For the past couple of years, ever since our local paper ran a story about the installation of a new monk at the local Buddhist temple, I've toyed with the idea of looking more seriously at Buddhism. As with many people my age, the term immediately brings to mind flocks of saffron-robed teens hanging out at airports begging for money and bearded, long-haired pudgy androgynous gurus bilking the credulous. It takes almost an effort of will to divorce those images from the reality. On the other hand, I did experiment a bit with yoga as a teen, mainly from books, but occasionally along with Lilias, and became a semi-irregular practitioner while in grad school. I have a set of DVDs that I have employed for weeks at a time, off and on, over the past 10 years or so. And yes, I realize that yoga and Buddhism are different, but they arise from the same philosophical tradition.
After the troubles and disappointments and sadness of Wraith and her kittens, Mike checked out some books on meditation and Buddhism and read some passages to me which he found significant and helpful. That was the final impetus to push me to suggest that we visit the Tam Bao temple, if only for the guided meditation.
Why is there a Buddhist temple in the middle of this stronghold of Christian conservatism? For the same reason that there are many fine Vietnamese restaurants and Vietnamese grocery stores -- this is one of the areas of the country where Vietnamese refugees settled after the fall of Saigon. Southeastern Louisiana had the room, a climate that is similar to home, and the industries in which many of them were already proficient, especially fishing and shrimping. Many, but obviously not all, are Catholic. Most moved to New Orleans, but a sizable contingent moved north to Baton Rouge.
We drove out there last week to find out exactly where it is and how to get to it and where to park and all of those other little details that are particularly important in Baton Rouge, where the streets are deliberately designed to prevent through traffic. It was also an opportunity for a Vietnamese lunch at Viet Garden restaurant. The temple was not difficult to find, but getting into it was just a bit tricky the first time. We parked and walked around the grounds, noted the bigger, paved parking lot tucked away to one side, and peeked into the Buddha hall.
We had thought to attend one of the Tuesday night meditations, but after calling the Temple to verify the time, I had the distinct impression that I was being steered toward the Friday night English service. Possibly because the young man I spoke with kept saying, "Well, the English is on Friday night. Tonight is just Vietnamese." And given that Mike had to be to work at 6 a.m. on Wednesday, we changed our plans to Friday night.
After a day that included leaving home before 7 to get to campus early enough to park and walk to my office before robing and walking down to graduation and sitting through the two-hour ceremony (and constantly reminding myself that, while this is a tri-annual experience for me, it is a once-in-a-lifetime for the graduates), then back to my office for the reception, then back to the parking lot, I was ready for a little quiet mindfulness. Both of my feet were protesting the unaccustomed activity, the right a bit more than the left, of course.
I had planned a shrimp curry for dinner, but Mike said, in that way of his, "Oh, I thought we were going to get dinner at Little Saigon, since we'll be in that area." Uh-huh. Sure. But I was willing to be convinced not to cook dinner. So, that's what we did, although we ended up at Saigon Noodles, which has taken over from Little Saigon (which, I discovered today, has re-opened across the street), none of which is in any way relevant, except that this might become a regular Friday night event.
We arrived at the Temple at 7:00, about 20 minutes early. A nice young man in the parking lot told us that people were free to enter and sit quietly, so we did, leaving our shoes outside the door, along with three or four other pairs. The floor, which earlier in the week had been bare, was laid out with mats and cushions and book cradles. There are also padded benches along the outer walls. A man lifted one of the bench tops and took out an extra cushion. Mike and I selected places and, while Mike helped himself to a second cushion, I maneuvered my way down to a seated position and crossed my legs.
People began arriving in ones and twos and taking places; some paused to bow to the Buddha, others just sat. They were a very diverse group in every way -- age, race, sex, weight. A few looked like "typical" Buddhists -- tall, thin, in flowing clothing or yoga pants, who sat in the lotus position -- but most, well, did not. Most sat on cushions, quite a few of them sinking gracefully and crossing their legs without difficulty, but a handful sat on the benches.
A young man in a brown robe with a shaved head, who would later identify himself as "Brother Will," and a woman in a brown robe entered, bowed to the Buddha, and a few minutes later, the service began. One of the men rang the bell -- it is a very large bowl-shaped bell that is rung by striking it with a wooden ballet, and gives off a very resonant tone that reverberates through the hall; much more pleasant than I had anticipated -- and a young woman read an introduction to the service, so that newcomers would know what to expect without feeling singled out.
