathing at common tap stands along the street * a stretch of tarps rigged up at 90 degrees along a building wall, sheltering homeless families * more piles of brick * glass cases stacked with pyramids of milky Indian sweets * piles of garbage being shoveled one soggy shovelful at a time into an open bed truck * open pharmacies * signs for the Calcutta Homeopathic College of Medicine, the Smile Zone Dental Clinic, The Pollution Under Control Certification program* more piles of brick * one extraordinary stretch of sweeping trees which temporarily changed the entire texture and quality of the air * just outside the airport rode a young man on a bicycle with large metal milk containers for saddle bags, grass wedged around the lid of each to create a tighter seal, the milk likely headed for one of the myriad tea stalls which, on a daily basis, with their pale brown sweet chai nourish and awaken the population of this country * Farewell mother India.

Pilgrimage Poems

 

 

pilgrims feet glide
across smooth grey stone
polished by centuries
turning the wheel

Dhammika Stupa, Sarnath, India
 

*** 

During an earlier chapter
of life when these hands
regularly wielded charcoal
and paint, sculpting tool & chisel,
my heart was often moved
in galley or museum corridor.
By contrast in recent years,
I have seldom been stirred
by another’s creative expression,
much to my own curiosity,
curiosity as to the loss of sensibility. 

And there I found myself in a sleepy corner
of Uttar Pradesh, the Middle Land
where thousands of years before a man traveled
from Bodh Gaya to Sarnath to teach
the eight fold path to those who would listen.
Rounding a corner into the museum’s north wing,
a museum where Kusana & Gupta sculptures
perched upon rudimentary pedestals,
signage slightly askew,
temperature entirely uncontrolled,
I came upon a sandy pale teaching Buddha
gracefully illuminated,
radiant at the end of the hall. 

Rising from below my sternum a warmth swelled
into my chest, flowing up my neck to fill
the cavities of my head, gently throbbing.  
I stood, in plain view of suspect museum docent,
rumpled and reverent Ladakhi pilgrims,
I stood unspeakably moved and I wept.

Archaelogical Museum, Sarnath, India
 

***

Standing in Lumbini, behind a line
of Thai pilgrims I awaited the opportunity
to approach a crumbling monument
of brick hung with hand painted sign
Birthplace of the Buddha. 

While the facial expressions
were wrapped in brown skin, Asian eyes,
prayer beads and gold leaf, the hushed reverence
recalled for me the shadowed basilica
of Jerusalem’s Holy Sepulcre. 
Specifically the parallel poise
as each pilgrim was perfectly captured
in contemplative solemn
by the camera.   

Here, this place
this stone mass is sacred,
worthy of reverence,
pilgrimage, photograph,
proof that given pilgrim
traversed sea and mountain
to lay her forehead
on this spot, eyes closed,
closed until the film advances.  

Maya Devi Temple, Lumbini

 
***

 “Never again!”  she professed
vehemence and laughter in her radiant face.
“No marriage!  No children!,
they are like the cord which binds
the lotus to the murky bottom,
Not the next life!”  she laughed
slapping my shoulder, warmly
remarking on the twinkle
of contentment and freedom
in my eyes.

Thai Temple, Lumbini, Nepal 
 

*** 

October 1998, I traveled 17 hours
by bus to this dusty place
and he was here in grey robes,
building this temple walking distance
from the Buddha’s birthplace
but thousands of miles from his Korean home.
When I arrived this time I recognized
his shining eyes and I asked.
Yes, he has been here
all the time, from the beginning
13 years.  Yes, yes he will stay. 
Maybe this lifetime,
maybe this whole lifetime
will be here
given to his lineage,
that merit woven into the Dharma’s
global tapestry.

Korean Temple, Lumbini, Nepal

***

undulating layers
of rusty moss covered brick
form an earthen rooted mountain,
consecrated the earthen
and the ethereal
event of burning the Buddha. 
Fire rendered ash
from bone and hair,
but he left his eyes
to all who followed,
left them imploring  
when you take a deep breath
be aware you are taking a deep breath
when you take a shallow breath
be aware you are you are taking a shallow breath.
Intense in its earth bound quality,
it was this form, this place
which stirred movement
in my sternum and deeper still
in my belly, like resonance with
the most primal of tuning forks. 

cremation Stupa, Kushinagar, India  

***

a slow reverent line
filed before glass
encased relics, smaller
than half a rice grain,
adorned in pageantry
but this is not
where I find the Buddha.  

Mahabodhi Society, annual relics display
Bodh Gaya, India
 

***

 
To Cris’ inquiry, I responded yes,  
I could return here, find a place
on the north side, beneath the treed canopy
and merge with the quiet cadence of arms
sweeping into prayer, bodies elongating,
hands sliding to lay forehead to wood. 
Yes.  I could return
to the same untrafficed corner
of the Mahabodhi temple,
nestle up against a low wall, prostrating
monk on my right, feet in front of me
an elder monk wearing grace
as pragmatically as his thick glasses. 
The second day I showed up we exchanged
warm smiles which I sense would broaden,
deepen were I to return tomorrow
and the day after, and even after that.

