First Hand Account of a Meditator at the Center

Boon #1 "Neighbor"

"Neighbor."

With just one word, the monk blew apart all of my plans for 30 days of silent seclusion at the meditation center. The rules were clear: no talking, no reading, no visiting, no radio, no entertainment of any kind.

About half the kutis ("huts", but really more like 'small houses') were occupied by monks, one kuti per person. The non-monks were a thorough mixture of Thais and foreigners of all sorts. The kutis are about 100 feet apart. The grounds of Boon are surrounded by a high concrete wall, and the ground itself is barren of grass (or leaves) between the great many trees.

Every Thai boy spends at least 3 months as a monk, during which they get the basic religious education. They do the whole bit, at about 10 years old. Take the vows, have their heads shaved, live with the older monks, wear the monk's garments, which consist of only three pieces of cloth. One wrapped around the waist and hanging down, another drapped over the shoulders, and a "cape" made of heavier cloth, for sunny or rainy days. However, they are just as full of "little boy" as ever, full of chatter and inquisitiveness, and this is never discouraged.

Monks of different orders have somewhat different rules of conduct, but these are taken very seriously, always. The most obvious differences relate to the handling and use of and amount of money or possessions they can have. There are several HUNDREDS of rules, which they are required to memorize and recite. All monks in Thailand do not eat after midday. (These things will figure into my story, later.)

So on my second day at Boon, this monk walks up to me (sitting on my front porch) and just says, "Neighbor." Well, the folk ways of nearly all Thais are essentially rural, and that means that you do not/ can not ignore your "neighbor" (according to 'country manners' as I knew them from the Mississippi Delta), even if you both are only temporarily occupying adjacent kutis for a few weeks. "Neighbor" means you have to find a way of response, which doubly flustered me, as you never have any way of knowing how much English a Thai may speak (or understand, which is a totally different thing). He looked just like Jerry Lock, an older boy who grew up just down the road from me. Monks are always given impossibly long names, so I never asked his name, but immediately thought of him as "Jerry".

Subject: "Boon"

I will over the next few weeks send you a series of e-mails from my files of two years ago. The "Boon" series was essentially an experiment in using e-mail as a serious form of literature, following the spirit of the e-mail, which is abrupt statement delivered in a unconsidered and unelaborated prose. Read the narrative while VISUALIZING the text. This is essential. To critique is impossible, so just read and enjoy. It is only e-mails. The series is numbered, so you can skip reading them for a while, without losing the sequence of the story.

The occasion was my return from my eighth and final trip to Thailand. I will not remark on my first seven trips, as they were unremarkable. After this, my travel bug was permanently satisfied. I never want to go anywhere again. All places are the same now. All cultures are the same now. Two years later I had a deep insight into human cultures, which pointed the way to my current hermitage and writing "Diary of a Mad Redneck", of which "Boon" will most certainly be a chapter. We begin ...

Subject: Boon #2 "Jerry"

You could not tell anything about Jerry, by looking at him. Sometimes the monk was quite serious and walked with great dignity, and other times he joked about like a kid. Nor could you guess his age, which turned out to be 37, when I asked him.

He was from Isan, the poorest region of Thailand (in the northeast), which I have commented on before. However, he grew up in the city of Udon Thani, not in the countryside. His monastery in Udon Thani took in all the young boys in the area who had lost their parents, most being about ten years old. They take them in as novice ("new") monks, as I was telling you about yesterday, and after they have been there for a few months of religious training, they try to find families to adopt the boys.

Jerry's job is to locate parents in the area who may be interested in adopting the boys. His budget is only about $8,000 per year. They place 200 to 300 boys per year. It was hard to picture Jerry in such an important job, but I bet he was just the right fellow for visiting people and giving them the gentle persuasion to do something nice. His hand gesture for talking to people was the same as ours, but he says "psss psss psss psss", where we would say "Yak yak yak".  Sure enough, Asian people generally talk a lot quieter than Americans, and you won't hear much unless they want you to. It's amazing how observant they are, and how everybody knows each other's business, including yours.

I reckon that's because Asians also have little sense of "privacy". Their family groups are very close, many people sleep in the same room, they rarely eat alone, and so on, not to mention that large families are the

usual. They will also ask you things that you or I would consider outrageously personal. However, they mean no harm in it. They are even more curious about the way that foreigners live, than we are about them. They just do not think in terms of privacy. I would also comment that there are few if any hidden subjects, like poverty, sex, or death. These are just part of everyday life, and they are not treated with any embarrassment that I could detect.  However, showing anger, criticizing, or failing to care for parents would be tearing major breeches in your social fabric.

I heard terribly loud music from the nearby temple and went to see what was up. It was a funeral. They play loud music on the speaker system with lots of loud pipes and drums and gongs. Supposedly, the Chinese

belief is to keep away evil spirits, but the other side of it is to discourage feelings of depression or outpourings of grief, I reckon. You are born, you live for some time, and then you die. What's to worry about or cry about?

Even the the smallest children are taken to funerals. Everybody wears all black, but they do not dress formally. Everybody just stops what they are doing to go to the funeral (most arriving on foot or on motorbikes), and then they go back to their work or whatever. People stood in a long line outside, chatting and patiently waiting for their turn to pay their last respects. Being respected and well-thought-of seems to be the most important thing in life. That, and "sanuk" ("fun") at the appropriate times. There is a tall chimney at the back of the temple building, because that's where they cremate the body. Jerry remembers the funeral of his father, who was killed in the war when he was only two or three.

Tomorrow: "My father have three MADAMS".

Subject: Boon #3 "Madams"

"My father die in Laos. Bombs. Can't get out, he die. He have madam in Laos. You know Vien Thien?"

I remembered the earliest B-52 massive bombing missions were between Laos and Vietnam, trying to cut off supplies coming in from China. (The Washington fat cats called them 'interdictions'). Then they tried to bomb the supply depots in Laos, killing a great many people. As Jerry said, his father had been among those trapped there. Vien Thien was the capital of Laos. Jerry must have been only 3 or 4 at the time. He remembered the funeral, and the wounds evident on the arms and head of his father.

"My father have three madams," he said, smiling. (Thai men are notorious for their leaving their wives and philandering.) "Have seven children. He marry only my mother, but have three madams. He want me to be monk, so I become monk for all of my life."

