Life at Vimutti Buddhist Monastery

http://matadornetwork.com/community/turner/life-at-vimutti-buddhist-monastery/attachment/41/

Running in the pre-dawn hours has always been my custom,
when I was working at a biomedical firm in Kagoshima, Japan, and needed to
stretch my legs prior to eight hours of sitting, and busying myself on Town
Lake in Austin, Texas.  In New
Zealand, however, as I pace across the green hills and try to imagine myself as
the famous miler John Walker (wearing all black helps), there is one
inconsistency in my exercise.  The
Asics shoes, worn down by the trial of miles, are as old friends; we beat the
pavement as one.  My attire,
boasting the slogan “born to run”, has too been faithful to me across two
continents.

The difference lies in the mind.  Although traversing a far shorter distance than one sees in
a marathon, I am attempting to reach the same state of mindfulness that comes
after hitting the wall.  The wall,
to you non-runners, is that point in a marathon where the body ceases to
function of its own accord, pushed ahead solely on force of will.  You cannot keep going, and yet you
do.  Impossible, but runners see
themselves surviving marathons with nothing less than wit.

Mindfulness can be achieved by focusing on anything in the
present: the sound of your breath moving in and out of the lungs, the chirping
of birds in the distance, even the subtle development of painful tension in
those reliable legs.  The trick is
not to let yourself wander with memories past or visions of the future.  Here and now is what’s important, what
lets you truly understand yourself and your place in this best of all possible
worlds.

There’s a reason for my newfound spiritual athlete attitude,
and it lies at the crest of the last hill coming back, noted only by a faded
unremarkable wooden sign at the entrance to a slowly descending gravel road: Vimutti.

Vimutti Buddhist Monastery follows the Theravada tradition,
passed down from India and tracing its origins directly from the Buddha.  This is in contrast to some Mahayana sects, which include Zen.  Many followers of Theravada Buddhism live in Sri Lanka,
Thailand, Laos, and Cambodia.

The mindful morning run, even if unsuccessful in its
meditative purpose, is still an excellent physical release and a good way to
explore the countryside south of Auckland.  By the time I have walked past the meditation hut by the
pond, most of the laypeople (those staying at the monastery but not ordained)
have gathered in the kitchen to see what is available for breakfast.

Like all monasteries, Vimutti relies entirely on donations:
there is no food in that kitchen which was not given directly to the monks by
members of the community.  That is
the typical arrangement between monastics and laypeople.  Those ordained to follow the teachings
of the Buddha, the Sangha, receive
material needs and provide the community with spiritual guidance.

As part of the monastic code (detailed very
thoroughly as I discovered, down to the percentage of cacao in chocolate which
may be consumed), all those staying at Vimutti are restricted to a liquid
breakfast.  With a blender handy
and several kiwi fruit available, this usually isn’t a big problem for me.  The monks here tend to prefer vanilla
soymilk, and I must confess I’ve gotten a taste for it as well.

After 7:30, with the donations of the Sri Lankan laypeople
resting comfortably in my stomach, and the dishes cleaned and dried, we see to
the first differentiation in schedules.

As one of the caretakers of Vimutti, I am expected to do
whatever the abbot asks of me from 7:30 – 10:30 and 13:00 – 17:00. Visitors, on
the other hand, have the morning free to study Buddhism, talk with the monks
about Dhamma (teachings), improve their kamma (also known as karma) in any way they like, and
meditate, usually either by walking or sitting in their huts.

Depending on what I am assigned to in the morning, however,
there might be room in the interim for my own form of mediation.  Take weeding, for example, which needs
to be done periodically across the entire property, 100 acres; there’s nothing
about weeding that requires a lot of experience or foresight: see a weed, pull
it or kill it.  It keeps one
strongly in present, which is, after all, the main goal of meditation.  It also happens to be a useful metaphor
in Dhamma practice; eliminating all
unpleasantness from the heart is a gradual process.  One may think he has moved beyond a particular desire, but
if there is any trace of it left, it merely comes back stronger with time.  The same is true of weeds.  If only it were as simple as putting
bad thoughts out of your mind.

Work at the monastery can vary.  Recently we’ve been putting up some new mountain huts, kutis, and reinforcing some of the trails in the forest to
make them suitable for meditation walks. 
But there are occasions where the abbot calls me into his office to ask
for help installing the newest anti-virus software and setting up a wireless
network for a visiting monk.  Some
of you who have never visited a Buddhist monastery and probably think of them
as relics of 600 BC may believe I’m poking fun.  Far from it.

Buddhism adapts to the modern world.  Although many monks prefer to live in
seclusion in forest monasteries, there are plenty who base themselves in major
cities and go about their business in the same way you or I might.  The key, as the Buddha pointed out, is
the middle path: not cutting yourself off from desires and the world as
ascetics world, nor indulging in cravings without being mindful.

Even with this type of reasoning, many traditionalist monks
still take issue with computers and the Internet.  It is a handy communication tool – one which allowed me to
discover Vimutti, I might point out – but also a very effective
distraction.  When the Internet is
used, it is typically for email and news.

Whatever the task, I’m usually sweating and back at my hut
around 10:30 to change and enjoy a cuppa tea, a New Zealand habit I’m happy to
indulge in 3-4 times/day.  By this
time, a car or van will roll its way down the long road to the sala (meeting hall).  Our guests have arrived.  Although some people choose to stay at the monastery
overnight to practice Dhamma,
most prefer to visit during the midday meal.  It is a time one can feel a great sense of community.  Many Thai and Sri Lankan laypeople come
to offer food, but there is no shortage of New Zealanders, Americans, English,
even a few Japanese.

