Bells of Mindfulness

Sister Dang Nghiem teaches us how to cultivate peacefulness when we hear noises that might otherwise cause stress.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E6aYE3irqFQ

Mary Paterson - Monks and Me

It’s not a bad way to wake up; it’s just so early. A  Buddhist nun is ringing a brass gong, and it’s 5:00 a.m. My eyes open, then immediately close. Can’t get up. In fact, the gong sounds rather pleasant. I could easily sleep through its mesmerizing vibrations. To slip out from under my warm blanket would mean to face head-on the chilly air in my spare, monastic room. But meditation starts at 5:30 a.m, so I have to get moving—latecomers are not allowed in the Buddha Hall. Eyes open again. This time I brave the ice-cold air, wrap my ivory wool shawl over my still-sore-from-traveling shoulders, and head down the stairs of the residence onto the outdoor path leading to the Buddha Hall.

The sun is still quiet. I am now sitting on a square, navy blue cushion on the floor, in the first of eight vertical rows that stretch toward a magnificent, six-foot tall, white Buddha statue perched in a nook in the stone wall. There is a shrine of incense and flowers before it. Upon closer examination, I realize the Buddha is a salmon-pink color but the lights of the hall cause it to appear a brilliant white.

All the Sisters of New Hamlet and the visiting female pilgrims have gathered to chant, pray, breathe, and bow to the earth in reverence of the Buddha’s great teachings. Good fortune has brought me here, and yet I can’t help but wonder why the Sisters I see here chose this monastic life, essentially giving up, for good, romantic partners, having babies, café lattes with the New York Times on lazy Sunday mornings, and hot, lavender-scented baths. “And they get up at the crack of dawn every day,” I think to myself during a moment of mind wandering. Instead, I should be thinking: Breathing in, I am aware of my body. Breathing out, I release the tension in my body. “And they will most probably rise early for the rest of their days.” With this last thought, I gaze in admiration at the women sitting in meditation with me. And then I come back to the moment. Breathing in, I am aware of my body. Breathing out, I release the tension in my body. As I turn inward, my breath gradually becomes deep and slow. Attending to these languid whispers softens my body.

Later on, I will refer to nuns as women, only to be f irmly reminded by a stern-looking Sister who reminds me of a tough-as-nails-nun from my Catholic school days that Sisters are not to be referred to as women—they are to be called Sisters or nuns.

The first of my forty days is a whirlwind of beautiful bald heads, earth-brown robes, resplendent chants, and majestic surroundings. My deep curiosity touches all of it. Plum Village is another universe.

After dinner and linden flower tea with my new British friend, who had journeyed here with me yesterday, the two of us take a walk outside to see the blackest of country skies filled with masses of luminous stars. The air smells like the earth, damp and rich and cool. I breathe in the density. Three more thick breaths, and my fatigue finally catches up to me. I say goodnight to my walking companion and head back to the residence.

At the end of this long first day, the only thing I want is a shower. I am now standing in a washroom so tiny that every time I turn I bump a body part into a wall. “But this shower will be glorious,” I think. I can’t wait for the steaming, hot water to pound on my tired back. Body undressed, tap turned on, expectant delight. But instead of a forceful stream of fiery water, out comes a tepid  dribble. A frown crosses my brow. Into the shower stall I go anyway, under the illusion that force of will could fire up a water furnace. But—and I know you’ve already guessed it—the very minute I am covered in soap, the trickle that was there disappears. I am buck naked, wet, and shivering cold. Did I mention I have itchy soap suds all over my body? I glance down at my goose bumps. But I am at a monastery and maybe the air is just different here. In the few moments of standing and wondering what to do, I recall Thich Nhat Hanh’s dictum, “Take refuge in your self.” “Right, that’s why I came here,” I think, “to figure out how to take refuge in myself—no matter what is going on.” I must not forget that the monk who uttered these true words is my guide on this  journey.  Simply recalling this relaxes me somewhat, and then my concentration sharpens. I think of my options. I can wrap my miniscule towel around my wet body and traipse down through the nun’s quarters and into one of their showers. I quickly dismiss that idea. I can stand here and pray that the water will come back on. That seems dumb. Okay, how about this? I can follow the monk’s suggestion and come back to the island that is myself.