Now here was a bit of irony. Parents often designate a son (particularly the first born) to be a lifelong monk, because it "makes merit" for the parents. So Jerry's philandering father had set him up to be a monk from his childhood, never so much as having a girlfriend.  "Happy to be monk. In Isan, nobody worry. No food? No worry. Have King, have Queen, have Buddha. No worry about anything."

Well, that sounded idyllic enough, but many of the Isan folks were now in Bangkok, particularly the young girls, because they have no food in Isan. The usual scenario is a woman who leaves her child with the grandmother in Isan, to go to Bangkok to make some cash to send back home, by way of a friend who is going back to visit. The hoped-for outcome is to be able to send the child to school, as public education only goes to the 8th grade, and after that, the parents have to pay for any higher education. Getting further education is the only way to rise out of poverty, seems like. In private school, they can learn English, which is a key vocational asset, because Thailand depends so heavily on the tourist business. So these poor people leave their children to go do some hard work in Bangkok, so that their children can have the education to live better than their parents.

The Thais are a "consensual" society, which is to say that disagreement is ALWAYS avoided. Showing anger or implying an insult or disrespect just is not done. It is considered out of keeping with the national character.   It's "un-Thai". For this reason, Thailand is a great place to visit, because the people are so easy to get along with, and they are genuinely helpful toward each other and even to strangers. Especially, in larger cities, it's easy to find someone who understands enough English to tell you what you need to know.

Tomorrow: "Cobra!"

Subject: Boon #4 "Monks"

Well, there is a point to all this, because I actually ENCOUNTERED Thai culture on this trip, in a way that I had only observed it from outside, on my previous seven trips there, passing through like any other tourist. You will certainly understand when I make an end to this series.

The doorway of this experience was what I already knew about the monks of Thailand, plus my associations with them on this trip. There are a few things of interest about a Thai monk's lifestyle. All (who are in good

health) are expected to "do Tudong", which means "wandering". Each has his home place, but to avoid becoming "attached" and too settled in, a monk should set in to wander about the country from time to time, sleeping from one temple to the next, and accepting any food that is given to him. The exception is the "rainy season", which was now, when all monks are required to take to shelter to perform meditation, contemplation, or intensive ritual activity.

The monks, you see, are the Privileged Characters of Thai society, as they represent the face of spiritual aspiration for the whole community. People are always giving them stuff and doing things to care for their most basic needs. The other end of it is the many rules of mindfulness and proper social behavior that the monk has to follow all of the time, because if he slips up, the people take offense that he is not carrying out his cultural role properly, and they will talk about him, and it will quickly get back to his boss monk. On a special night every month, all the monks have to meet to confess any occasions that they have broken the rules, or even if they THINK they have broken the rules. The other monks decide if he needs corrective action, to help him to be more mindful in the future, and what that correction should be. For instance, the standard correction for "playing with his snake" is that the monk will have to sit at the end of the table, the position of lowest rank, for one week. Getting snickered at is probably the worst part of it.  Even the little boy monks know why.

The monks are respected above all others in Thai society, by virtue of their vows, even repected above the King and Queen of Thailand. Respect is shown by the "wai" gesture, usually bringing the palms together at chest level. To show higher respect, as for an elder, a monk, a teacher, the hands are held in a higher position, such as at the chin. The utmost in respect would be to wai at forehead level, which is very rarely done, perhaps when visiting an important temple. The monks always get tickled when I wai them, because I know how to do it properly, which is very unexpected from a foreigner. The monks do not return the wai gesture. So even a 10 year old boy who only took his vows yesterday is shown more respect than the King of Thailand.

At sunup ALL of the monks go on "pindabat". They each go on predetermined routes to give people the opportunity to give them food. They remain completely silent, never looking up or at the people, and they just stop long enough to give people the chance to give them something. Their collection bowls are rather larger than I expected, rather resembling a thin metal punch bowl, with two handles. If the monks are living together, they take the food back to their common quarters, wash their feet (they usually go everywhere barefooted), and sit at a long table in order of seniority, so the newest monk to take his vows gets last pickings, regardless of his age.

Now I begin to get to my point.

Subject: Boon #5 "Goes around/ comes around"

So the monks are supersensitive about being criticized, as anyone with a preacher in the family can appreciate. If a person or group of people is REALLY down on a monk for some reason, they simply will not give him any food. (The monks eat only twice a day, right after pindabat and just before midday. Against the rules to eat anything at all after midday.)

Each monk has to follow the exact route that he has been assigned to pindabat, and he must stop and give everyone the chance to put something in his bowl. He takes it regardless of what it is, which may include

personal care items such as soap, tissues, heck, whatever is laying around that the donor does not happen to need at the time. Of course, the more choice food items never make it down to the far end of the table. The only thing left of a Snickers bar is the wrapper. MOST Buddhists are NOT vegetarians, which is largely a Chinese notion. It is more in line with the "alms" custom to accept ANYTHING that is given.

If the monk fails to come by on his rounds, it is a severe violation of the rules, as it is THE RIGHT of every person TO BE ALLOWED TO GIVE, EVERY DAY! But even worse would be to say "Thank You", as this deprives the person of the "merit" of his donation, because it implies that the donation is a personal favor. Try to get square with the idea that there is no difference between the role "in the community" and "in the religion". Duty and respect in one exactly equals duty and respect in the other. Everybody is in the boat of life TOGETHER, and basically everybody knows each other's business, and how each other is expected to behave. Throughout Asia, I doubt if they even have a word for "privacy", but there are many different words for "shame", because expectations are exact.

The monks are very much "community property". They travel free on all public transportation, doctors treat them without charge, etc. The monks ride up front with the driver, because the monk must never allow a woman to touch him, even accidently. If it happens, he has to go through a big 'purification' ceremony. The monks give advice about problems when asked, or more often just give an ear to a troubled heart. They officiate at weddings, funerals, and they bless new babies and housewarmings, and they receive extra offerings (including money) for doing so. Different ranks of monks are authorized to do more advanced services. "Old Slim" whose house was to the front of my hut was a "priest", you might say like a "bishop". But Old Slim is another story. Next time.

