The Mindfulness Training Ceremony

I’m not sure when or where this was, but Peter said of the poverty and squalor that, “If you think about it, it’ll drive you crazy.” He certainly has a point. I’ve alternated between blocking it out and getting really upset about it. While upset, I feel guilty for various reasons, such as not also living in poverty, and for being extravagant and frivolous. But when I block it out, it is as if I’m damming up compassion and kindness for the sake of my own composure, and that strikes me as something for which I should feel guiltier.

But perhaps what I’m doing is the Middle Way. I am neither immersing myself in the suffering, such as imagining in detail what it would be like to be this blind beggar, or that raggedy child, or that leper; nor am I completely and callously shutting it all out. I could drive myself crazy by immersing in completely unfiltered sorrow and empathy. Or I can do as I have, feel sorrow and write about the situation while alone in a hotel room, and think about the poverty sometimes. I should resolve to help out organizations like Care and the Global Fund for Women more, and in order to do so, I can spend less on selfish things like books, music, and unnecessary groceries such as chocolate muffins or cranberry scones. Thus I would be helping to do something about the poverty. Donating to charitable organizations that help the poor of India is so much more sensible than having a guilt complex over the poverty.

After breakfast, we rode the bus up the street, and I gave Shantum the page from my journal in which I had written out my Mindfulness Training Ceremony aspirations.

2
At the Jetta Grove, the wallahs and beggars stay outside the gate, as they do at other sacred places, such as Bodh Gaya. However, they can hover right outside the gate, so it’s best to get to the other side promptly. On both visits in the past two days, a little boy played a drum and sang close to the bus. Just ahead of me, a wallah showed Mairgret a very pretty clay Buddha plaque that was rectangular and only a few inches long. She held her Buddha pendant and said, “It’s lovely, but I already have Buddha with me. I keep him close to my heart.”

We advanced up the same path as yesterday. This time I walked with Gail and Shantum. As we walked, he said, “Your mindfulness training aspirations are beautiful,” with a smile.

I smiled too and glowingly said, “Oh, thanks!” I was still smiling for a long time after that.
We continued strolling, and after a beat Shantum said, “I like coming back here. It’s one of my favorite parts of the pilgrimage.” And he giggled.

Gail said, “It’s so pleasant and calm here. I especially liked sitting under the tree and listening to your stories and enjoying the beautiful day.”

“And chasing wild monkeys,” I said with a giggle, while Shantum put his arm around my shoulders in a one-armed hug.

Our sangha climbed to the ruins of a building marking a previous structure where the Buddha stayed. It was a square brick foundation with steps leading up to a flat surface containing a central square that was one brick layer higher than the rest of the floor. Straight across from the steps is an entrance leading into a section that was only a few feet square, where I imagined the Buddha sat while talking with visitors. We all settled down on our straw mats around the edges of the square structure and got comfortable on them. I sat in the corner to the right of the smaller room’s entrance and thought of this as a place where the Buddha hung out: the Buddha Lounge.

Jagdish arrived with a small bouquet or nosegay of marigolds and wildflowers. He set up an altar in the entrance to the alcove: a book propped up the picture of the Buddha from the “In the Footsteps of the Buddha” brochure, and half a brick supported the book, and the flowers leaned from the back of the brick over the top of the book.

On the old structure where the Buddha used to meet up with people, we meditated. I breathed in and out and concentrated on my breath, but I soon found myself imagining I was sitting to the right of the Buddha. As with my other visualizations, he was a monk wearing a yellow robe, and he sat in the lotus position.

After this meditation but before the ceremony, a local monk, Nayapuya, climbed up the ruin on which we sat, and he gave Shantum shiny, smooth stones that he had found in the grove, to pass around to us. Shantum sponsors Nayapuya, who has been a monk for ten years. He is extremely tall, dark, and skinny, and looks like he’s in his twenties. He has been hanging out with our sangha at the Jetta Grove and on the ancient stupa, where Mukesh said he’d like a robe like Nayapuya’s, which is bright yellow. Rikki warned Mukesh that you have to give up a lot to be a monk.

In St. Louis, I had once commented to my friend Cara that if I were a nun, relatives wouldn’t harass me about not wanting to get married or have children, and Cara then said I could become a Buddhist nun. I briefly considered it, but I realized that it would get in the way of making whatever art I feel like making whenever I feel like making it, whether writing, sculpting, drawing, or needlework. Traditional Tibetan Buddhist art, for instance, is more like a craft than an art, because it has certain rules and is done a certain way; whereas my art is whatever I feel like making, in whatever style.