So, here I am. It is ten o’clock. There’s not a peep in the residence. Everyone is in bed, and I’m standing here tired, cold, wet, and naked, with soap suds covering my entire body, in a beige-walled shower stall with no running water. In a monastery. In France. There’s nothing else to do but stand here and breathe. And then maybe, just maybe, some idea about what to do will miraculously appear. I stare at one beige wall of the rectangle shower box. An agile black spider crawls up one corner. She must be happy there’s no water here. I focus on her shiny, ebony spider body. In the next moment I hear my breath. I bathe in the sound of my breathing. I listen to the damp air coming into my chest. I am soaked in the sensation of the following exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Stillness. Inhale. Exhale. Stillness. I know I am breathing. Within about sixty seconds, my gooseflesh softens. I am yielding. Somehow, I begin to accept my circumstances. Whether or not the water comes back on has nothing to do with me, so why fight it with stiffness and inflexibility? “And, furthermore, why do I battle against all the things in my life that I can’t possibly control?” I am talking to the arachnid now. “I am able to rule my body, right? But I can’t control my surroundings.” I bring my face close to the now-motionless spider and examine her eight skinny, soap-free legs. “You know this, don’t you? Why don’t I always remember this?” I say it out loud, the ebony spider as my witness: “Take refuge in your self, Mary.”

- An extract from Mary Paterson's book "The Monks and Me".

Veganism Is The Practice Of Promoting Freedom

My teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh, is a vegan and so am I. In simple terms, we value freedom. Not just our own but of all sentient beings.

Due to the fact that we give ourselves very little time, we seldom realize how we have lost our freedom. If we look deeply, we can see that we are being used as resource. Companies even have a department,  Human Resource Department, leaving nothing to imagination. Our governments also view us as resource. Unnecessary battles are fought without much consideration for the lives of those who will die. If one soldier dies, we can train another. After all we are merely human resource. It appears to me that human resource is a more politically correct term for a slave.

What did we do to end up like this? We have to look at our own behavior to understand this. Wrong views ultimately lead to wrong actions. Wrong actions ultimately bring suffering. We have, for centuries,  used animals as resource. People are very fond of milk products. You will not find cows who are free. A cow has to work as a slave all her life. Mother cows are forced to watch their calves go hungry while their milk is sold for money. Many animals are killed to be eaten by humans. Some animals are killed for their skin. Some are tortured in labs.

Don't you like the warm sun, lazy afternoons, cool evenings, moonlit nights? The animals can enjoy these too, if we let them live. You don't have to be able to type on a computer to enjoy life.

When we use others as resource, we are preparing to let others use us as resource. When did you last feel one with nature? We made cows our slaves and in the process ended up as slaves ourselves. Now we have served as slaves for so many generations, to kings, governments, corporations etc. that we have mistaken slavery for freedom.

We must be mindful to meditate. Right Meditation leads to development of Right Views which promote Right Thoughts. Right Thoughts lead to Right Speech and Right Actions ensuring Right Livelihood and with Right Diligence we can practice mindfulness - Right Mindfulness. By respecting other living beings' right to freedom,  we are putting into practice all the eight elements of the path.

This is because that is. This is not, because that is not. By adopting a vegan lifestyle we are sowing seeds of freedom. With right mindfulness we will water them and in time they will blossom and will help us experience true freedom, which will lead to everlasting joy.

Oh, My Happiness!

Freedom leads to happiness. We are free when we do not cling to anything - anger, anxiety, or possessions. The story of the monk Baddhiya illustrates this. Baddhiya belonged to the royal family of the Sakya clan. He had been a provincial governor and became a monk with Ananda and Upali. One night in sitting meditation, Baddhiya experienced so much happiness that he could not bear it and he said, “Oh my happiness, oh my happiness, oh my happiness!”

There was a monk sitting near Baddhiya who heard him and misunderstood. He thought that Baddhiya was longing for all the happiness he’d had in the past, when he was a powerful man, of a noble, wealthy family. So this monk told the Buddha about Baddhiya.　　

The Buddha knew his disciples, but all the same he called Baddhiya to him and in the presence of many other monks he asked, “Baddhiya, is it true that last night when you were doing sitting meditation you cried out 'Oh my happiness, oh my happiness, oh my happiness!'?" Baddhiya said, “Yes I did.” The Buddha asked Baddhiya to explain.

He said, “In the past when I was a governor, I had great wealth and many bodyguards around me but I was so afraid. I was afraid people would steal everything I had, or kill me. I was overwhelmed by fear day and night. Now all I have is three robes and a bowl and I sit at the foot of a tree and feel so much freedom. I cannot bear it. My happiness is so great! That is why I had to shout out “Oh my happiness, oh my happiness, oh my happiness!” If I disturbed other monks who were meditating I express my regret, I am very sorry.”

