Today I arrived again in Sarnath, India, the place of Buddha's first teaching. This time I am with my two friends from Thailand: Micki and her Buddhist monk teacher, Luang Pipit. We are staying at the Chinese Buddhist temple. It is a peaceful place with many trees out back, brids singing, goats & cows grazing, and chanting echoing out from a nearby temple. The accommodation here is luxurious compared to what I've been used to in Bodhgaya (where I slept on a concrete floor on a thin sleeping pad, snuggled next to Jimmy's Mom and her sister, while the two uncles shared the only bed in the tiny room). Micki and I are sharing a blue-green room with tall windows and doors that is large enough to fit five single beds, AND we have our own bathroom with HOT WATER, and a western-style sit down toilet. The room has a lovely expansive feeling due to the high ceilings, and in the afternoon the sunlight filters in to cast a warm glow. Our back window overlooks a quiet yard filled with small banyan trees. Mind you, there is still trash strewn across the yard like composting leaves (because this is India and everywhere is a trash bin), but it doesn't stink, so it is quite enjoyable to stroll about there.
The taxi driver who picked us up from the train station said that today was a Hindu festival. I can't remember the name of it, but the most wonderful tradition takes place in that all the kids go outside to fly kites! I am actually watching two boys right now - one has managed to launch his kite into the air and is skillfully maneuvering it with finesse and precision. It fills me with elation and exuberance when I see countless multicolored kites playfully flitting about in a blue sky. It seems like a great celebration of the air element. I was reminded of the song from Merry Poppins, "Let's Go Fly a Kits." On a humorous note, the two boys are now making fun of the chanting being broadcast from the loudspeakers - exaggerating the monks' tone of voice and talking over them in mock-chanting gibberish. Kids will be kids.
16-Jan-2012
Each day brings new miracles. Today I saw two Tibetan "chu" practitioners dancing, drumming, and blowing their sacred bone horns by the stupa where Lord Buddha gave his first teaching. I was really excited to see them because the way they moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm reminded me of a Native American dance. They danced in a circle around Shiva's trident. After the dance I gave them each a cream-colored khada (scarf) as a gift of thanks. One of them, the guy, looked me in the eyes and gave the khada back to me, placing it around me neck in the customary way and saying, "This is for you. May you do well in your practice. What is your practice, anyways?"
I replied, "I study under the Native American tradition. I am a shamanic practitioner."
"Ah, you know a lot about drums, then," he said, and smiled.
"Are you bombos (shamans)?" I asked.
"No, we are from Tibet, and we are dancing chu, which is about cutting the ego."
"Oh. Good luck, and thanks for your beautiful dance."
I would have liked to talk more with him, but he and his friend were packing up and starting to go. I captured some exquisite photos of their performance, if I do say so myself. :0)
After our visit to the stupa, Mickie, her teacher, and I went to the Archaeological Museum nearby. It was strange to see so many statues outside their temple context and in such a sterile environment. Still, the rules were different than in Western museums: under the flickering glow of fluorescent lights, many visitors bowed and touched their heads and/or prayer beads to the stone figures of Buddha, gods, and goddesses. I smiled and imagined people doing this at the Vatican or the Louvre, where many statues will set off alarm bells if you so much as touch them.
Tonight we plan to attend the daily chanting session of the monks at the Sri Lankan Buddhist temple. Even now, I can hear their sonorous voices echoing from the loudspeakers. Namaste, dear friends!
Many Blessings,
Melissa
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