Mahabodhi Temple, Bodh Gaya, India
 

***

Having traveled the Middle Land’s
flat, dusty and chaotic roads for several weeks,
I welcomed the sanctuary of Vulture Peak’s
raw terrain; magnificent white veined charcoal crags
tumbling down into a motionless treed valley
dissected by a single winding road.  
I arrived to find the summit ruins filled,
3 saffron robed monks encircled
by a dozen Thai pilgrims swathed in white,
all seated on the ground in the late morning sun,
their eyes gently closed.  I climbed
up a face of porous rock, faced south
out to the calm valley’s expanse.  Their chanting ceased. 
We sat in silent communion.  Only wind
whispered amongst the hills, stirring my hair,
warmly caressing every inch of my face. 
A wind which seemed to carry with it voices,
pilgrims’ spirits, centuries of prayer and intention,
hope and gratitude for this life, and the next,
for oneself, for the world.   

Gujjikhuta, Vulture Peak, Rajgir, India

***

The temple grounds
were bustling when I arrived late
afternoon throngs, monastic and lay folk,
elders and children, Sri Lankan,
Tibetan, Caucasian, and Thai.

I settled on a tranquil corner
tucked up close
to a low wall, close
to several monks sitting
out of the fray. 

Initially, human noise prevailed;
chatter, chanting, footsteps.
Light waned.  Adhan cried out
from the mosque beyond
the temple gates.

Dusk rose, as did dampness
from the earth and the bird calls
swelled, filling trees and sky
drowning out human sound.

Pausing to unfold and recross my legs,
I opened my eyes to take in more
than sound.  The monks close by, previously
crimson wrapped pyramids,
had packed up to head home.
Two of the young ones, maybe in their 20s,
returned, crouched feet before me
to carefully appraise two handfuls
of fallen Bodhi leaves laying one
atop the other.  Even the dry crinkled ones,
not so amenable to stacking,
were delicately laid in the precious pile.  
I smiled thinking of the scavenged leaves
nestled between journal pages within my bag.   

Later still, the birds fell quiet,
the remaining human voices softened. 
A small rodent came furtively scritching.
The crickets began their rhythmic song
and the mute Bihari mosquitoes
danced upon my eyelids. 

   

Mahabodhi Temple, Bodh Gaya, India

 

 

Final Pilgrimage Destination

En Route to Bodh Gaya

There is a simple & surprisingly logical distinction between 2^nd and 3^rd class train travel in India. Goat and other livestock are not amongst the passengers in 3^rd class, nor are there baskets of cauliflower and cabbage. In a 2^nd class cabin there are 2 bunk type berths top and bottom on each side, in 3^rd class there are three. If traveling at night when all the berths are folded down, this would mean about 2 feet of vertical space per person. Thankfully, our 3 ½ hour 3^rd class ride from Varanasi to Gaya, 2^nd class being sold out, was during the day time. While the uppermost bunks are fixed, the middle fold up and all passengers sit casually sharing the horizontal surface of the lowermost bunk.

As with many elements of this part of the world, space was still at a premium. Cris pioneered the climb to the upper bunk. His enthusiasm in executing this acrobatic maneuver was hands down the clearest expression of his health and spirits being well on the mend. After a rather scrunched nap for him, we traded off. Even sitting on the bottom most bunk, one must duck or slouch in order to look out the low scratched and weathered window. As the cabins are not enclosed, one is continually serenaded by vendors passing along the narrow corridor, bucket or box in hand, each with their individual sing-songy pitch, ‘OhhhHHH, Sprite, Pepsi, Phanta, Phruiti, Padam MiiilK.’ ‘Paani, Paani, Paani…Paani ~WaateRR’ ‘Soup…Tomato Soup…Soup!’ ‘Chai…chhaaAAI, Coffee,’ ‘Gulab…Gulab Jamuum,’ not to mention the array of offerings for which I won’t even take a phonetic stab. Outside of taking in the many details of my first experience on Indian rail it was an uneventful journey. It’s amazing, in these circumstances, how much joy can be generated by the uneventful.

 

Bodh Gaya ~ Site of the Buddha’s Enlightenment

Then being a quester for the good, searching for the incomparable, matchless path of peace, while walking on tour through Magadha I arrived at Uruvela, {now Bodh Gaya}, the army township. There I saw a beautiful stretch of ground, a lovely woodland grove, a clear flowing river with a beautiful ford with a village nearby for support. And I thought; “Indeed, this is a good place for a young man set on striving.”

the Buddha as quoted in Middle Land, Middle Way

There is something deeply and quietly perfect about Bodh Gaya being our last major destination on this pilgrimage. Without realizing it, I recognized with our arrival here that Bodh Gaya fulfills some image I have unconsciously held as to how a sacred Buddhist place might look. Having traveled through flat, dusty terrain since our arrival in Delhi, the air quality was noticeably different with our arrival at the train station in Gaya. We wove through hills, hills with trees! on our taxi ride from the station 12km or so into Bodh Gaya.

