I am now approaching the end of my time as a monk here, after nearly five months in robes. I am not sure how I will cope with the adjust back to lay life, but right now I am trying to appreciate these last few weeks.
To ordain as a novice monk in the Theravada tradition means to shave one’s head and eyebrows, don the monastic robes, take refuge in one’s preceptor and in the Buddha, the teaching, and the community, and vow to follow ten major precepts, 30 minor precepts, and 75 rules of training, as well as many other rules and conventions which organize monastic life and the behavior of monks.
I am now residing at Wat Campuh K’aek, a rural temple close to Phnom Penh, and am now focusing mostly on learning the ancient chants preserved in the tradition there, rather than the meditation I was focusing on when I was a monk in Siem Reap. It was a difficult transition at first, but I growing in appreciation for this community.
Every day I am vividly reminded of how my life is intimately supported by the kindness of other living beings. When I make mistakes, people are forgiving and willing to smile and laugh with me. When I lose something they gather to help me search and expect nothing in return. All day I receive gifts—smiles, greetings, toothbrushes, jackfruit, unexpected visits, unexpected help. I don’t know hoe to repay all this. I am only constantly reminded to be a good person, not only on the outside, but also to transform whatever unwholesome energies are present within me, that so that wisdom and compassion have a chance to grow and blossom. This may be the work of thousands of year, but it is, after all, the purpose of becoming a monk or nun.
The precepts and discipline of the monastic life are invariably illuminating my bad habits, and my hidden greed, hatred and delusion. The precepts themselves are a precious treasure of mindfulness. There have been times when I have struggled to follow them, thinking that they were too detailed and restrictive or desiring to follow my old cherished habits. But when I take time to step back and reflect, I am very grateful for the discipline and the support of the monastic community.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Nissaya, part three
The following is a continuation of the previous two posts.
Many others talked about my nissaya in different ways. A Khmer American, Arn Chorn-Pond, after I given a talk on the funeral chanting I was studying to a group of foreigners at a hill temple near Prum Ut’s village, said to me, “I am not Buddhist. My adoptive father is a Christian minister, and I don’t consider myself religious. But in Khmer we say that maybe you have nissaya, “destiny,” for this place. Maybe you were a monk here in times past, and that coming back here to study Buddhism and these chants is your destiny.” This incident revealed to me that the concept of nissaya is so important to Khmer culture to even non-Buddhists and those who have spent most of their lives abroad still affirm its meaing. Arn’s words also point to the possibility that nissaya can refer to places and landscapes, not only to people and relationships.
Once I actually became a monk, encounters with laypeople proved to be an especially rich ground for learning about nissaya. The delightful older generation of pious Buddhist believers in Cambodian—old men and women dressed simply in black and white who live mostly at the temple—often had strong reactions to seeing me in saffron robes. I can recall many occasions where an elderly stranger would walk up to me when I was in meditation, take me by the hand or grasp my forearms, look deeply into my eyes and say, “Oh, his nissaya is very strong,” not seeming to care whether or not I understood their language or not.
There were, of course, many more people who laughed, cursed, quietly giggled, stared, pointed or did not dare to speak with me. But my memory of those who approached me, with bright eyes and wide smiles, is much stronger. Their faith was not really about me as an individual, but rather for the robes and the religion, and their respect to me was simply part of faith rather than an explanation about my supposed spiritual progress. But in almost every case, these laypeople, and even some monks, brought up nissaya as the only explanation for my presence. I remember that when I went walking in Phnom Penh, even when I was not specifically going out to beg for food, laypeople would approach me and offer requisites, saying "there is nissaya." It was never entirely clear that they were talking about the nissaya they saw in me, or simply that they felt we had nissaya together. In a way, however, the two interpretations are not fundamentally different. To give is to build nissaya with someone we respect, and to give may also be an expression of our previous connection.