Sunday typically brings the largest crowd- families with
children – but what’s so surprising is the fact that 364 days out of the year,
someone comes to prepare the meal for the monastery.   Every day, there is a different layperson
bringing food and cooking quite a delicious meal so the monks may survive.  That I happen to eat too… well, works
for me.

By 11:00, the sala is
full or somewhat full of people, and the monks take their place in front of the
Buddha, sitting in order of seniority – years ordained, not age.  The “youngest” monk is the one to whom
the meal is offered directly. 
Again, monastic code: Theravada monks cannot take food for themselves,
and must be given everything officially before the meal begins.  In this case, any layperson sitting
close to the dishes may choose to stand and hand each to the monk in turn.

With the formalities taken care of, the other monks are now
free to serve themselves – this is their one meal of the day, and the only
source of solid food.  I assure
you, it’s quite hearty: Thai food, mmmm… aroi.

Buddhist monks have little in the way of possessions – the
traditional orange robes, work clothes, sandals, and their food bowls.  They fill this to a desired height and
return to the their place at the front of the room.  With everyone kneeling or sitting, with daylight streaming
across the New Zealand rolling hills, with the smiling visage of Buddha looking
down on followers 2500 years late, the blessing commences.

Theravada still follows some rituals I find a little
unsettling.  The Buddha himself
tried to discourage the Sangha from
thinking of his teachings as a religion, yet many of the practices that have
endured are representative of some of the major faiths.

Namely, people bow to the image of the Buddha, in this case
a statue.  The intent is to pay
respect to the life of the Enlightened One, but, to me, it still feels
borderline idolatry, creating the impression of the Buddha as a god.  No Theravada monk believes this,
naturally, but I take issue as to how Buddhism is portrayed to the rest of the
world: the teaching should be the focus, not the man.

However, I do but keep my peace and listen in silence to the
Pali (language of ancient India) prayer and the three bows that follow: one for
the Buddha, one for the Dhamma, one for
the Sangha.  That completed, the monks shuffle along
to their dining hut, not so much because they oppose eating in public, just the
distractions that may arise. 
Eating, like walking and sitting, can be a form of meditation.  One which, next to running, I will be
pursuing rather closely.  Taste is
quite the sensation to which I may hold in the moment.

Whether all choose to eat mindfully or engage in light
conversation during the meal, it is still quite a laid back time in the monastery
and the most sociable.  A time to
keep up my fading Thai language skills by describing the food and asking the
kids “aroi mai?” (is it delicious?)

When the monks return around 12:00, the leftovers have
already been tossed (or saved for me), the dishes cleaned, and the sala in its pre-meal state.  Now is the time for Dhamma talk. 
The laypeople have the opportunity to address any problems in their
lives with the abbot, or spark a discussion as to why so many choose
Buddhism.  Last week, there was a
British national who asked about the creation stories on which so many of the
major faiths are based.  An
American and I chimed in with the Christian angle, a Sri Lankan told us what he
knew of Hindu, and the abbot gave an all-inclusive account based on his
studies.  Time passed quickly
enough with each layperson wanting to voice his/her opinion, and soon it was
13:30, nearly half an hour into the work schedule.  Oh well, I guess mindfulness takes precedent.

Assuming I’m able to stay on my feet after working under the
New Zealand sun for the next four hours, I’ll start heading back to the sala for a cuppa. 
It’s not just me, though – apparently, the UV index in this country is
abnormally high.  My brain was
literally baking by the second week into summer as I was caught unaware.  As soon as I can find a quasi-Crocodile
Dundee hat, sans crocodile teeth, I’ll be set to weather the afternoon.  The bumblebees don’t help, but there is
hardly anything in the way of poisonous or dangerous animal and insect
life.  No snakes.  No hairy spiders.  No ticks, few mosquitoes. 

Anyway, quitting time for the work portion of the day.  Time for a cuppa tea on the porch of
the sala and to hang my sweat-soaked
clothes to dry.  I might even take
a shower, if there’s enough water to spare; the monastery uses rain water to
survive, but it can be quite dry in summer.  If only I were closer to a hot springs, or could magically
transport to my favorite onsen in
Kagoshima.  My routine is still
typical of a Japanese businessman: food, bath, bed.

Unless, of course, it’s Monday or Friday.  In either scenario… community meeting
at 19:00.  We begin the festivities
with Pali chants, praising the Buddha, humbling ourselves, and encouraging
mindfulness.  The main purpose,
however, is to address any problems in the community.  Something as small as washing dishes or large like there is
one gallon of water left to sustain us for ten days… trouble.  Casual in its nature, however, we tend
to speak rather freely and provide more praise than criticism and discuss the
future of the monastery.

Ajahn Chandako is our abbot.  Ordained for 19 years, he is an American who has practiced
Theravada largely in Thailand.

I didn’t know what to expect when I accepted this position
at the monastery and started researching the Ajahn.  All these questions kept floating around:

- How do monks behave on a daily basis?

- Are they reclusive in personality?

- Can I offend them with the most unintentional of actions?

In truth, I was pleasantly surprised.  Yes, forest monks live in a reclusive
environment, but being a monk and seeking enlightenment means more than simply
a greater understanding of one’s place in the universe, or one’s past lives.

It means being happy with yourself as you are in the
now.  Slowly taking undesirable
feelings and making yourself ready to not need to feel them.  Having a pure heart.  A good soul.

Were he not covered in cloth stained by his own hands, the
Ajahn would easily pass for a normal, insightful, and caring person in lay
society.  It’s a pity such a
setting would most likely undo the work towards liberation for which he has
strived in the last twenty years.

We part ways after the meeting, him to his forest kuti, and I to my bed near the sala.  I seek
to sleep.  I wonder, what will I dream
if I stay mindful before I slowly lose consciousness?  Can I envision something better than the here and now, at
the life I have chosen to lead in New Zealand?  Can you?

http://www.vimutti.org.nz/