Subject: Boon #6 "The Deal"

Boonkanjanaram is located outside of Pattaya, which is a seaside city in the south of Thailand, a three hour bus ride from the capital (and international airport) of Bangkok. On the beach there are many high rise hotels, big tall monsters, and the night life is so wild that the Governor of Pattaya has complained in the national news media that he is unable to control anything. Boonkanjanaram was donated and originally built by a wealthy couple. His family name was Boonkan-something and her family name was Jana-something. They dedicated it to the memory and the merit of their parents and ancestors. The Meditation Center includes about 30 or 40 houses for individuals. One old lady is the meditation teacher and another younger lady is the manager. Also, there are kitchen staff, gardeners, handymen, etc, which includes some nuns. The kitchen is strictly "outdoors", just a wallless shed, really, and people gather in it to chat and prepare the food. Most of the time, you find it's the old ladies who are really running things.

There is a foundation for maintenance and daily operations. It cost me only $2.50 per day (for food). The monks stay for free, but they earn their keep sweeping the leaves from the grounds in the late afternoon

and putting out the snakes (which they would never consider killing). When the monks come back from pindabat, they pass around to the residents the extra food that they collected, beyond their own needs. Jerry always brought me some food, as did Old Slim. Old Slim did not speak English. If I was sitting on my front porch when he brought me some food, he would just put it on the bannister and sniff his nose, as if I were not there, to indicate that I should not say anything in appreciation.

Now the monks have to accept EVERYTHING that is given and with their big alms bowls, there is always far more than enough, so when the monk gives you something, you have to accept it too! I told Jerry to explain to Old Slim not to keep bringing me food, that I was getting more to eat than I could eat. "Problem! NO! CANNOT!  If somebody gives you something, you have to accept it, because he gives it to you because he likes you. If too much, don't matter, you can give it to the cat or dogs or something, but you have to take it!" I gradually realized that such independent judgements and decisions were highly contrary to how things are done. It's a society where it's not so much "giving" as "sharing". If I have three mangos, and you have none, then you should eat one. No questions, no thinking about it, no gratitude expressed, that's just how it is. "Keeping" would be seriously countercultural. Bear in mind that this is a pre-industrial society, where the storage of food at the household or consumer level is impossible. Which brings me to The Store.

Subject: Boon #7 "Rags"

So everyday in Thailand begins with the monks coming around to give you the chance to give food, a perpetual daily reminder that's been going on for 2500 years that there are those who have no food to eat, whether they be monks or not. If nobody gives food to the monks, they do not eat. Period. There is no alternative strategies. Better luck tomorrow morning.

The shade of color of the monk's clothes is traditional for his own order, but always somewhere between orange (Thailand), brown (Burma), or even dull red (Tibet, sometimes). The earliest Buddhist monks in India were required to use only cloth discarded by others (rags!), and they had to sew it together and make do. Later custom was that on a certain day of the year, donors could leave some cloth out around from where the monks slept, and if the monk needed some new robes, he could go out and look around for it and find it. He does the sewing himself. The precision of his stitchery is an indication of his vocational skills as a monk.

All this, so there is no sense of a particular lay person "taking care" of any particular monk, like a relative or a friend. At present, there is a particular special day of the year when cloth is given (it being the most expensive necessity that a monk needs, and it involving the use of a cash purchase and gift). It is consequently also a time for the monk to reflect on whether he is worthy to be supported by the laity, and what things he can do differently to be a better monk.

So the whole thing is a community of sharing, where food cannot be preserved, so you may as well give away any extra, anyhow. Maybe tomorrow, it's yourself that will be in need, and in primitive agricultural societies, this is no great stretch of the imagination. When I was leaving, the mangos were in season, and everybody has all the mangos they can eat. One month later (by now, actually), they will be extremely costly and rare, as there is no shelf life to them.

Human life is like a mango. It comes and goes quickly, we do not know how quick. From the time we are born, we are running toward our death. This cannot be denied.

Later I will write about the methods I learned at Boon, and how it fits into my current meditation practice. But first I want to tell you about"Old Slim". Most every day, somebody would come to a particular big old tree in front of my hut. The tree was about 8 feet diameter, and it was about 5 feet from Smiling Jack's hut. They very slowly and carefully pour a small amount of water onto the roots of that tree, always the same tree, never any other. I reckoned that they were indulging in the worship of the spirit of the tree, however

Subject: Boon #8 "The Store"

The majority of people at the Center were not monks. I would not want to be a monk, but I found that any time I left the grounds to go across the black topped road to the store, people definitely greeted me as if I WERE a monk! Because they knew I was training in meditation at the Center.

I went to the store most every afternoon for a pepsi and maybe an ice cream bar, since the last meal of the day at the Center is before midday. Mostly to break the intended monotony of practice, but even more just to watch the small children who came and went. When I was there two years ago, the lady running the store had a small baby to tend to, and her daughter of about ten was running the whole store operation! The "cash register" is a large basket of large bills, hung high so she can keep an eye on it from anywhere in the store.

Now that girl is about twelve, and has a definite adult dignity about her. What you see is that it's not just about business, but everybody stops and gossips and jokes for a while. The store FRONT is actually the open side of a shed about 25 feet wide, and the shed is an extention of the small house they live in. Customers come and go constantly, local fruit and garden crop growers come to offer and haggle, suppliers of bottled and packaged goods. The store lady rolls her eyes, remembers her other suppliers' offers, and gives an answer on the spot. Telephone is there, but she seldom used it. It's all face to face. Everybody making a living. There are always bundles of beautiful flowers for sale. Penny candies in big jars on a low shelf for the smallest of toddlers.

Sometimes her husband tended the store. Unusual looking for a Thai, beard, bushy long hair, 'wandering eye'. She understood English, but he spoke it well. The little children are never scolded or made to feel that their presence is an inconvenience. If they fuss, the mother stops and talks to the child. That's all.

Subject: Boon #9 "Sandals"

Seems to me that the Thais that I was around see no distinction between "making a living" and "being in community", by the nature of their relationships. Or between "being in community" and "being religious", by the nature of sharing and mutual caring. Sounds idealized, but this is what I saw for myself.

Now when Jerry came over to my porch for his first "neighbor" visit, he made a particularly astute observation: my sandals!!! which he admired and commented upon at such length as to be mildly embarrassing to me for having them. Throughout Asia, the usual footwear you see on everybody is plastic or rubber flipflops. "Shower shoes", you and I would say, and they wear them until they fall apart. My sandals had hard rubber soles, cushiony inners, cowhide straps, and large adjustable buckles. "How much they cost?" I lied and said a friend gave them to me, so I did not know the cost. I knew that a thousand baht for sandals would seem astonishing to him, but you have to remember that "I" am the one who is embarrassed by poverty, NOT HIM!! He pointed to his feet. "These fifty baht" (about one dollar).

