Former Buddhist Patriarch Dies

On March 12th of this month, a monk who had been the Theravadan Patriarch of Cambodia, and who had been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts at reconciliation after the disastrous regime of Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge, died here in New England. A Website devoted to Maha Ghosananda can be reached at

http://www.ghosananda.org/index.html

Five years ago, soon after the events of 9/11/01, he came to speak at the Cambridge Buddhist Association. I wrote up my impressions of the event. It seems fitting to share it now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~O~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oct. 5, 2001

October 3rd, Wednesday, I went to the Cambridge Buddhist Association to sit and to hear the Ven. Maha Ghosananda speak. Ghosananda, outside of Cambodia during the bombing and the Pol Pot regime, labored with great effort and often courage to help rebuild Cambodia, and was four times nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize.

A somewhat frantic email from Dharman pleaded for help setting up at the CBA for the visit. Apparently, everyone else assumed, as I did, that others would answer. I have the excuse of living out of town, but I went in a bit early to see if there were any odds and ends requiring an extra hand. Dharman said he would assign me something, and then went off in a flurry. As I was doing the various things to get ready for zazen -- remove watch and affix to belt, loosen belt two notches and unbutton top button and lower fly one-third, extract juzu from pouch, etc. -- a woman in her thirties came into the coat/waiting room, and asked if I was one of the people in charge. I belonged to that sangha, yes, could I help? She informed me that she had studied there at the CBA with Lama So-and-so, did I know him? Then she asked if it would be alright to do her Vajrayana meditation during the sitting period. I told her that anything but zazen was strictly forbidden. And the monks can tell! When it seemed that she was taking me seriously, I said that the CBA, though generally tending to a Zen format, was non-denominational. Oh, good! She was looking for a sangha like that!

Dharman blew in and asked me to look in the ivy that covered the ground in the front yard for a key to a Mercedes that belonged to one of the trustees. It would free him to do other things. How did it happen to be in the front yard? Long story, he said, declining to explain. He pointed out the areas where it could not be, and the areas of greatest likelihood, and gave me a bicycle lamp held on the head like a miner's light, to go search in the dark in the impossible ivy that held its leaves horizontally above the ground at precisely two-and-a-half inches. "There! Now you look Welsh! Do you write poetry?" "Doesn't everybody?"

After a few minutes, the lamaist student, A---, came out to help. Of course, she started where Dharman had said the key would not be, and would then go over the ground I had just searched. But I was not inclined to give directions, and doing anything for the sake of the sangha was a worthwhile thing, even if useless. The ivy was such that several eye passes might still miss a single key, so more eyes were welcome. A--- pattered away at me. Sometimes her voice was an unintelligible murmur in the sound-dampening vegetation under the low bush-trees, and I just grunted acknowledgement that I had heard her, though I had no idea what she was saying. And of course, she found the key! She gave me the key to give to Dharman, and I gave it back to her saying she deserved the glory. She said, "Oh, but I don't need any merit. Do you need any merit?" Probably. But more to save on pointless argument, I just gave Dharman the damn key.

I realized I was a bit thirsty. Ven. Dharman Stortz Shakya had just come out of the kitchen and closed it behind him. I entered and found two diminutive people there about the size of American 7- or 8-year-olds. Was one of them Ghosananda? But would he wear white? We exchanged polite bows and I signed that I wished to take some water. As I did, I decided that these people were female Asians, one old and one older than that. We again bowed with many smiles as I left, wondering if I had caused any difficulties with minor precepts.

Back in the foyer and about to take my seat in the zendo, I saw an elegant East Asian woman descending the mansion's stairway. She reeked of serenity! She wore a high-waisted dress, the style of which I associate with Korea, though I would have guessed her to be Japanese, with a black top and sleeves, and bell-like white flaring skirt. I gasshoed to her and she returned it with utmost grace. Behind her, Ven. Pannaloka was all smiles when he saw me, and after gassho, took both my hands in his.

I thought, What a whole lot of communication just happened! We all just made perfectly understood wishes for each other's well-being, though we might have difficulties expressing anything in words.

For some reason, Dharman thought sitting Rinzai-style, facing inward toward the center and the people opposite, would provide more room. I took a seat on a cushion not too far from, and opposite to, where I thought the Venerable would be sitting. A--- sat in a corner a few seats down from me. We were fifteen minutes early -- I could observe (without moving my eyes) other people taking their seats. The Asian woman in black and white dress sat two seats to my left, all her motions epitomes of grace and precision. A slight man with rakusu sat between us. A Westerner in rakusu and brown robe sat between me and A---. Directly opposite me were a middle-aged woman and a grey-bearded man who seemed together -- they had come out from the inner part of the mansion with Dharman earlier and my impression was that he had been giving them instruction. To their left, a dark man in robes. To their right, where Shodo Harada-roshi and his interpreter had sat and where I expected Ven. Maha Ghosananda, the two small women in white took their places.

