Service for Others

“Go your ways, oh monks, for the benefit and happiness of many, out of compassion for the world, for the good, benefit, and happiness of gods and men. Let no two go in the same direction. Teach, oh monks, the Dhamma, which is beneficial in the beginning, in the middle, and at the end— both the spirit and the letter of it. Make known the Noble Life, which is fully complete (requiring no addition) and pure (requiring no subtraction). There are beings with only a little dust in their eyes who will be lost unless they hear the Dhamma. Such persons will understand the truth.”

“Caratha bhikkhave cārikaṃ bahujana-hitāya bahujana-sukhāya, lokānukampāya, atthāya hitāya sukhāya devamanussānaṃ. Mā ekena dve āgamittha. Desetha bhikkhave Dhammaṃ ādikalyāṇaṃ, majjhekalyāṇaṃ, pariyosānakalyāṇaṃ sātthaṃ sabyañjanaṃ. Kevalaparipuṇṇaṃ parisuddhaṃ brahmacariyaṃ pakāsetha. Santi sattā apparajakkhajātikā asavanatā Dhammassa parihāyanti. Bhavissanti Dhammassa aññātāro.”

Dutiyā Mārapāsa Sutta, Saṃyutta Nikāya, IV (I).5

Vassa, Rains Retreat

“Imasmiṁ āvāse imaṁ te-māsaṁ vassaṁ upemi”

With the recitation of those words, three times, a monk enters Vassa, or the Rains, a period of three months in which he must reside in one place and cross the dawn in that place. There are some exceptions that allow monks to spend the night elsewhere, for up to 7 days (or 6 dawns), but generally speaking, most monks don’t. For more on this, please see Thanissaro Bhikkhu’s “Buddhist Monastic Code II”, Chapter 11, Rains-residence.

This is my first time entering Vassa so late too. Having lived in Myanmar, the practice of two Vassas is still alive. I usually entered the first one while my teacher, due to his heavy travel schedule, would usually enter the second, beginning a month later. In Thailand, it doesn’t seem that this custom is followed anymore, or if it is, most monks with whom I’ve spoken about two Vassas looked at me like I had two heads. Anyhoo, all of a sudden, Vassa (or khao phansa in Thai) was upon us and all monks enter at the same time.

Frankly, and at the risk of sounding ungrateful, which is not the case at all, I would have preferred more of an opportunity to “monastery shop”. But as it turns out, the situation is pretty amazing – I will be staying at Wat Arun, on the left bank (la Rive Gauche!) of the Chao Phraya River. It’s a rather busy, touristy place, but I spend most of the day at another monastery anyway, and the monk’s residences are kinda off to the side. Last night was quiet, if a bit toasty.

Typically, monks are supposed to double down in their study and practice, and I was wondering what that meant for me. Not much! Most of my day is consumed with meditating, reading, study and a little writing anyway, and this year has a bit of a different twist, “working” at a Buddhist research institute.

So to all my brothers and sisters in Dhamma, may all obstacles be removed from your respective Paths and may you come out of Vassa with clearer vision and better understanding of “things the way they really are”!

Ashin Indananda (U Ein) d. 10 July 2010

“Aniccâ vata saàkhârâ
Uppâdavayadhammino
Uppajjitvâ nirujjhanti
Tesaè vûpasamo sukho.

“Dukkhâ vata saàkhârâ
Uppâdavayadhammino
Uppajjitvâ nirujjhanti
Tesaè vûpasamo sukho.

“Anattâ vata saàkhârâ
Uppâdavayadhammino
Uppajjitvâ nirujjhanti
Tesaè vûpasamo sukho.”

The First Patimokkha

Every new and full moon day, called uposatha, Theravâda monks gather for a recitation of the Patimokkha, the 227 rules for bhikkhus (not sure about the other traditions). I went to my first recitation in Thailand a couple of weeks ago, and as usual, was really impressed by the monk who did the recitation. In Thailand, there is a special test for a reciter to become certified. Apparently there isn’t a queue banging on the door to get this certification. One of the bennies seems to be that if one is qualified, finding a room at a monastery is really easy.