He told me about the military airbase I knew of near his home, Udon Thani. Matter of fact, his sister married an American Air Force guy who was serving there. (Guam is a U.S. protectorate, not actually inside the U.S., so being allowed to go there by 'IMMIGRATION' is no problem, but U.S. marriage laws apply there, so lots of military guys go there to marry a foreign woman. Once married, she can immigrate to the U.S., but that story changes this month.)

He was actually an American Indian type, and he took her home to Ohio. When the Gulf War was cranking up, he saw a chance to make money as an aircraft maintenance contractor for a British outfit, maintaining the aircraft in Saudi Arabia. So he went to England, got the job, and then went to Saudi Arabia. Since then, they heard nothing at all of their sister or her husband, ten years ago. "Maybe he dead."

Hmmm. I gotta stop now, I have to tell you about the cobra, next time.

Subject: Boon #10 "Cobra!"

The third day I was at Boon, I was walking in circles around my hut. Just walking. not doing nothing else, just walking. Walking only. Present moment only, walking, no distractions.

Then I saw a cat started picking at something in the bamboo leaves. About 12 feet from my hut is a concrete bench with a back, that is real nice to sit on in the afternoon, because it is shaded by a big clump of mature bamboo on each side of the bench. I sat there often. Of course, each clump of bamboo was footed by a mass of dead bamboo leaves. I stopped to look.

I saw a frog in there, the cat was messing with. Then Jerry came over with a rake and broom and started digging through the leaves. After a while the frog hopped out. "There ain't no snake in there. Just this frog." But unaccountably, Jerry ignored my advice and kept on, until after another five minutes, part of a snake's body was evident. The snake's strategy was he was all curled through the bamboo stalks near the ground in the dead leaves, so he could not be lifted out with a stick. But Jerry got him to try to escape UP the stalks. However, the snake was still all twined up in there. I watched all this from my porch.

Jerry said it was a cobra, and sure enough it was long and slim with a real small head. Jerry left it alone for a while, explaining that the snake was tired. I reckoned I did not understand that. All I could think about was the sun going down with a cobra in the vicinity of my hut. Jerry started telling that at his home, a snake the size of his arm came around every 7 days.

Subject: Boon #11 "the bucket"

With Jerry launching into his yarn about the cobras of his childhood, I was feeling concerned that he had lost interest in the project of removing the cobra on my premises. He was letting the snake rest!

Jerry told of how the big cobra came to his house every seven days. If the cobra meets a resident face to face, the cobra does nothing but look you over, "because you are friend". The cobra had to find something suitable for his size, to eat, usually a small piglet, after which he would retire for another seven days. The snake is vulnerable after a big meal, so he has to go hide in the woods, because he cannot move around well, and his venom supply has to be restored.

Well, the cobra in my bamboo clump had decided that the coast was clear, and that he ought to move to somewhere safer, or at least different from where he had been bothered so much. He headed for the bamboo clump on the opposite end of the concrete bench, but Jerry was quick enough with his rake to pull him away. Then Jerry put down a bucket between the snake and the bamboo he was trying to get back to, and then he tipped the bucket over for the snake to go into. RIGHT! Just like that. The cobra went to first one side and the other, and Jerry raked him back each time, and sure enough, the next time the snake went right into the bucket!

Jerry did not bother to put a top on the bucket, he just took it to the high concrete wall and dumped out the snake over the wall. End of story. Almost. The next day, I passed Jerry as he was raking the leaves, as I was walking toward the store. Again, he mightily admired the fashionable elegance of my sandals. I was so grateful to him that I told him what I had already decided, "When I leave here, I will give you these shoes."

He nodded very slowly, as if this were some totally new concept that had never occured to him. And then he started nodding faster, as the dawn of new comprehension poured in upon him, and his appreciation of this salutary idea gradually improved.

When I got back from the store, I helped rake the leaves, as I now had a new grasp of the relationship between dead leaves on the ground and deadly snakes. Other things started to make more sense, too. I raked to remove the leaves, but Jerry later came along and swept exactly the same area, to my mystification.  It was a couple of weeks before I realized that sweeping the entire ground removed the scents that snakes navigate by, and that sweeping the whole surface, you could see where snake had left tracks. The dogs ran about the whole grounds excitedly every morning. It occurred to me that they were actually looking for snakes. When the dogs barked, a monk would come to see about a snake there.

Subject: Boon #12 "Getting Mugged"

Jerry came to my porch as usual, bringing me food in hands.  I told him to give me his sister's name and/or address, and I would use the internet search engines to try to locate her, when I got back to Saudi.

With breakfast, they bring hot water, so I was clever enough to bring from Saudi a lot of the fancy-flavor tea bags and the official Mississippi State Bulldog thermal mug that my sister sent me to commemorate State's football victory over Alabama (several years ago). Jerry admired my mug, but I remained silent.  <Hellno, I KEEPING MY MUG! I ain't gonna give you my Bulldog mug!> He changed the subject to ask about the paper tags hanging out of my mug, whereupon I realized that they don't commonly have fancy tea bags in Thailand in the fashion that we enjoy. So I gave him a big handful of tea bags, which pleased him a lot.

That afternoon I heard Jerry talking real loud in his hut. Only thing I could figure was that he had a cell phone, although that seemed unlikely for a monk. Next day he told me that he called his mom (who was now living in Bangkok) about his sister's address. They no longer had any address at all, in ten years. "Maybe she dead." Jerry did have a cell phone, given to him by his brother, who also paid the monthly bill. But home base was far away, and the phone was nearly useless down in Phattaya. Jerry made a 'throwing away' gesture.

It was sad to think that his sister had died, moreover that she might have died without her family knowing about it. It all seemed unlikely that she was dead, to me. But it was worse yet to think that she had completely dropped all ties to her mother and family. I reckon Jerry was right. "Maybe she dead."

Subject: Boon #12B "Pouring Water"

However, it seemed especially odd that they always poured the water on the roots of the SAME tree, never any other tree. From my front porch, Jerry's hut was to my left, Old Slim was in a rather big residence to my front, and Smilin Jack (the tiny monk of heavy Chinese ancestry) was to my right, with the big old tree in question hard by Smilin Jack's hut.