This more open interpretation of nissaya was revealed in other instances as well. My other chanting teacher, Keot Ran, was perhaps the most intimate in her treatment of nissaya. She would always call me “Venerable Child” or “Venerable Son,” and would about how my presence inspired her to develop her “bright and clear” heart for the Dharma. She also lamented, due to here blindness, that she could not see me in my robes. And she spoke with such gentleness and fervent respect that I was often moved to tears by her presence. No had ever respected me in such a way before, and even though I never it came from a sense of intimate connection rather than an attempt to put me on a pedestal, it was still very difficult to receive, because it was so sincere and rooted in a common Dharma. In a way, nissaya was the linking concept between my spiritual journey and my research in Cambodia. Yet the Cambodians around me insisted that nissaya was not the linking concept in this case; for them, it was a real and tangible link, one that connected them and their own spiritual paths to my own. Our connections burrow into the past like intertwined roots and stretch into the future like branches, and in the present, I am learning to call this whole tree nissaya, something which is alive and nourishing to all.
Many others talked about my nissaya in different ways. A Khmer American, Arn Chorn-Pond, after I given a talk on the funeral chanting I was studying to a group of foreigners at a hill temple near Prum Ut’s village, said to me, “I am not Buddhist. My adoptive father is a Christian minister, and I don’t consider myself religious. But in Khmer we say that maybe you have nissaya, “destiny,” for this place. Maybe you were a monk here in times past, and that coming back here to study Buddhism and these chants is your destiny.” This incident revealed to me that the concept of nissaya is so important to Khmer culture to even non-Buddhists and those who have spent most of their lives abroad still affirm its meaing. Arn’s words also point to the possibility that nissaya can refer to places and landscapes, not only to people and relationships.
Once I actually became a monk, encounters with laypeople proved to be an especially rich ground for learning about nissaya. The delightful older generation of pious Buddhist believers in Cambodian—old men and women dressed simply in black and white who live mostly at the temple—often had strong reactions to seeing me in saffron robes. I can recall many occasions where an elderly stranger would walk up to me when I was in meditation, take me by the hand or grasp my forearms, look deeply into my eyes and say, “Oh, his nissaya is very strong,” not seeming to care whether or not I understood their language or not.
There were, of course, many more people who laughed, cursed, quietly giggled, stared, pointed or did not dare to speak with me. But my memory of those who approached me, with bright eyes and wide smiles, is much stronger. Their faith was not really about me as an individual, but rather for the robes and the religion, and their respect to me was simply part of faith rather than an explanation about my supposed spiritual progress. But in almost every case, these laypeople, and even some monks, brought up nissaya as the only explanation for my presence. I remember that when I went walking in Phnom Penh, even when I was not specifically going out to beg for food, laypeople would approach me and offer requisites, saying "there is nissaya." It was never entirely clear that they were talking about the nissaya they saw in me, or simply that they felt we had nissaya together. In a way, however, the two interpretations are not fundamentally different. To give is to build nissaya with someone we respect, and to give may also be an expression of our previous connection.
This more open interpretation of nissaya was revealed in other instances as well. My other chanting teacher, Keot Ran, was perhaps the most intimate in her treatment of nissaya. She would always call me “Venerable Child” or “Venerable Son,” and would about how my presence inspired her to develop her “bright and clear” heart for the Dharma. She also lamented, due to here blindness, that she could not see me in my robes. And she spoke with such gentleness and fervent respect that I was often moved to tears by her presence. No had ever respected me in such a way before, and even though I never it came from a sense of intimate connection rather than an attempt to put me on a pedestal, it was still very difficult to receive, because it was so sincere and rooted in a common Dharma. In a way, nissaya was the linking concept between my spiritual journey and my research in Cambodia. Yet the Cambodians around me insisted that nissaya was not the linking concept in this case; for them, it was a real and tangible link, one that connected them and their own spiritual paths to my own. Our connections burrow into the past like intertwined roots and stretch into the future like branches, and in the present, I am learning to call this whole tree nissaya, something which is alive and nourishing to all.
Nissaya, part two
The following is a continuation of the previous post, "Nissaya, part one."