Our desire and reliance on material possessions only invites fear and anxiety. We are afraid of losing what we have and we are anxious about the future. This leads to stress and sorrow. If we cultivate a mind that is willing to let go of clinging to possessions,  we can experience happiness like Baddhiya. Without the fear of loss and desire for material possessions, without anxiety and anger we can experience freedom. Freedom leads to joy.

Go With The Buddha

Ten years earlier, when Svasti had first met the Buddha, he expressed his wish to study with him, and the Buddha had agreed to accept Svasti as a disciple. Now that Svasti was twenty-one, the Buddha had returned. He had not forgotten his promise.　　

Rupak led the buffaloes back to Mr. Rambhul, their owner.The Buddha sat outside Svasti’s hut, on a small stool, while the bhikkhus stood behind him. With earthen walls and a thatched roof, Svasti’s tiny home was not large enough for everyone to come inside. Bala told Svasti, “Brother, please go with the Buddha. Rupak is even stronger than you were when you began tending the buffaloes, and I am quite capable of taking care of the house. You have looked after us for ten years, and now we are ready to be on our own.”　　

Sitting next to the rainwater barrel, Bhima looked up at her big sister without saying a word. Svasti looked at Bhima. She was a lovely young girl. When Svasti met the Buddha, Bala was six years old, Rupak three, and Bhima only an infant. Bala cooked for the family while Rupak played in the sand.　　

Six months following their father’s death, their mother passed away in childbirth. Just eleven years old, Svasti became the head of the household. He found a job tending water buffaloes, and because Svasti was a good worker, he earned enough to feed his family. He was even able to bring buffalo milk home for little Bhima.　　

Realizing that Svasti was asking her about her feelings, Bhima smiled. She hesitated a moment and then spoke softly, “Brother, go with the Buddha.” She turned her face away to hide the tears. Bhima had heard Svasti mention his wish to study with Buddha so many times and she truly wanted him to go, but now that the moment had arrived she could not hide her sadness.

Just then, Rupak returned from the village, and hearing Bhima’s words, “Go with the Buddha,” he understood that the time had come. He looked at Svasti and said, “Yes, brother, please go with the Buddha,” and the whole family fell silent. Rupak looked at the Buddha and said, “Venerable Sir, I hope you will permit my brother to study with you. I am old enough to care for our family.” Rupak turned to Svasti and, holding back his tears, said, “But brother, please ask the Buddha if you can come back and visit us from time to time.”　　

The Buddha stood up and gently stroked Bhima’s hair. “Children, please eat now. Tomorrow morning, I will return for Svasti so we can walk together to Rajagaha. The bhikkhus and I will rest beneath the bodhi tree tonight.” As the Buddha reached the gate, he looked back at Svastiand said, “Tomorrow morning, you do not need to bring anything. The clothes you are wearing are enough.”　　

That night the four siblings stayed up late. Like a departing father, Svasti gave them his last advice on taking care of each other and the household. He embraced each of them for a long time. Unable to hold back her tears, little Bhima sobbed while her oldest brother held her. But then she looked up, breathed deeply, and smiled at him. She didn’t want Svasti to feel sad. The oil lamp cast a dim light, but it was enough for Svasti to see her smile, and he appreciated it.　　

Early the next morning, Sujata, Svasti’s friend, came to say goodbye. The evening before, she had seen the Buddha when she was on her way to the river bank, and he told her that Svasti would be joining the order of monks. Sujata, the daughter of the village head, was two years older than Svasti, and she, too, had met Gautama before he became the Buddha. Sujata gave Svasti a small jar of herbal medicines to take with him. They spoke only briefly, and then the Buddha and his disciples arrived.　　

Svasti’s brother and sisters were already awake to see their brother off. Rahula spoke gently to each of them, encouraging them to be strong and to take care of each other. He promised that whenever he was nearby, he would stop in Uruvela to visit them. Svasti’s family and Sujata walked with the Buddha and the bhikkhus to the river bank, and there they joined their palms to say goodbye to the Buddha, the monks, Rahula, and Svasti.　　

Svasti was overcome with both fear and joy. There was a knot in his stomach. This was the first time he had ever left Uruvela. The Buddha said it would take ten days to reach Rajagaha. Most people traveled more quickly, but the Buddha and his bhikkhus walked slowly and with great ease. As Svasti’s pace slowed down, his heart quieted. He was wholeheartedly immersing himself in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha, and this was his path. He turned around for one last glimpse of the only land and people he knew, and he saw Sujata and his family as mere specks merging with the shadows of the forest trees.

- From the book " Old Path White Clouds " by Thich Nhat Hanh.