Jerry came over with food for me as usual, and I decided to ask him. At first he thought I was asking about Smilin Jack, but when I slapped on a nearby tree, "Tree! Tree!" he understood and smiled a delighted smile, as if I had hit upon some happy secret. "Wait. I go house. Back five minutes." He came back with a Thai-English dictionary, and I realized how earnest he was that I understand properly.

He pointed to "priest", then "witness". As he talked, I started to put it together. Old Slim was not your ordinary old monk. He was a priest, an ecclesiastical cut above the rest of the monks. People brought gifts to him every day, as I saw for myself. What I did not see was this: Old Slim accepts the gifts, which are donations on the behalf of deceased loved ones. Old Slim then pours water into a special cup and blesses it, "witnessing" that the gift is given on the behalf of the deceased (not the donor). The donor then takes the water to the big tree and solumnly pours it over the roots of the big tree. But why THIS tree?

"Is Buddha tree!!!" For the first time I really looked up at the whole tree, it being much higher and wider than I realized. The story goes that the Buddha had darned near died with his austerities and fasting practices. (Think of Jesus' 40 day stretches of wandering in the wilderness.) A young slave girl was on her way to offer milk curds and rice to a tree spirit in the woods, on behalf of her mistress, when she came across the dying renunciate. She went back to her mistress and asked if it was okay to feed the dying monk, instead. The mistress consented, and the Buddha regained his strength. He blessed the girl and her mistress (who many years later became nuns) and then he reflected on his chosen path of renunciation.

"This is not cutting it." Or whatever Indians said in the 5th Century B.C. He resolved that he would sit until he obtained enlightenment, and even if he died doing so, he was not going to move until the matter was accomplished. He chose to sit under a "bo" tree (genus ficus), and I could see why. It would have to rain for a long time to get anything wet under such a massive tree, with such heavy foliage.

First "Mara" came (read 'Satan') and offerred him his daughters, wealth, power, and fame. Sounds familiar, right? To cut a long night's story short, at dawn he looked up and saw the morning star and had his final realization, the 'emptiness' of 'self', that he and the star were essentially identical.

The gift, the priest, the cup, the witness, the water, the tree, the

Subject: more Boon to come 12C

There will be about four more Boon episodes.

Indeed, yesterday morning, soon after getting out of bed,

I "felt the earth move" with regard to "things past".

And I realized and accepted that my future is far more FREE than I had previously accepted or realized.

I have remarked often (probably to the point of annoyance) about how heavily (and unconsciously) our adult attitudes and behavior are shaped in our first few years of life. We get it by osmosis from our environment, much of it before we can even speak enough to carry on conversation. We perceive, and we become.  My own boogeyman - for better and worse - is "taking responsibility".   As a REFLEX, rather than an independent decision.

To me, that's the REAL meaning of "karma": Actions and attitudes spread to and affect the lives of those around us, as well as our 'next life'. What 'next life'? The being that I become five minutes from now is based on the 'be-ing' that I am at this moment. Unless I am very careful.  'The trick' is learning to behave from my own choices, trying to become aware of and erase the influence of past 'conditioning'. I see my parents' traits very clearly in myself, and at my age, that's a good beginning for 'getting out of it'.

At one year old, my granddaughter barked like a dog. It made me laugh, but she thought nothing of it. She was immitating the barking dog outside some minutes had passed since the dog had barked. From that point, it was obvious to me that her 'baby talk' was imitation of what grownups were saying, but on several minutes 'tape delay'. That means that the delay was due to her processing the sounds AND QUITE PROBABLY WHAT THE SOUNDS MEANT, evaluating the social context of meaning.

I don't even see people as in-duh-viduals any more. Rather I see us as a STREAM of becoming. My parents become me, and I become my children, like drops of water rolling down a stream. You can never put your foot in the same stream, because the stream is always changing. In important ways, my father wanted me to become 'different' (just as he made a point of being different from his father in some ways) and I suspect that he is getting his wish.

So what's YOUR excuse? :-)

Subject:  "Some kind of a Buddhist ... or SOME thing???"

I was sitting on a concrete bench near the prayer sala, where the monks meet with the lay people for scheduled prayers, chanting, and religious instruction. Okay, so I was loafing, instead of earnestly contemplating the arising-and-falling-away of my walking posture while circumambulating my hut. But it was such a very quiet, very pleasant afternoon that it surely would have been some kind of sin not to stop and appreciate the moment ... well, lots of moments, actually.

Then something happened I had never seen there before, a car drove into the grounds of the meditation center. Everybody who lived in the area rode taxis, or drove bikes or motor scooters, or just walked. This car was from Bangkok, and three generations piled out, as the driver, a short stout fellow of some conspicious worldly success, in his mid-forties, marched straight at me, like a cop who had been radioed orders to give this vagrant the gitalong.

"Youuuu ... supposed to be ... some kind of a Buddhist? ... or some thing?"  Accusation or compliment? Congratulations or argument?

Okay, so this is one rude Thai guy. But I am a guest in this country, even if this jerk glaring down at me has momentarily forgotten my special status. Maybe if I had driven all the way from Bangkok with a carload of relatives and kids, well, yeah, I would be plenty cranky, too. But why would he be picking on me, except that he was angry at someone else, and could not show it.

Quietly ... "I have been practicing meditation for thirty years." Long pregnant pause for effect... he startled. "Do you practice meditation?" This would be an obtuse reply, except that we were in a Buddhist meditation center. He was taken aback.

"No... I have to get back with those people," motioning at the mob he had brought here, and he stomped off with the same unflinching resolve with which he had approached.

It took me several years to realize it, but he was right. He was a Buddhist in every sense, and I was not ... and never had been.

Subject: Boon #14 "The Present Moment"

It's time for me to say something about "the method" which I learned at Boon, as one of many techniques of mental "cultivation". So-called "Buddhism" only fits me to the extent of its being a coherent collection of methods of mental cultivation, or you could say, "actively modifying the way that I process life experiences".

In terms of doctrine, I simply don't hold with what most Buddhists believe and profess. Take 'reincarnation', for example. "Stuff & Foolishness!" sez Me. The promise of reincarnation was just a way for Indian kings and priests to get people to stay in line in the caste system, the way I reckon it. Comparable to the Pope promising "Indulgences" if Europeans would go on the Crusades, and we all know how that turned out. But I digress. (Big surprise!)