A month later, I began to live full-time with Master Prum Ut and his family. He always seemed especially proud of the fact that I was going to become a monk, and would mention occasionally to relatives and visitors that I had nissaya. From my point of view, it was hard to tell where he got this idea from, whether it was a quality in my personality or simply that I was young, a foreigner and captivated by Buddhism. But he sensed it nonetheless, and seemed to be moved by it. None of his six sons had ever ordained as a monk, and the addition of me to the family seemed to provide another opportunity. He taught me the rudimentary Pali chants, required for monastic ordination, with vigor and enthusiasm. I felt like I had a hard time learning them because they were difficult to pronounce and had no meaning for me as I had never studied Pali. But he said I learned them faster than anyone he had ever known, and rather than attributing this to a simple gift of memory, he pointed to my supposed nissaya. I tried hard not to believe, but his insistence on this point still had an effect on me. I was worried that it would foster false pride and vanity, but it certain ways it began to effect a moral transformation. I knew, from a spiritual perspective, that if in this life I had good roots, was a human being and had a chance to meet the Buddha’s teaching and become a monk, then I should be very careful not to waste this life.
One incident that illuminated this for me occurred during a chanting class in the village one afternoon. I was sitting close to my master as he was writing at the board that was hung at the front of the class. Feeling an unusual sensation, I glanced down at my hand and noticed that a beautiful green hing, a Cambodian amphibian somewhat between a frog and a toad, had wrapped itself around one of my fingers. I felt its warmth and a big smile burst out on my lips. Prum Ut noticed and said, slightly under his breath, “His nissaya must be very strong. Even the animals love him.” I could not help but be moved by such a statement, even though it was inherently unbelievable. My master even took my vegetarian diet as a sign of nissaya, when I mostly understood to be “Mahayana (or Northern Buddhist) cultural baggage.” But I began to take the signs he gave me as a signal that I should really wake up. I knew that if me nissaya was indeed strong, I could have taken the opportunity the amphibian creature gave to me to really wake up and transform my habit energies. But transformation is a slow process, one that in Buddhism is said to take place over many lifetimes.
My ordination stills seems to have been the most important day in my life, even though I knew it to be temporary. Buddhism felt very real and alive that day, and all the liberative taste of the Dharma was present for me. I did not seem like the stale, ritualized, politicized form of Buddhism I was used to seeing in Cambodia. During the ceremony, the Ven. Pin Sem, my teacher and preceptor, gave a short speech, which may have been translated into English for the benefit of the foreigners present at the event, though I do not remember clearly. I do, however, remember the gentleness of his words, and his “warm hand to warm hand” welcome into the Buddha’s family. Though I admit I do not recall this point, Prum Ut recalled that the Ven. Pin Sem had said that my karma, my nissaya, was that of the leader of all nations, and that this day is very important for Buddhism, one that is unprecedented in our (Khmer) history.” I only heard from my master Prum Ut several months after my ordination, and promptly considered it to be one of the largest exaggerations I had ever heard. After all, it was not something I ever could live up to. But I knew Prum Ut was not lying, and that he clearly believed. All this made me feel as if I had a enormous debt to pay to my parents, teachers, friends and all beings.
However, my master’s words about nissaya were much more revealing about his personality than my own, and through him I developed a much clearer sense of the important place of nissaya in Khmer culture.
A month later, I began to live full-time with Master Prum Ut and his family. He always seemed especially proud of the fact that I was going to become a monk, and would mention occasionally to relatives and visitors that I had nissaya. From my point of view, it was hard to tell where he got this idea from, whether it was a quality in my personality or simply that I was young, a foreigner and captivated by Buddhism. But he sensed it nonetheless, and seemed to be moved by it. None of his six sons had ever ordained as a monk, and the addition of me to the family seemed to provide another opportunity. He taught me the rudimentary Pali chants, required for monastic ordination, with vigor and enthusiasm. I felt like I had a hard time learning them because they were difficult to pronounce and had no meaning for me as I had never studied Pali. But he said I learned them faster than anyone he had ever known, and rather than attributing this to a simple gift of memory, he pointed to my supposed nissaya. I tried hard not to believe, but his insistence on this point still had an effect on me. I was worried that it would foster false pride and vanity, but it certain ways it began to effect a moral transformation. I knew, from a spiritual perspective, that if in this life I had good roots, was a human being and had a chance to meet the Buddha’s teaching and become a monk, then I should be very careful not to waste this life.
