Evenings are a blessed relief in Thailand; warm, but without the smothering heat of the day that gratefully surrenders to the night's relative coolness. If I wasn't in my solitary hut meditating in the evenings, I would be in the main hall at dusk chanting along with the other monks, or maybe sitting out in the jungle meditating (hoping to high heaven that a snake wouldn't crawl in my lap, or that a rabid village dog take a bite out of me).
At other times, we would find ourselves gathered under the abbot's hut for a Dhamma talk. His hut is fancy, with a profusion of tropical plants and flowers on all sides. The hut itself is small, but because it is built in the middle of a large, ornate, elevated veranda supported by high, elaborate pillars, instead of the ordinary four by four stilts that propped up our huts, the whole structure has an appearance of a massive building. The living quarters inside the hut are about the same size as ours; but because it is built on a large platform, the structure is large enough for the entire community to sit beneath it.
The abbot is perched on a high seat, being fanned slowly with giant banana leaves by one or two senior monks, and except for fierce mosquitoes preparing to feast on us (and hopefully not carrying any bad strains of malaria), all is deadly quiet, as the monks continue to fan their abbot. The humidity is tangible; the still air heavily laden with moisture as a storm brews during this rainy season. Nobody speaks or moves after we all file in and find a seat on the concrete floor; it is perfectly silent, a powerful silence with monks and nuns sitting peacefully, not making a sound.
Shaving my head is a twice a month ordeal, and with no mirror and safety razors with the safeties removed, it was an interesting experience. After the trauma of shaving my own head and mopping up the blood, I meet in the main hall at midnight with the rest of the community. One of the monks volunteer to recite the two hundred and twenty seven rules in Pali (by memory), which takes about forty-five minutes reciting as fast as he can. Then we sit up all night meditating in the hall until daybreak when we go on our alms rounds. A few families from the villages always attend these all-night vigils, sitting up with us and waiting for the three a.m. talk by one of the monks. The villagers would then go back to work in the fields the next day, not the least bit concerned about the lack of sleep.
These full moon nights, where we would immerse ourselves in meditation, are one of my fondest memories of Thailand, as well as the serene mornings sitting together in the hall, the trips to the villages, and the days we gathered to dye our robes. My fellow monks nursed my body when it was ill, as well my spirits. They fed me honey and bananas for the dysentery, and they even convinced me to drink my own urine to cure my many other maladies. The solitary life of these monks and nuns leave few footprints on this earth, making little karma through their selfless actions and peaceful existence. It's unfortunate that few, outside of Thailand, know about their efforts. Perhaps the quality that rang so true with these selfless meditators was that nobody was home. No "self" was inside. Their outward attention was always directed toward others, toward peace, toward compassion, and they themselves no differently from whatever arose in their consciousness. I admire them more than the wealthy and famous that I now find in America. My heart will always go out to them.
E. Raymond Rock of Fort Myers, Florida is cofounder and principal teacher at the Southwest Florida Insight Center, http://www.SouthwestFloridaInsightCenter.com His twenty-nine years of meditation experience has taken him across four continents, including two stopovers in Thailand where he practiced in the remote northeast forests as an ordained Theravada Buddhist monk. His book, A Year to Enlightenment (Career Press/New Page Books) is now available at major bookstores and online retailers. Visit http://www.AYearToEnlightenment.com
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