Under the Rose-Apple Tree

One day when he was nine years old, Siddhartha and his schoolmates were allowed to attend the ritual first plowing of the fields. Gotami herself dressed Siddhartha right down to the fine slippers on his feet. Attired in his royal best, King Suddhodana presided over the ceremonies. High ranking holy men and brahmans paraded in robes and head-dresses of every color imaginable. The ceremony was held next to the finest fields in the kingdom, not far from the palace itself. Flags and banners waved from every gate and along every roadside. Colorful displays of food and drink were laid out on altars crowded along the roads. Minstrels and musicians strolled among the throngs of people, adding mirth and merriment to the bustling festivities. Holy men chanted with utmost solemnity as Siddhartha’s father and all the dignitaries of the court stood facing the unfolding ritual.

Siddhartha stood towards the back with Devadatta and Kaludayi at his sides. The boys were excited because they had been told that when the rituals were over, everyone would enjoy a feast spread out on the grassy meadow. Siddhartha did not often go on picnics, and he was delighted. But the holy men’s chanting went on and on what seemed like forever, and the young boys grew restless. Unable to endure any longer, they wandered off. Kaludayi held onto Siddhartha’s sleeve, and off they went in the direction of the music and dancing. The hot sun blazed and the performers’ costumes grew wet with perspiration. Beads of sweat shone on the dancing girls’ foreheads. After running about among the scenes of entertainment, Siddhartha, too, grew hot and he left his friends to seek the shade of the rose-apple tree alongside the road. Beneath the cool branches, Siddhartha felt pleasantly refreshed.

At that moment, Gotami appeared and, spotting her son, she said, “I’ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been? You should return now for the conclusion of the ceremony. It would please your father.”

“Mother, the ceremony is too long. Why must the holy men chant so long?”

“They are reciting the Vedas, my child. The scriptures have a profound meaning, handed down by the Creator Himself to the brahmans countless generations ago. You will study them soon.”

“Why doesn’t Father recite the scriptures instead of having the brahmans do it?”

“Only those born into the brahmana caste are permited to recite the scriptures, my child. Even kings who wield great power must depend on the services of the brahmans for priestly duties.”

Siddhartha thought over Gotami’s words. After a long pause, he joined his palms and entreated her, “Please, Mother, ask Father if I may stay here. I feel so happy sitting beneath this rose-apple tree.”

Giving in good-naturedly to her child, Gotami smiled and nodded. She stroked his hair, and then returned down the path. At last the brahmans concluded their prayers. King Suddhodana stepped down into the fields and, together with two millitary officers, began to plow the first row of the season, as cheers resounded among the crowd. Then the farmers followed the king’s example and began to plow their fields.

Hearing the people’s cheers, Siddhartha ran to the edge of the fields. He watched a water buffalo straining to pull a heavy plow, followed by a robust farmer whose skin was bronzed from long work in the sun. The farmer’s left hand steadied the plow while his right hand wielded a whip to urge the buffalo on. Sun blazed and the man’s sweat poured in streams from his body. The rich earth was divided into two neat furrows. As the plow turned the earth, Siddhartha noticed that the bodies of worms and other small creatures were being cut as well. As the worms writhed upon the ground, they were spotted by birds who flew down and grabbed them in their beaks. Then Siddhartha saw a large bird swoop down and grasp a small bird in its talons. Utterly absorbed in these events, standing beneath the burning sun, Siddhartha, too, became drenched in sweat. He ran back to the shade of the rose-apple tree. He had just witnessed so many things strange and unknown to him. He sat cross-legged and closed his eyes to reflect on all he had seen. Composed and erect, he sat for a long time, oblivious to all the singing, dancing, and picnicking taking place around him.

Siddhartha continued to sit, absorbed by the images of the field and the many creatures. When the king and queen passed by sometime later, they discovered Siddhartha still siting in deep concentration. Gotami was moved to tears seeing how beautiful Siddhartha looked, like a small, still statue. But King Suddhodana was seized with sudden apprehension. If Siddhartha could sit so solemnly at such a young age, might not the holy man Asita’s prophecy come true? Too disturbed to remain for the picnic, the king returned alone to the palace in his royal carriage. Some poor, country children passed by the tree speaking and laughing happily. Gotami motioned them to be quiet. She pointed to Siddhartha sitting beneath the rose-apple tree. Curious, the children stared at him. Suddenly, Siddhartha opened his eyes.

Seeing the queen, he smiled. “Mother,” he said, “reciting the scriptures does nothing to help the worms and the birds.”

Siddhartha stood up and ran to Gotami and clasped her hand.

- From the book "Old Path White Clouds" by Thich Nhat Hanh.