We all know very well the experience of "having our minds on something else", instead of tending to the task at hand. To put it another way, our minds are a-buzz with excessive concerns about what we want and what we do not want. Desire and Aversion. So we can really 'miss out on' our own lives, moment to moment. The excessive thinking exceeds the necessary and useful, but plotting and planning is the normal way of HUMAN mental life. It's part of being human. But other people (and specifically the media business) step in and further stimulate our mental habits of desire and aversion. It makes one tired and irritable, to no good purpose. We think too much, about things we cannot do much about. Often we talk ourselves into doing the wrong thing, and we just make things worse.

So the problem (for me) is getting control of the speed of my own mind and its processes. To spend more time "In The Present Moment" and less time in the "mental buzz" mode. Further, to be able to exert conscious control over the changing of such states of mind, rather than getting sucked in to whatever draws my attention. You see, THE BUZZ IS GOING ON 24 HOURS A DAY. (That's where drug induced hallucinations come from. Also daydreaming and the dreams of sleep).

The method at Boon is "Awareness of Body Postures". This means paying CONTINUOUS attention to the posture of the body, and ALL changes in posture. Walk, sit, lay down, stand. Eventually you keep your attention on all body movements, knowing what you are about to do, and why.  Otherwise, 'the Boon program' is nuthin! No reading, no talking (supposedly), no entertainments. And what you discover is how all day long, you are doing what your body requires, that there is not a 'self' who makes these decisions on its own behalf.

You know we say that "Time passes fast when you are having fun." Well, this is just the opposite!!! When you are very mindful, time passes very slow, because you are noticing everything. The Buzz does not come in to distract you and steal your time. But you are also much more content and do not tire so easily, because your mind is in more of a resting, observing mode. Just eating breakfast like this can seem like its going to take all day. Mind you, there is no 'slow motion' in this. Normal speed, but you are just paying attention to what you are going to do and knowing exactly why you are doing it.

It's like if you have a favorite past time, that causes you to stop thinking of other things. It's really pleasant to do that, and refreshing. And that's why a vacation needs to be away from familiar surroundings, so we do not have mental associations with the things we usually think about and worry over.  Having practiced it well for several weeks, I can now 'do it' to reduce the tendency toward excessive worry. At Boon, there are longer term goals for this practice, actually 16 steps, of which I only accomplished the first eleven.  <post script: Baloney!  I overestimated my progress because I did not fully understand the method and its power at the time of this writing.>

So what is it when you see someone 'sitting in meditation'? What are they doing? Well, for many practicers, they are simply KNOWING THAT THEY ARE SITTING THERE. Laugh if you want to, but try it sometime and see for yourself how long it is before you are thinking of something else, other than 'just sitting'.

And that's what it's all about.

Subject: Boon #15 "Kung Fu Flash Back"

Our story continues .....

So, much of Buddhist practice is about developing the skill of returning to a placid (naturally occuring) state of mind, more frequently. So what happens when you set aside several weeks for this practice. Well, the same thing that happens to yourself, when your mind is calm. A strong thought arises to disturb you, an aversion or desire for something in the future or in the past. So after several weeks I was rudely confronted with perhaps the worst mental trauma of my life.

I had dropped out of Miss. State FAILING EVERYTHING to let the Army get me for Vietnam. I was in triple deep funk, because my big plan was to become a chemical engineer. However, I was working every other semester at the Pascagoula Refinery, and it was sinking in (AND I DESPISED TO ADMIT IT) that the various engineers I was working with were in no wise happy about their work or their lives in general. So I had a conflict of objectives that I was unable to resolve gracefully, because I was TOO STUBBORN to just say, "This ain't for me." So I was in a deep sense of failure, so emotionally locked up that my school work was impossible.

Now, you would think that 'everything came out alright', because I eventually got several degrees and a reasonable share of 'the American Dream', for what it was worth. But no. Over the years I have had recurring dreams of that bad time, being late to take a calculus test (actually happened), not being able to read the test questions, being frozen motionless while people carry on their business around me, being unable to speak, well ETCETERA, okay?

After several weeks at Boon, I had a whopper of a nightmare about all this this, a perfected scripted college days dream horror story. AND A MUSCLE TENSION BACKACHE. Okay, so I know that others have had it worse, but I will allow that this one was bad enough. The following night I had three successive dreams along the same lines, and the consequent renewal of the muscle tension.

People noticed right away that I was walking very gingerly. Jerry suggested I go into Phattaya to get a massage. This I planned to do the very next day, although I was picturing what kind of place I would end up at, in SinCity Phattaya, just trying to get an honest rub, theraputic instead of erotic.

Then Jerry comes up that Smiling Jack knows massage! Smiling Jack's monk hut was right next to mine. He don't say much, knows no English at all, but he sure smiles a lot. A small thin fellow, looking completely Chinese rather than Thai. He comes in and motions for me to lay down. He puts the hoo-doo into his hands, rubbing them together with downright religious fervor. He puts a bit of mentholated salve on my back and starts to feel around. Locating the very long muscles on either side of my spine, he makes a moan of discovery. aaaahhhh soooo .....

Subject: Boon #16 "Big Monkey Talk"

Smiling Jack was a little feller, but he had very strong hands. I recognized that his massage method was Chinese theraputic deep massage. Instead of the usual 'feel good' massage on muscles and joints, Chinese massage manipulates your major organs and major blood arteries and nerve plexuses. He did me for about 40 minutes, and I felt such relief that I was almost in tears. "Fini" he said, and I said "Wait". I wanted to give him some money, but a monk is obliged to not expect anything for helping someone in suffering. He started out the door, saying "Good night, Sir" in perfectly rounded London-sounding syllables. "WAIT!" sez me. Then (sounding angry), "WAIT!!!!". Well, that did it. A Thai (I knew) is very troubled to think that anyone is angry with them, so he had no choice but to come back.

I gave him a reasonable amount of money for two massages and indicated by gesture that I wanted him to do this again another day. He tried to act indifferent, but I had to reckon by the look in his eye that he had not had cash in hand for a long time.

The next morning after collecting donations, he came by and gave me a box of washing powder and shower soap. As I said before, it was usual for monks to pass along what they did not need to others. But I reckoned he was telling me something. I had been so miserable that I had not showered for a couple of days, and all Thais are sticklers for personal cleanliness. So I did the necessary, expecting him to come back to massage me that evening. Instead, Jerry came by.