In contrast, in Myanmar, it seems that almost all monks can recite the patimokkha – no small feat in that it takes a minimum of about 45 minutes, reciting super-fast with no pausing – and in my monastery, the reciters were rotated so that throughout the year, most monks had the duty. There is no value judgment here; it’s just an observation about how monasticism is practiced differently in the various countries.

Anyway, the story that prompted the Buddha to recite these verses comes from the Dhammapâda Commentary, Dhammapâdâííhakathâ, in which Ânanda Therâ, the Buddha’s cousin and lifetime attendant, asks the Buddha, “What were the fundamental instructions of the preceding Buddhas to the bhikkhus?”, the response being these very famous verses. For the first couple of years of the Buddha propagating Dhamma and building the Saàgha, and shortly before he began to formally roll out the 227 rules, they are reputed to have been recited at the early patimokkha gatherings. Of course now, they have become the general guidelines for all Dhamma wayfarers as a Buddhism-in-a-nutshell kinda refrain.

183. “Not to do evil;
To cultivate merit;
To purify one’s mind.
This is the teaching of the Buddhas.

184. “The best moral practice is patience and forebearance
‘Nibbâna is supreme’, said the Buddha
A bhikkhu does not harm others
One who harms others is not a bhikkhu.

185. “Not to revile, not to do any harm
To practice restraint according to the fundamental instructions for the bhikkhus.
To be moderate in food taking
To dwell in a secluded place
To devote oneself to higher concentration
This is the teaching of the Buddhas.”

184. “Sabbapâpassa akaranaè
kusalassa upasaèpadâ
sacittapariyodapanaè
etaè buddhâna sâsanaè.

184. “Khanti paramaè tapo titikkhâ
nibbânaè paramaè vadanti buddhâ
na hi pabbajito parûpaghâti
na samano hoti paraè vihethayanto.

185. “Anûpavâdo anupaghâto
pâtimokkhe ca saèvaro
mattaññutâ ca bhattasmiè
pantañca sayanâsanaè
adhicitte ca âyogo
etaè buddhâna sâsanaè.”

transl Daw Mya Tin, M.A..

Attend to Me, Attend to the Sick

These words of the Buddha have been recurring in my thoughts recently:

Yo, bhikkhave, maù upaííhaheyya, so gilânaù upaííhaheyya.”

“Whoever, monks, would attend to me, he should tend the sick”

Sîtagû Âyudâna Hospital

Although Sagaing Hills, Myanmar (about 12km SW of Mandalay, as the crow flies) has been a monastic town for over half a millennium, monastics have had to make an arduous journey to Mandalay for any kind of substantial health care. With the above admonition from the Buddha found in the Vinaya (I, 301), Sîtagû Sayadaw Dr. Ashin Nyanissara founded and built Sîtagû Âyudâna Hospital to provide state-of-the-art, free medical services for the nearly 14,000 monks, nuns, and novices living in the 1,000 monasteries and nunneries of the surrounding area. Within a few years of opening, they were able to expand the services to include the poor in the region, and now, one can even find patients who have traveled hundreds of miles to seek care. In 21 years of service, approximately 275,000 persons have passed through its doors.

In addition to the full time staff of doctors and nurses, specialists from Mandalay donate their time and services on a weekly basis, while scores of medical professionals from all around the world come on medical missions throughout the year. In times of crisis, like with Cyclone Nargis in the Irrawaddy Delta, and even during other less well-known environmental disasters in Myanmar, the staff have been dispatched to work in local clinics and hospitals to assist with recovery efforts. Indeed, many of these hospitals and clinics have been rebuilt, refurbished and re-equipped through Sîtagû Sadayaw’s efforts.

The painting at the top of the post hangs in the main entrance area to the hospital, and, while preparing a presentation on Sîtagû Sayadaw’s life and the works of the Sîtagû Welfare Association (one and the same, incidentally; talk about “Engaged Buddhism”!), I came across the following painting in the art/photo archives at the hospital:

Whoever, monks, would attend to me, he should tend the sick.

