A Prayer of the Radiant Heart, I think I'd call it, the evening prayers at the Korean Monastery in Lumbini, the place of the Buddha's birth. The Buddha statues smiled wa
rmly, gentle light from lotus shaped lanterns glinting off their golden chins and round bellies. The monks chants, both male and female, drifted into rhythms of sound and voice. The feeling in the meditation hall expressed compassion, gentle attitude, and joy; the experience of Buddhism in practice conferred more teachings than written sutras. As I walked back to my room, I thought, 'Does the peace of my experiences balance out the chaos?'
On my return into India (on my way to Delhi for a flight to France), I decided to stay a night in Lumbini, in Nepal, before heading over the border. Buddhism was in the forefront of my mind throughout my days in Nepal, so it seems fitting that I am completing the circuit from Kushinagar (the place of the Buddha's cremation) through Nepal and then to Lumbini, where the Buddha was born. Death first, and then birth, because the cycle is not done and perhaps never will be.... It is difficult to imagine that the Buddha a
ctually lived and breathed and taught here, here in the real and physical world. He must have been quite a fellow! His word has spread throughout the world.
I visited the temple which was created over the place of the Buddha's birth. The very spot is marked, a stone surrounded by plexiglass. The wall of brick next to the plexiglass case is marked with gold, red, and orange, where pilgrims have touched it with religious powders. It feels sacred in that very spot. Hundreds of prayer flags, strings and strings, hang between the large trees of the surrounding grounds. There are birds living inside the temple (which in itself is really not so impressive- more like an unfinished 1950s office building), with nests made of prayer flags.
There are many monasteries here, set among fields, bodies of water, and wooded enclaves. I didn't have a lot of time to explore, although I walked around enough to see the Chinese temple, and to view the mystical-looking smoke rising from the cattails (and why are they burning the cattails? I don't know). The Korean monastery where I am sleeping for the night is peaceful and clean. For a donation, a person gets a bed in a small dorm room (with bathroom attached), and three buffet-style meals. Candles, toothbrushes, bottled water, and such are set out for the taking with set donation prices. It is all run on trust and compassion. The food is delicious, consisting of fresh vegetables, rice, kimchee (even for breakfast!), yoghurt, bananas, and toasted rice. The monks make a yummy tea from a local root called cassia tora, which is available at all hours. Its taste is earthy and comforting.
Close to losing mind after waiting nine hours for my train in the dirty and very Indian border town of Gorakphur (after a four hour ride in a jeep packed with 10 people and 3 children), but memories of previous psychadelic experiences save me. I scare myself that I am dying of some disease and I will never get out of India... But, I make it overnight and into the next day, and find myself battling taxi drivers in Delhi again. I actually burst into tears and an Indian man took pity on me and found me a bicycle rickshaw for a decent price. I think he thought I was a little insane!
As we rolled along I brightened up, noticing that Delhi really isn't as bad as I had thought. Seeing the little stores and the Indians shopping and talking and living, I am again happy to be on an adventure. I shake my head in amazement that there is electricty at all on viewing the hundreds of exposed powerlines, grimy with blackness and tied together in a lumpy manner, as I ride gleefully through the old small windy streets of Delhi. After last minute shopping (I was too sick in Kathmandu to buy my loved ones beautiful things), and a nice meal at a Korean restaurant (Kimchee again!), I have four hours to sleep before heading to the airport. And then to France!!!
rmly, gentle light from lotus shaped lanterns glinting off their golden chins and round bellies. The monks chants, both male and female, drifted into rhythms of sound and voice. The feeling in the meditation hall expressed compassion, gentle attitude, and joy; the experience of Buddhism in practice conferred more teachings than written sutras. As I walked back to my room, I thought, 'Does the peace of my experiences balance out the chaos?'On my return into India (on my way to Delhi for a flight to France), I decided to stay a night in Lumbini, in Nepal, before heading over the border. Buddhism was in the forefront of my mind throughout my days in Nepal, so it seems fitting that I am completing the circuit from Kushinagar (the place of the Buddha's cremation) through Nepal and then to Lumbini, where the Buddha was born. Death first, and then birth, because the cycle is not done and perhaps never will be.... It is difficult to imagine that the Buddha a
ctually lived and breathed and taught here, here in the real and physical world. He must have been quite a fellow! His word has spread throughout the world.I visited the temple which was created over the place of the Buddha's birth. The very spot is marked, a stone surrounded by plexiglass. The wall of brick next to the plexiglass case is marked with gold, red, and orange, where pilgrims have touched it with religious powders. It feels sacred in that very spot. Hundreds of prayer flags, strings and strings, hang between the large trees of the surrounding grounds. There are birds living inside the temple (which in itself is really not so impressive- more like an unfinished 1950s office building), with nests made of prayer flags.
There are many monasteries here, set among fields, bodies of water, and wooded enclaves. I didn't have a lot of time to explore, although I walked around enough to see the Chinese temple, and to view the mystical-looking smoke rising from the cattails (and why are they burning the cattails? I don't know). The Korean monastery where I am sleeping for the night is peaceful and clean. For a donation, a person gets a bed in a small dorm room (with bathroom attached), and three buffet-style meals. Candles, toothbrushes, bottled water, and such are set out for the taking with set donation prices. It is all run on trust and compassion. The food is delicious, consisting of fresh vegetables, rice, kimchee (even for breakfast!), yoghurt, bananas, and toasted rice. The monks make a yummy tea from a local root called cassia tora, which is available at all hours. Its taste is earthy and comforting.
Close to losing mind after waiting nine hours for my train in the dirty and very Indian border town of Gorakphur (after a four hour ride in a jeep packed with 10 people and 3 children), but memories of previous psychadelic experiences save me. I scare myself that I am dying of some disease and I will never get out of India... But, I make it overnight and into the next day, and find myself battling taxi drivers in Delhi again. I actually burst into tears and an Indian man took pity on me and found me a bicycle rickshaw for a decent price. I think he thought I was a little insane!
As we rolled along I brightened up, noticing that Delhi really isn't as bad as I had thought. Seeing the little stores and the Indians shopping and talking and living, I am again happy to be on an adventure. I shake my head in amazement that there is electricty at all on viewing the hundreds of exposed powerlines, grimy with blackness and tied together in a lumpy manner, as I ride gleefully through the old small windy streets of Delhi. After last minute shopping (I was too sick in Kathmandu to buy my loved ones beautiful things), and a nice meal at a Korean restaurant (Kimchee again!), I have four hours to sleep before heading to the airport. And then to France!!!
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