"No come. Big monkey talk." I casually accepted this explanation, need I say, without thinking. I was so glad for the relief he gave me, that whenever was convenient for him, was going to be Okay with me. That's what he said. Big monkey talk........ I began to feel somewhat excluded. If there was a talking monkey in the neighborhood, I would most appreciate the opportunity to witness this....... But I could see how Smiling Jack would rearrange his social obligations to me in order to see a big monkey talk. Or perhaps it was an average sized monkey that talked big. Either way, not something to be ignored...............

After some minutes of reasoning thus.....

........ I realized what had been said: "Big monk he talk."

One of Smiling Jack's senior monks had chosen this evening to get loquacious.  The following evening Smiling Jack came around and finished the job. Indeed he came yet another time and offered, but I was as well off as a massage could get me, though still a bit stiff.

The following Saturday Jerry went to Bangkok. He brought back a new velcro-fastened back support belt and gave me rubbing oil. Not for nothing could I get him to take any money for this. I still had a vague concern about getting another back spasm on the long flight back to Dhahran, but having the belt made me feel all better about that. Jerry had a big day, as he had also visited his mother in Bangkok, enrolled two of his older orphan boys in the university for monks and two others in the military. Think about that, going from the monastery to the military. More on this, later.

Subject: Boon #17 "pipe trick"

Well I count it worth the trip, because I have had no recurrance at all of my "college days" nightmares, since the back spasms at Boon.

The next morning as soon as I got up, I saw Smiling Jack beside my hut, carrying a four foot section of white plastic 2" pipe along the concrete wall. Can't never tell what you might learn by watching, so I stepped outside, as he walked about 150' down the wall to where a ladder leaned over the wall. He climbed the ladder and shook the pipe in a way that was nearly cartoonish, over the wall. Then he flung the pipe down on the ground back on his own side of the wall, the pipe ends ping-ponged hard agin the ground. Still, nothing come out. This had to be snake business, I reckoned. He brought the pipe back and laid it down at an angle to the ground, and I noticed two other similar pipe sections leaned the same way.

Noticing my interest as he walked away, he pointed at the back of my hut, and said, "Snake."

"Oh" sez me.  Then I realized that the three pieces of pipe had been the drain to the ground from the sink in my bathroom. Interesting. And there was a snake what was unaccounted for. "OOOOOHHHHH !!!!!" I dashed inside for a fast inspection of the premises, not really wanting to find anything, you know? Not much reassured, I put a shampoo bottle over the sink drain hole.

I sat on my front porch to enjoy breakfast, as usual, followed by very peaceful sitting, until it started to cloud up and rain. I looked over and surenuff a snake about 3 foot long came out of the pipe section that Smiling Jack had been carrying. Odd, how some snakes move. Some, when they are not in a hurry, use only the rear 2/3 of their body for propulsion, and the frontmost third is devoted to keeping the head perfectly still, for the benefit of sensory orientation. Snakes skidaddle out of closed places when it rains, you know.

I hollered "SNAKE! SNAKE! SNAKE!" Smiling Jack came out of his hut, but he was not much for it, because the way a monk dresses is not too good for getting cold rained on, especially with the shaved head. He rounded up his snake-catching basket and rake. I looked back at the snake, and it was gone! I suppose the snake had a hole passing under the concrete wall.

Jerry says that some snakes are so afraid of people that some will freeze up stiff and can't move, even if you step on it.  In India, having a cobra in the house became so common that they were associated with the well being of the household. They were considered household spirits, called "Naga". If you let it be known that you keep a big Naga in your house, I reckon few people would come in while you were away.

That afternoon, Jerry came over and translated for Smiling Jack. Jack wanted to go to America, anywhere in America, to work as a masseur, and send money back to his kinfolks. Well, yes, I had a friend in L.A. who might know whether Asian massage was popular in that town. A couple of days later Jerry came back privately and disavowed the whole conversation. He had asked Jack further about the people he intended to support, and he had not gotten any response at all. I wondered about the money I had given Jack, if it had inflamed greed.  But the more I thought of it, the more I realized that the laws were stacked against anyone making it on his own in the U.S., anymore. Need sponsors and all of that.

The next afternoon, I walked past Jerry, sweeping up the leaves. Furtively, he asked me to get something for him on my daily visit to the store. "Sure. What do you want?"

"Hai-yiii," handing me 40 baht (about a dollar) and making cotton-picking motions. "HuH? HHUUUHH?" "Don't know what you are talking about.  You go, yourself."

" Hai-yiii..."

"Huh?"

Subject: Boon #18 "hai-yiii"

I walked some considerable distance from Jerry, pondering long what was the meaning of "hai-yiii". It hardly seemed likely that I had walked through a Hai Karate commercial, 'cause monks don't use aftershave. Jerry had made quite a point of opening his mouth very wide and emphatically pointing in. "Two for one baht," he said, as if that ended the matter.

Overwhelmed by my childish fear-of-failure, I turned on my heel and went all the way back to Jerry. "I don't know what is 'hai-yii'. Tell me more words."

Jerry shook his head sadly, "Too many words." (Maybe this was a Buddhist teaching in the works, here.)

"You come to the store with me!" figuring that his leaf raking could wait, and dreading the prospect of failing a friend."

"NOOOOO!! Problem!!" Casting a glance in the direction of the outdoor kitchen, "Maybe people talk about me!" with equal dread in his voice and on his face. Jerry was not at all afraid of handling a cobra, but the possibility of talk behind his back was a matter of real serious concern. I reckoned he probably had the tire tracks on his back to prove it.

So I set off again by myself to the store. I approached the 12 year old girl there.

"Core-tote-crap" (I will never get used to it, but believe it or not, that is the polite way to say "Excuse Me.") She looks at me, perhaps patronizingly. I wonder if I said it politely enough.

"Passa Thai", sez me. (Listen Honey, I am talking Thai here.) Her eyes squint a bit. Okay, this is it: "Hai-yii !!!"

(It's a good thing that you do not have to pay for getting a dumb look.)

She turned to her mother, who was engaged in neighborly chatting behind her. But evidently she had been half-listening, anyway.

"Hai-yii !!"