Later I started reading books about Asian Buddhist women, such as Being a Buddhist Nun, by Kim Gutschow, and the male domination and misogyny in the monastic system totally turned me off. In addition, I’m too bohemian and too much of a slacker to be a Buddhist nun; I take naps and stay up till late hours, for instance. But that doesn’t mean I can’t meditate and participate in the occasional retreat. Vipassana, or Insight Meditation, is an old Indian practice that does not have monastic organizations, at least in North America, and it is the practice that I mostly do. True, Theravada Buddhists practice Vipassana, but I identify with North American Buddhism rather than Thai or Sri Lankan Buddhism. And now I connect with ancient Indian Buddhism.

Standing before Jagdish’s makeshift altar and wrapped in a voluminous blanket-like brown shawl, Shantum took an incense stick and chanted, holding the stick to his forehead and praying, with the tip above his head, then lit it and placed it between two pieces of brick next to the flowers. He started the ceremony, explaining that after each question we’re supposed to do prostrations or at least put our palms together and bow.

Shantum demonstrated how to do a prostration: put your palms together, hold them up to your forehead, then below your chin. Get on your knees, bend forward with your hands to each side of your head and the tip of each index finger touching the tip of each thumb, in the mindfulness, or present moment, mudra.

I thought I’d prefer to bow with my palms together. Prostrating seemed so dramatic and subservient, even though this wasn’t as full a prostration as I’ve seen Tibetans do, when they lie down full length, face down. But when the time came, during the ceremony, I did the prostrations. They seemed like the right thing to do at that moment, in spite of myself. The prostrations were for several responses, not just one. Those of us who intended to do the Mindfulness Training, approximately six people, stood on straw mats in the slightly raised central square.

The central square has a bumpier brick surface than the smooth brick square encircling it, but we placed our mats on it before beginning the ceremony. First, with Shantum reciting, we took the Three Refuges and prostrated after each one.

With a ring of the singing bowl, Shantum recited the lines of the first mindfulness training, which is about refraining from killing and refraining from letting others kill (Hanh, Future Possible, p. 3). When he stopped reciting, Shantum rang the bell, and we prostrated. I placed my palms together, held them before my forehead, then at my chin. I separated my hands, forming the mindfulness mudra with my fingers, got down on my knees and bent forward, being sure to get as close down to the ground as possible. In sync with the other people who were undergoing the ceremony, I did this mindfully after each Mindfulness Training that Shantum recited.

Shantum then recited the second mindfulness training, which is about refraining from stealing and exploitation, respecting others’ property, and not supporting unethical businesses; it is also, by association, about practicing generosity (Hanh, Future Possible, p. 3). Again, Shantum rang the bell, and we prostrated. After three breaths, he rang the bell again, we got back into position, and Shantum recited the third mindfulness training. It is about refraining from sexual misconduct and preventing child sexual abuse (Hanh, Future Possible, pp. 3-4). Prostrating yet again, I was glad there was a straw mat between my knees and the rough bricks. Maybe giving us a bumpier surface on which to prostrate was intentional on Shantum’s part, to make the ceremony a bit ascetic. On the other hand, I’m certain it’s because we needed to be in the center of the ruins, where we had sufficient space.

Shantum recited the fourth mindfulness training, which covers unmindful speech. This is a broad topic, ranging from something as simple as refraining from gossiping to refraining from practicing foul language, to not using insults or verbal abuse. Basically, it is about not using harmful speech or negative speech, and about practicing nonviolent communication skills. It is also about reducing conflict, so it’s perhaps the most complex mindfulness training (Hanh, Future Possible, p. 4). Even as I listened to this, though it wasn’t the first time I heard the words, it dawned on me what a challenge the fourth mindfulness training would be, unless I completely cut myself off from my mother’s side of the family. Whether or not I finally did that, I should do the best I can in practicing mindful speech.

The fifth mindfulness training, and the last one that Shantum recited to us, is about practicing mindful consumption. This generally means being vegetarian or at the very least eating less meat (I think everyone doing the trainings is a vegetarian), not binging on sweets, not drinking alcohol or smoking or abusing drugs. It also covers not watching violent television shows or movies, not consuming pornography, and generally not taking poisons or intoxicants. It also pretty much covers not being gluttonous (Hanh, Future Possible, pp. 4-5).