Like with many Buddhist monasteries and places of worship, the main Mahabodhi temple at Bodh Gaya was largely destroyed with the Muslim invasion of India in the 12 & 13^th century. Thereafter, the remains fell into a state of further neglect and ruin. Apparently the devotion and support the Burmese Buddhist community were largely responsible for maintaining the temple for the some 600 years after the invasion. In the late 1800s, an effort to reconstruct and restore the temple’s splendor was initiated by the Burmese King and more fully manifested with the help of British pilgrim Alexander Cunningham, JD Beglar and the Indian government.

The temple grounds are delineated by a surrounding gate. One main and four smaller spires rise up amongst the trees from the rectangular foundation of the temple. It is the main spire which is initially visible from the road and the pedestrian market area leading up to the entry. A smooth stone path encircles the perimeter of the temple. Upon this path flows a rather constant stream of people circumambulating, some making the way one full body prostration at a time. From this path one looks down into the temple grounds. The main sanctuary is surrounded by myriad smaller stupas, the western side flanked by a magnificent bodhi tree, considered a distant relative of the original beneath which the Buddha purportedly sat. The south side is more open lawn and garden. On the north side, several large trees provide shade to those both meditating and doing purification through prostration practice, for hours, days, months.

Since arriving I have spent many hours walking the temple path and some time sitting down in the inner temple grounds. There is a beauty permeating this place which extends far beyond the visual. Two nights ago, I continued to circumambulate beyond dusk as the stars began appearing. Into a deep blue sky the main temple spire rose encircled by Orion and other constellations. There was a delicious crisp edge creeping into the air, cold on the fingers of my right hand and my cheeks, my left hand kept warm as I rotated prayer beads. Into the night there were still monks and nuns prostrating and meditating amongst the trees below. I was moved by a sense of how hard so many people are working, working to see clearly, to live in a good way, to contribute positively to the world.

This is indeed a global sanctuary. While the place is most vividly colored by the Tibetan monastic community’s crimson robes, there is monastic and lay presence here from Burma, Thailand, Sri Lanka, China, Nepal, Bhutan, Japan, Caucasians from Australian, Eastern & Western European, the US …not to mention a large mosque and several Hindu temples. We have encountered far and away more lay pilgrims from Sri Lanka and Thailand than any place else and that has been the case at every site we have visited.

Upon leaving the serenity of the interior grounds one encounters a rather intense barrage of energies outside the temple gates. The pedestrian area surrounding the temple is filled with vendors selling postcards, statues & memorabilia, mallas (prayer beads), prayer wheels, necklaces, medical masks, and a wide array of things for offering within the temple ~ flowers, incense and candles. In addition there is a veritable army of mostly children who beg for money, books or sponsorship in school.

These childrens’ presence, in conjunction with our accommodations here in Bodh Gaya and a variety of other luxuries along this journey have cumulatively stirred a lot of my own discomfort related to affluence, specifically having it when surrounded by those who do not. Cris’ means and predilection for certain amenities has afforded a level of comfort on this trip above what I would choose or be in a position to afford were I traveling here on my own. It is everything from a cab rather than the public bus, the choice later in the trip of hotels in lieu of temples, hotels with hot water and costs ranging from $20-50/night rather than $5. His choices are perhaps part of what has spared us from more relentless haggling, begging and harassment. However, even if we were strictly using public transportation, as with the train, the situation has simply not measured up to how intense I anticipated India would be in this regard. I believe my years in Nepal provided a certain level of inoculation.

It is indeed a poignant paradox; to walk the temple grounds filled by a sense of joy, peace and hope for the world, and upon exiting to be confronted by the horrendous disparities present in the world and my own humbling ineptitude to influence them. I find no tidy bow to wrap around this particular mental thread. It is simply one arena of contemplation for me in this place.