She sez, "Hai-yii ..." followed by a long string of chatter, in explanation. She serves me herself, going straight to the rows of candy jars on the bottom shelves for the smallest children. I show her my money and she accordingly starts selecting little wrappered candies from each of several jars, working like a cotton picker. Why is she just selecting these particular ones? There are several kinds selected, but what they have in common is the "Hall's" label, but the logo looks a bit different for each one.

She is all smiles to help me. I have noticed that she understands a lot of English, although she does not attempt to speak it. Giving her the money, I point emphatically at my head. "YOU ARE VERY SMART!" And she beams and laughs like it's the nicest thing anybody ever said to her.

Returning to Jerry, we sneak secretly behind a tree to transfer the stash to him. Then I realize from the way he sucks the candy that he has a sore throat. However, 'eating' or accepting 'food' after midday would be strictly against the monks' rules. Then I remember the very exaggerated logo on the "Hall's" cough drops in the states. It always looked to me like H-A-I-E. Hai-yii.

Tomorrow: Elegance in Relationships. A wordless social observation of two dogs and little girl at the store.

Subject: Boon #19 "A little girl and two dogs"

I have previously commented that the Thais (like other "primitive socities") are much at ease to have their small children around them, in situations that more modern folk would find them a nuisance and perhaps tell them to "go play".

Of course, small children were always around the store, both those that belonged to the store lady and those of her customers who came and went with their little ones in tow, on motor bikes, on foot, in cars. The large Boon outdoor kitchen shed was an obviously convenient focal point of local leisurely gossip and kinfolks checking in with each other. You could tell which one was the boss lady of the kitchen, because there was nothing that moved in that area that she did not notice what was happening.

The Boon handy man's boy of about eight years old fetched tools to his father's chores as needed, but mostly just watched, more with curiousity than impatience, it seemed to me. The handy man also brought around breakfast to the huts every morning on a very large hand cart, with balancing dolly wheels fore and aft. His girl was always along too, not much over one year old, usually standing or sitting in the cart. Invariably, she wai'ed me (hands held facing each other, at chest level) as the cart approached my front porch, sometimes in response to a muttered reminder from her dad. Extraordinarily cute. Sometimes she rode along on her plastic tricycle, towed by her dad by a rope tied from the cart.  Perhaps such children have a special social awareness and social continuity. Of course the children are also a special source of comic relief from the day's routine, and I never saw a child hollered at.

I sat down at the store one very late afternoon, and watched the store lady's girl of about two and a half, sitting in a full dress skirt in the middle of a large low empty display table, earnestly attending to the community business of being a little girl. Her mother had given her a good piece of barbecued chicken on a wooden stick, from one of several roadside vendors doing business in front of the store. She delighted in each bite and savored it mightily. Two dogs were sitting on their haunches on the ground at the edge of the big table. Dominant Dog had his chest right up to the table edge, and Lame Dog sat two feet further back behind and to the side of the first dog, demonstrating the finer points of canine social order.

After giving each morsel a thorough chewing, she took the gristly remainder from her mouth and tossed it with dartlike precision to one or the other of the two dogs, always careful to alternate between them. Both dogs invariably caught their treat expertly on-the-fly. I was interested that Dominant Dog, while clearly mindful of his superior position, never harrassed the Lame Dog for his part of the proceeds. The little girl chewed earnestly, but it was a big piece of chicken, and soon she was sitting in a closed-eyed trance of appreciation, head tilted back and chewing away, only opening her eyes to attend to the fair sharing of the scraps with the dogs.

As she neared the end of the chicken stick and took the last piece of meat, she lay down, extending her arm to lay her head on, and she kept chewing away. I looked away at her older brother to see what he was about, and in a moment he was calling his mother's attention to the little girl. She had fallen sound asleep, and the last bites of chicken had drooled onto her arm and dress.

We all had a good laugh about that, and the store lady wiped her off and picked her up and took her back to their living quarters. Tomorrow morning I leave.

Subject: Boon #20 "Conclusion"

It had rained at Boon just a bit every day that I was there, but this was different. It rained and lightened horribly all night for the first time, beginning around midnite. I dreaded walking through mud to make my way out the gate one last time, baggage on shoulders. But the downpour broke just as I was ready to go. I had already paid my parting respects to the staff. I had told my teacher that I was sorry to say that I was unlikely to return, because of the cobras.  She said No Problem, You have learned the method.  This response and imprimatur pleased me greatly, but in fact it was years before I really 'got it', connecting the practice to the theory. 

Jerry was nowhere to be seen, so I took some things and left them on his porch in front of his door.  I expect that Jerry is back at his home monastery at Udon Thani by now. I left him all the cash I could spare. It pleases me to think of him brewing the tea I left him, in what is perhaps the only Mississippi State Bulldog thermal mug in all of Thailand. Then putting on his fancy American style sandals to go and make pleasant chat with the local folks with an eye toward finding homes for more of his little orphan boys.

I stepped quickly down the dirt road, passing and talking a bit with the Boon facility manager lady at the front gate. Passing the store, everyone stopped to notice my departure, and I raised my arms from the baggage straps and waved and hollered "Choke Dee!" ('Good Luck', which is the standard informal farewell).

I gave the taxi truck driver all the spare baht coins in my pockets (probably I gave him five times the required fare), making him understand very clearly the bus station was my necessary destination. He nodded encouragement to my donation, like he was falling asleep, or perhaps he was bowing his head to this unexpectedly generous 'good luck'.

When he let me out, there was a bus right there at the highway side. I demanded of a fellow idly standing by if this bus was going where I was going. There are different classes of buses, but this one was in the right place (Here!) and the right time (Now!) so I jumped on. The driver let me put my big bags in the well beside him, and I noticed that no one else had any luggage at all. Actually the bus was two-thirds full of blue and white uniformed school children on a Sunday afternoon, making their weekly return to their private boarding school. Two-thirds of the way back to Bangkok, they all got off together.

Then a few uniformed boys, army and navy, got on the bus, differing only from the school children by their uniforms, they were so young. I inspected the young fella coming up the bus aisle, and he could not help but smile, knowing that his uniform was perfectly creased and following my appraising eyes as they ended on his sharpshooter badge.

Finally back in Bangkok, in a different world, one of streets flooded with taxis and motorbikes, sidewalks crowded with hustlers, whores, and street vendors. There is no 'conclusion': Boonkanjanaram and Bangkok and Thailand continue without end, as they ever were, just with different faces. Nor is there any end to them in my mind, where the images still flash like snapshots and sound bites. No conclusion at all.