The temple bell in the stairwell was rung by Ven. Pannaloka, though I don't know how I know that. Five minutes later, the large rin was struck three times to signal the beginning of zazen. Ten minutes later, the bearded man opposite seemed to catch himself, as if he had been falling over in sleep. From then on, he fidgeted more than anyone else I ever noticed fidgeting in a zendo, shifting leg positions, hands flying all over. I thought I could hear A--- shifting a bit as well. The sitting seemed longer to me than the usual thirty minutes. Dharman later mentioned something about having a "full period" first.

The kinhin line formed -- there were no gaps, it was a continuous string of persons all through the zendo rooms. Never saw that before!

At the klack! of the blocks, I was right next to my seat, disoriented for a split second, wondering where it was that I was supposed to go! As I sat down and before I put on my glasses, I had an impression of a middle-aged white woman on a Florida beach in a bright, bright orange dress and matching sunhat, sitting at the head of the two lines of zabutons in the main room. It was Maha Ghosananda, right shoulder bared, but otherwise wrapped in an almost dayglo orange kesa. His hat seemed like a knit cap of the same color, the size of a turban, riding unsteadily on his head. His skin color would not be unusual on a Vermonter in March. Guess he doesn't get out in the sun much any more, due to his age and health.

Dharman spoke, saying we had an extended first period to leave the second period free for Ven. Maha Ghosananda to speak. He helped people in the auxiliary areas bring in their zabutons and zafus and arrange them at our end of the room facing our guest. A---, holding out her zafu, rather loudly told Dharman, "In my tradition, we don't use these to meditate!" The monk just looked at her kind of blankly and kept on trying to arrange the room. I turned about 45 degrees toward him in a relaxed cross-legged posture. Others hugged their knees or maintained zazen posture. Dharman placed a cup of tea by MG's right knee, but the elder did not seem to notice. He did see the cup placed by his left thigh by one of the white-clad women, and took a sip. I and the audience slipped into a relaxed, respectful waiting for the words to begin.

After many long minutes, I glanced at MG's face. His eyes were closed. He did not seem to have any inclination toward speech -- I thought he was meditating! My "relaxed" posture became strained without all those little movements we do unconsciously, and I envied the man on my left, who had kept zazen posture. I thought of how Rev. Matsuoka once got up during a zazen service to do something in the back of the temple, and I became certain that he had lost track of time -- the usual eternity of zazen stretching into a hellish mix of being stuck in my own escalating desires and fears, and dependent on the uncertain attention of this mysterious man. David Chadwick related an episode when Suzuki-roshi likewise got up and took a walk, doubling the time for a sitting. Was the Venerable's silence a teaching? I thought it just as likely that he suffered some amount of senility and misunderstood what was expected of him. I tried to unobtrusively adjust my posture back to zazen position. (Amazing how loud and obvious such movements are in a quiet zendo!) The Asian woman in black and white placed her hands on the floor, then straightened into zazen also. The poor man opposite me was going through a worse hell than I ever did, judging from the amount of limb movement he was making. The whole zendo seemed to fall into one or the other mode: calm return to zazen, or anguished, but (pretty much) silent, bewilderment.

I felt sorry for that man opposite, and somewhat concerned about Dharman's state of mind. I glanced at him, sitting just behind MG. Dharman seemed to be in zazen as well. It was not my problem. It really was not a problem at all! Pannaloka sat in the timekeeper's seat, apparently untroubled by the peculiar situation. How would this end, if MG sat until the signal to end the period was given, and the period would not end until MG had finished talking? Speech must start if it is to end.

I observed the "tension" between tension and calm in the zendo, feeling one, then the other. I wished for the agitated man to know that there was no reason to be either anxious or bored. Perhaps this unplanned strangeness would count as a great lesson in the man's life. It was teaching me that my reactions had changed greatly since I first attended Matsuoka-roshi's zendo. Entertainment, observation, amusement, wishing for resolution, confidence that it would happen, and just breathing.

Finally, after about an hour, Dharman rose from behind MG, bowed deeply before him and, still kneeling, requested whether he could ask a question. The elder assented. "How should we as Buddhists respond to the recent attacks?" "Forbearance!" Buddhist practice is based on three things: forbearance, wisdom, and [Something else -- sorry! Generosity?]. Forbearance is the most important.