The abbott entered, we all rose. He offered incense to the Buddhal they went through the three prostrations. Although most of those in attendance did prostrate themselves, Mike and I were not the only two who refrained, mainly because we both doubted our ability to get back up again without help! Brother Will explained that, while meditating, we should ignore the need to scratch or move; that if we absolutely had to move, it should be done mindfully, and that any thoughts should be accepted and then let go. Shortly after, the lights were dimmed, the bell was rung, and we began our 30 minutes of meditation. The abbott chanted something in Vietnamese, which, like Gregorian chant, was more powerful for being unintelligible.
Every five minutes or so, Brother Will would softly ring the bell, and recite a chant in English to help us re-focus on our breath. Every time I would think "I can't do this," the bell would ring and I would find that I could -- until about 20 minutes into it, when I realized that I could no long feel my feet or my ankles. I could not move my toes. I began to panic; all I could think of was how essential it was that I restore circulation.
First, I used my hands to shift my feet farther from my body, which helped somewhat. I tried to re-focus, but with the restoration of blood flow, my feet had begun, first to tingle, and then ache. Then, I straightened out my left leg, and tried to re-focus, but really, at that point, all I was doing was waiting for the 30 minutes to end. I wondered what would have happened if I had just ignored it. Obviously, my feet were not going to develop gangrene in that little bit of time.
Blessedly, the time did come to an end. We were instructed to rub our hands together, then massage our face and head, then our neck and shoulders, our back, and finally out legs. Mike then went to sit on a bench along the wall; 10 minutes later, I wished I had joined him -- and we'll just start out at the wall the next time.
Brother Will then introduced himself, explained that the abbot is away on a retreat (but did not introduce the monk who was leading the service, whom I shall continue to call "the abbot") and gave the homily -- I cannot think of it as other than that. He is a monk-in-training of about 18 months and doing his best, but not the deepest thinker. He questioned us about "What makes you happy?" then expressed surprise that people said, "Family, love, friends" -- to me, the expected answers. He expected to hear "Cars, money, iPhones." So young and inexperienced. Even if that were what people thought, most would have known better than to actually say it. He sort of rambled on about the topic for 10 minutes or so, then same man who had lit the incense and run the bell to start also rambled on, reading some passages from the Buddha and the Dalai Lamah. After 20 minutes or so, I was not the only person who was restlessly shifting, and the abbot suddenly rang the bell softly, then loudly, then softly again after the sound had died away.
That served to refocus all of us; the man finished what he was saying, and the floor was opened to comments. Nothing particularly noteworthy, just people repeating the sorts of things you would expect about "happiness" -- family, nature, love. I thought about saying that, for me, happiness comes from learning and acquiring knowledge, but I didn't want to sound, well, like a prig.
Again, the abbot rang the bell, then pointed to a young Asian man and over to his right side. The young man quickly moved, picked up a microphone, and began to translate. The abbot repeated much of what had been said, but expanded on it and contextualized it within Buddhism and Dharma, in particular the difference between the happiness that comes from without and that which comes from within, and the fragility of happiness that is attached to the outer world.
It was while he was speaking that I realized that even family, love, nature provide a happiness from without; that even that happiness is fragile and short-lived; happiness that depends on anything outside of ourselves is subject to loss. Family die; they become estranged; grow-up and move on with their lives; thousands of psychiatrists, psychologists and counselors made a very good living telling women in the 1970s and later that they needed to find a life beyond their children; the empty-nest syndrome is still recognized. Even learning and knowledge can be lost to Alzheimer's or a stroke or dementia. Mindfulness means finding joy in what is now.
He then shifted tone, and asked those of us who were new to introduce ourselves; of the 50 or so people who were there, about 10 were there for the first time. Most of them were students at LSU, although one other woman was also faculty at LSU and new to Baton Rouge.
We ended with a group chant in English. The regulars quickly gathered up the cushions, mats, and book stands, while I gingerly walked over to Mike, testing whether my feet would bear me out to the car. We were greeted by a friendly ginger cat as we left the hall, who demanded pets from everyone who came out. We don't know whether it is a regular occurrence, but we rather hope so.
Are we ready to commit to this? Possibly. Certainly we want to make it a regular practice at home, and we find value in the guided meditation at this stage. We're not decided about becoming members of the community. The constant bowing to each other with hands in heart position felt awkward, but that can be overcome with time. I think we'll just take it as it comes, which is all that we're asked to do.
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