Rajgir & Nalanda

Back in the US, in research & preparation for this trip Cris corresponded with a monk named Ven S. Dhammika. Dhammika wrote several books which have guided our journey, Middle Land, Middle Way, and the Navel of the Earth: The History and Signficance of Bodh Gaya. He maintains a helpful website for those interested in this type of pilgrimage

http://www.buddhanet.net

In addition to itinerary suggestions, Dhammika offered Cris suggestions about which temples are most accommodating in Sarnath and Lumbini. In Bodh Gaya he suggested stopping in at the Mahabodhi Society to see if any pilgrim buses were making day trips to Rajgir and Nalanda (total of about 200km roundtrip). While they didn’t have any scheduled trips, they placed us in contact with a driver for the day. Krishna, the driver, presented himself at 7am in a gleaming brand new Toyota micro SUV. I could have cared less, however Cris (all 6’2” of him) was positively head over heels with the vehicle. It was the first really comfortable transportation experience since his arrival in this country. Astonishingly capable of maintaining the car’s pristine condition, Krishna fell toward the more agro end of the Indian driving spectrum, careening along the roads with occasional lurching stops to avoid other vehicles, potholes or livestock.

 

We arrived first at Rajgir where Krishna directed us to the dodgy chair lift arrangement which carried us up the rocky terrain to the top of Chhatha Hill which is crowned with the Shanti Stupa. Constructed by a Japanese monk back in the late 60s, the buildings nestle in the trees, and the spirit of the place, is truly quite graceful and beautifully done. Prayer flags were streaming off one side, fluttering in a light wind. I even found a rather unostentatious elegance to the gold Buddha images adorning the stupa. Our wanderings occurred to the tone of a single drum beat, deep and soft, which reverberated out like a slow heartbeat from the Nichiren temple there on the summit. This is the sect which roots its practice in the chanting of na myo ho ren ge kyo.

We descended by foot along a path which leads down and then up again to Gijjhakuta, the famous Vulture Peak, purportedly the Buddha’s favorite spot in Rajgir and where he delivered a variety of important discourse. Having been on the flat for the duration of our time in India, it was extraordinary to be in hills, rocky mountains with cleaner air and better visibility than I have seen anywhere. On the ascent of Vulture Peak, one passes two caves now adorned with pilgrims’ offerings of gold leaf, candles, katas (white silk scarves so critical in Tibetan culture/Buddhist practice), money and incense. We encountered pilgrim groups from Thailand and Sri Lanka, maybe 20 or so people in each, one group seated chanting at one of the caves, another further up.

Cris and I approached the lower of the two caves, empty but for us, and Cris turned around with bright shining eyes, “this is REAL!” And it was indeed. There was something so authentic and clear. Perhaps it was just being ‘outdoors’ in a way I haven’t been on this journey. A very sacred and serene quality pervaded the place. I continued on up to the summit. Seated in the main open area of ruins sat a group of Thai pilgrims, 3 saffron robed monks, the remainder of the group dressed in white. I climbed up on a bit of porous rock and sat facing south out on the valley. Initially the Thai group chanted…after a time they too fell silent. I sat in the silence of that valley. I could feel the sun’s warmth and the gentlest of breezes across every millimeter of skin on my face. I sat steeping in the beauty and intimacy of the moment, breathing in the silence and the wind and the energy of all the pilgrims who have come to that spot with reverence and intention and hope, hope for themselves perhaps, but I also would like to think hope for our world and what is possible in this life.

Later we continued onto the ruins of Nalanda. Beginning in the 6^th century and flourishing for some 700 years, Nalanda was a monumental Buddhist university, at its peak educating & housing 10-12,000 monks. Its halls, monasteries, and library met the same fate as other Buddhist institutions in India in the early 12^th century. Cris read somewhere that the library took 3 months to burn. If I recall correctly the ruins have only been excavated in the recent decades and work, evident during our visit, is still being done to preserve Nalanda’s remains. While the scale was undeniably extraordinary and thought provoking, my eyes and heart remained full all day from the precious morning visit at Gijjhakuta, Rajgir.

 

***

 

The temple grounds

were bustling when I arrived late

afternoon throngs, monastic and lay folk,

elders and children, Sri Lankan,

Tibetan, Caucasian, and Thai.

 

I settled on a tranquil corner

tucked up close

to a low wall, close

to several monks sitting

out of the fray.

 

Initially, human noise prevailed;

chatter, chanting, footsteps.

Light waned. Adhan cried out

from the mosque beyond

the temple gates.

 

Dusk rose, as did dampness

from the earth and the bird calls

swelled, filling trees and sky

drowning out human sound.

 

Pausing to unfold and recross my legs,

I opened my eyes to take in more

than sound. The monks close by, previously

wrapped crimson pyramids,

had packed up to head home.

Two of the young ones, maybe in their 20s,

returned, crouched feet before me

and carefully appraised two handfuls

of fallen Bodhi leaves, laying one

atop the other, even the dry crinkled ones,

not so amenable to stacking,

were delicately laid in the precious pile.

I smiled thinking of the scavenged leaves

nestled between journal pages within my bag.

 

Later still, the birds fell quiet,

the remaining human voices softened.

A small rodent came scritching

amongst the leaves.

The crickets began their rhythmic song

and the mute Bihari mosquitoes

danced upon my eyelids.

 

Mahabodhi Temple, BodhGaya, India