At first, I followed him with difficulty. Was he another Asian Rorschalk inkblot, providing an opportunity to clothe the foreign teacher with wisdom discovered from within oneself? My ear got used to him quickly, though. Especially as he repeated the same teachings several times, to a variety of questions. Evidence of senility, or merely worn-in teaching that had proved its worth?

"There are 84,000 Dharmas! They are all contained in feeling! Mindfulness is the key to it all. Be mindful of your breath -- breathing in, breathing out. Buddha Gotama said that a person unmindful of their breath is already dead. When you listen to me and I speak well, you have a good feeling. When you listen to me and I do not speak well, you have a bad feeling. When you listen to me, but you are not mindful, that is a neutral feeling. The body is a vehicle and mindfulness is the driver -- you do not want a vehicle without a driver.
"Buddha asked his son, Rahula, 'What is the first Dharma?' Rahula could not answer, so Buddha answered for him, 'The first Dharma is eating!' Everything is eating everything else -- the eye eats sights, the ear eats sounds, the tongue eats tastes, the nose eats scents, the body eats feelings, the mind eats thoughts!
"Buddha asked his son, Rahula, 'What is the second Dharma?' Rahula could not answer, so Buddha answered for him, 'The second Dharma is cause and effect.'
"Buddha asked his son, Rahula, 'What is the third Dharma?' Rahula could not answer, so Buddha answered for him, 'The third Dharma is three kinds of feeling -- pleasant, unpleasant, and neutral.'
"Fourth Dharma -- the Four Noble Truths!
"Fifth Dharma -- the five aggregates!
"Sixth Dharma -- the six senses!
"Seventh Dharma -- the seven limbs of enlightenment!
"Eighth Dharma -- the Eightfold Noble Path!
"Ninth Dharma -- the nine Transcendental States!
"Tenth Dharma -- the ten wholesome acts!"
MG went on to describe the Buddha's dying words, "Life and death are like a dream and vanish while you hold them -- take care!" He said, "This is the last, the 84,000th Dharma, and it comes back to mindfulness."

Others ask various configurations of the same question: How are we to deal with the terrorist attacks? The ancient Venerable replied with various configurations of the above. It was useful to me to hear it several times, to understand what he was saying. Essentially, we already know how to react, personally, according to Buddhism. We find the calm within our emotions, however hard or easy that may be.

A younger monk (about my age or younger -- I find it difficult to guess the age of Asians) spoke of being in the bombing of Cambodia. Half a million tons of explosives were dropped in four years on the previously peaceful and economically content Cambodians. Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger ordered the bombing on the idea that the Viet Cong were using Cambodia as a stage to attack South Vietnam from. If every ton killed just one person, that's a half-million dead! And each bomb left a pond where there was fertile rice paddy. The young men of the villages were infuriated, and Pol Pot armed them with weapons the Chinese were quite willing to deliver. When the U.S. withdrew from Vietnam, the Khmer Rouge turned on the populations of the cities, calling them American lackeys, and killed them. And then the Chinese demanded payment for the weapons, so there was not enough rice.

The monk described how he and most felt about America from what he saw of it from movies and its policies in Southeast Asia. Americans were guided by three motivating desires: power, money, and sex. But then he had become a monk and traveled in his studies, escaping death in Cambodia and eventually living in the U.S. What a surprise to see how beautiful this country is, and how wonderful its people! The terrorists must see America the same way as he once did. If only the government would embody in its foreign policies the fairness natural to most Americans!

A--- said something about there always being light in the darkness. "Yes!" MG said. "Life consists of pairs of opposites. When we have darkness, we can find the light!"

At one point A--- asked if it were proper to recite her protective mantras for our military. I was struck by the peculiarity of the question, a Vajrayanic point being put to a Theravadan in a non-denominational setting. A. L.'s personality formed in my mind! A---'s behavior made a lot of sense if she had borderline personality disorder. But the elder smiled ahttp://www2.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifnd said, "Do not make 'my' military! Remember Anatta!" For some reason, that broke a tension in the room and people chuckled. But A--- said, in a voice audible enough at least as far as my ears, "But he didn't answer my question!"

It was ten o'clock when Dharman ended the meeting. We would have had refreshments, but the monks had to rise early to prepare for the next day's monks' meeting. I saw my friend Peter in the coat room and lost track of A---, though I was curious about her mental state on leaving. I wondered whether she still thought this sangha suited for her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~O~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another story about MG (shorter, though) is on Zen teacher James Ford's site:

http://monkeymindonline.blogspot.com/2007/03/maha-ghosananda.html