During the prostrations, I remained aware of the bumpy bricks under the mat, and of how the blood rushed to my head when I had it down between my hands, and even for a few seconds I thought I would never be willing to prostrate. But being there with the group on ground the Buddha stepped upon, and undergoing the ceremony lined up with several others: Val, Natalie, Gail, Valerie, Rick and Dornora, the prostrations felt like the right thing to do. This was a serious and official ceremony, not my usual solitary practice.

Shantum presented our Mindfulness Training certificates individually, giving the person’s new name while doing so; it’s printed on the certificate. He gave me the dharma name of Fearless of the Source, and when he said it, a delighted murmur emitted from the bystanders. Hearing the name, I gave Shantum a Big Smile and walked up to him to take the certificate. He pressed his palms together and bowed to me and gave me the certificate, and I pressed my palms together and bowed to him. I felt blissed out and strangely as though I was confident for a change instead of painfully self-conscious.

Toward the end of the Mindfulness Training Ceremony, Shantum said we should repeat the Mindfulness Training at least once a month, so I’ll make a point of doing this on my own toward the beginning of each month. It’s possible that a time may come when I’ve joined a sangha that does mindfulness trainings, but I won’t rely on that.

We had a little time to roam around the Jetta Grove, and I walked among brick ruins that I had not explored previously, before I returned to gazing at the huge gold Buddha in the distance. But I encountered no monkeys. We gathered under the same tree as yesterday and formed a circle.

In India, memorable occasions are celebrated with a thread tied around the wrist; it eventually falls off, and thus you let go. Shantum performed the thread-tying ceremony for Elly and Peter, because they will be leaving us first, this evening. Peter sat to my right, and he choked up during his silent little ceremony with Shantum. I suspected that I would do the same when the time came.

It was then time to share our insight poems. Because Peter wasn’t ready to share his poem, he passed Shantum’s hat to me, and I was the second one to share. Slightly nervous and self-conscious, I looked down at my paper, on which I had written three poems in blue block letters.


My First Insight Poem

At the side of the road lurk frail, filthy figures,
goats with protruding ribs,
and litter scattered in the grass.
A tall, thin figure—Death—clad in black rags
stands amid these old souls.
Like lotuses sprouting out of mud,
brightly painted shrines
appear at every turn, every few steps,
in a dingy alley, as I step around cow turds.
And like lotuses sprouting out of mud
are the smiles of children who seconds before
were whiney and dirty beggars.


Impermanence

I wake from a dream of Death standing at the side of the road.
I hear words from a sutra on accepting death.
I visit the site of the Buddha’s demise and visualize him—
old, wrinkled, lying on his right side
and calmly uttering his last teaching.
I recall that the tarot card for Death means change.


Think of an Elephant

I light a bonfire and burn the script
I wrote for my fear.
I do not shed fear like a snake’s skin or
carry it on my back like a camel.
At last I begin confronting it head on,
climbing steep paths and an elephant’s back,
stumbling through dark and confining caves,
and helping Durga slay demons
of ignorance and fear.


At the last second I changed my mind about which poem I would share. I read aloud “Impermanence” instead of “My First Insight Poem,” which was rather more emotional. When I started speaking, as I anticipated would happen, people on the other side of the circle called out that they couldn’t hear me. So I spoke louder and deeper, as if I were angry (even though I wasn't) and apparently everyone could hear me, since I didn’t get any more complaints. The sangha knew when I was finished and all pressed palms together and bowed, as we did at the end of each person’s insight poem.

Everyone shared his or her poem, placed it in Shantum’s hat, and passed the hat along. This sharing was peaceful and inspiring, if a bit sentimental. We stood up and, staying in the same circle, joined hands and had a sing-along, using songs from Plum Village. I didn’t have any memorized and although some of the music sounded familiar from earlier moments on this pilgrimage, I don’t memorize lyrics quickly, so I didn’t contribute my voice much, but I enjoyed listening to those who did. Hopefully I did at least contribute positive energy, and that counts for something.

We then gathered on the other side of the tree for group photos. We placed lots of cameras on a straw mat a distance from the tree, and I could scarcely see the straw mat through all the black and silver cameras of varying size and shape. Jagdish, Mukesh, and Nayapuya picked each camera up off the mat and took the pictures, although at times the monk confusedly looked into at least one of the cameras. Ann said, “We should take pictures of them taking pictures of us.” When they were done taking one picture with one camera, they placed it on a different mat.