Forever a Monk

An 80 year old monk was living alone at his monastery at the edge of the village. Like many Myanmar boys, he ordained as a novice at a young age and never left the robes. The villagers were concerned that should there be an emergency at the monastery, no one would be around to help. So they set up a system where the Sayadaw** would strike the gong rapidly and the villagers would rush to assist. Early one morning around 4am, the villagers heard the rapid striking and rushed to the monastery as fast as they could. When they arrived, they saw Sayadaw sitting serenely and asked him what the emergency was. Sayadaw replied that he “…had made a decision.” The villagers were relieved to see that all was well, but their curiosity was piqued and they asked, “what decision have you come to Sayadaw?” Sayadaw replied, “I will remain a monk the rest of my life!”

** Title of respect for senior monks in Myanmar

Funeral for a Monk

Yesterday was my first Buddhist monk funeral. Shwe Hin Tha Sayadaw passed away the day before the end of the Rains Retreat at the age of 84, with 65 years, or more if we count his novicehood, in the robes. He was the second Sayadaw (abbott) of the highly respected Shwe Hin Tha Monastery in Sagaing Hills.

Buddhist funerals are rather interesting in that very few tears are shed, and the atmosphere is hardly what one could call somber. My guestimate is about 5,000 people attended, including some very senior monks, the governor of the province, the deputy Minister for Religious Affairs, their phalanxes of soldiers (gotta take your security and guns to the monastery; never know when a monk will break into a violent attack of loving kindness!), hundreds of monks, nuns, novices, and thousands of lay mourners. The ceremony began with some chanting, followed by an admonition from the head of our School on the 12th step of Dependent Origination*. Several monks then took turns reciting biographies of his teachers and his own biography, then a short Dhamma talk by my teacher. There was some offering of merit, some more chanting (anicca vada sankhara), then the masses moved to the cremation grounds. I believe monks acted as pall bearers of the glass coffin as they were the ones who removed it from the platform in the hall, but since I wasn’t following in the procession directly behind, I am not sure. (* Birth conditions the whole round of decay, death, sorrow, lamentation, physical and mental suffering)

The casket was lifted onto a 4-5 m high platform in the centre of this concrete ground, and the body, wrapped in his robe from head to foot, was removed from the coffin and lowered into a yellow “box” about 2 m long and half a meter high that had holes on the sides. At the four corners of this yellow “box” were 3 m high bamboo poles with Buddhist flags fluttering in the breeze. Strung between the poles, a large white cloth formed a kind of canopy. The fire brigade was out in numbers (guess it is their responsibility to organise and run cremations), and when the monks had left the platform, they covered the “box” with some sort of plank, and left the platform themselves. Meanwhile, there was a rather somber, but very nice sounding chant/song from a layperson. I had heard this chant before, and if I am not mistaken, it’s a chant of mourning expressing how the deceased will be missed, the good deeds he did, etc. This lasted about 30 minutes. There was another chant by the monks, then the governor lit the pyre. For about five minutes, there was no sound other than the occasional “whoomph” coming from the fire.

Frankly, I was expecting “cremation ć la Ganges”, gigantic flames licking the sky and engulfing the entire structure, with huge billows of smoke. There was certainly a lot of smoke, but the only flames were those that escaped through the holes in the side and the gap where the plank did not rest flush with the top rim of the “box”.

It was at this point, though, in the palpable silence, that it was transformed from spectacle to spiritual for me. Images of the few meetings with Sayadaw flashed in my mind, and I could remember his serenity and presence of mind, as if he were with me in that very moment. His eyes radiated warmth and kindness, and when he looked at me, or my friend, we always felt we were the centre of his world. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, his voice was soft, yet firm, despite his ill health. Those images sewn together with the present moment of a burning corpse really brought home “impermanence”. Indeed all things are impermanent, and in that impermanence we can only find unsatisfactoriness. Probably most importantly, in reflecting on the body being consumed by the flames and the now separated stream of consciousness, in neither one of those two could be found a self or a soul, only the harmonious combination of the two that we call “life”, and a subsequent disruption of that compound, called “death”. Even with his rather exalted position, vast learning, and deep practice, he was at the core a very simple monk who had learned, practiced and taught the Dhamma for over 65 years, even to me, who was only in his presence for a grand total of about 3 hours.

Thank you Sayadaw.