One incident that illuminated this for me occurred during a chanting class in the village one afternoon. I was sitting close to my master as he was writing at the board that was hung at the front of the class. Feeling an unusual sensation, I glanced down at my hand and noticed that a beautiful green hing, a Cambodian amphibian somewhat between a frog and a toad, had wrapped itself around one of my fingers. I felt its warmth and a big smile burst out on my lips. Prum Ut noticed and said, slightly under his breath, “His nissaya must be very strong. Even the animals love him.” I could not help but be moved by such a statement, even though it was inherently unbelievable. My master even took my vegetarian diet as a sign of nissaya, when I mostly understood to be “Mahayana (or Northern Buddhist) cultural baggage.” But I began to take the signs he gave me as a signal that I should really wake up. I knew that if me nissaya was indeed strong, I could have taken the opportunity the amphibian creature gave to me to really wake up and transform my habit energies. But transformation is a slow process, one that in Buddhism is said to take place over many lifetimes.
My ordination stills seems to have been the most important day in my life, even though I knew it to be temporary. Buddhism felt very real and alive that day, and all the liberative taste of the Dharma was present for me. I did not seem like the stale, ritualized, politicized form of Buddhism I was used to seeing in Cambodia. During the ceremony, the Ven. Pin Sem, my teacher and preceptor, gave a short speech, which may have been translated into English for the benefit of the foreigners present at the event, though I do not remember clearly. I do, however, remember the gentleness of his words, and his “warm hand to warm hand” welcome into the Buddha’s family. Though I admit I do not recall this point, Prum Ut recalled that the Ven. Pin Sem had said that my karma, my nissaya, was that of the leader of all nations, and that this day is very important for Buddhism, one that is unprecedented in our (Khmer) history.” I only heard from my master Prum Ut several months after my ordination, and promptly considered it to be one of the largest exaggerations I had ever heard. After all, it was not something I ever could live up to. But I knew Prum Ut was not lying, and that he clearly believed. All this made me feel as if I had a enormous debt to pay to my parents, teachers, friends and all beings.
However, my master’s words about nissaya were much more revealing about his personality than my own, and through him I developed a much clearer sense of the important place of nissaya in Khmer culture.
Nissaya, part one
The following is a draft, or rather a collection of musings pretending to be a draft, of an personal/academic essay I'm working on about the concept of nissaya in Cambodian religion and culture.
A word that has come up again and again in my journeys through Buddhism in Cambodia, is nissaya, a Pali word that has entered the Khmer language, most often translated as "destiny" or "fate." Most people I talked with tended to stick to this translation, which connects the term to a whole mess of Western concepts and superstitions, which may not be entirely relevant to Cambodian cultureFrom a strictly Buddhist perspective, however, I would tend towards translating the word as "affinity," especially as a karmic affinity for the teachings of the Buddha, or the Dharma.
In Buddhist scriptures, the simile of a lotus pond appears: some plants are still deep in the mud, some have emerged from the mud but lie deep below the surface of the water, others are close to the surface but their flowers have not yet opened, and others have burst forth into the sunlight, unstained by mud or water. This is a simile for our journey on the path to enlightenment, or how far our nissaya, or karmic affinities, in past lives have taken us along this path. If we are close to the surface, we can see the Dharma clearly, and it is easy to practice. Thus our nissaya is said to be strong; through cultivation of the heart over many lifetimes, we have developed far along the path. If we are still buried deep in the mud of our defilement, then it will be very difficult for the light of the Dharma to reach us. Thus our nissaya is said to be weak, and we have not yet had the chance to cultivate our heart to its fullest potential.
From some perspectives, the crux of Buddhism is the teaching of cause and effect; According to the Buddhist teaching of karma (which means "action," specifically volitional action), our position in this life is the result of our deeds in the past. If the dominant effect is wholesome, then may be born such that we can see the Dharma clearly and without obstructions. If the dominant effect is unwholesome, then we will likely go further into the mud. In this simile, the position of the lotus plant in the pond refers to our spiritual potential, or how clear our vision of the Dharma is.
But in traditional Cambodian Buddhist society, it can also mean our worldly rank, prestige, beauty or intelligence. However, the word nissaya encompasses still broader meanings. It can also mean "fate" in the sense that who we meet in this life corresponds to events or previous relationships in past lives. This fate can be in a worldly sense, as in the fate of lovers or even friends, or in a spiritual sense, as in the connection between spiritual teachers and their disciples, or even to a sacred place, temple or landscape. Furthermore, the Buddhist monastic code treats nissaya as "dependence" or "reliance," referring to the commitment a disciple makes to depend upon his mentor. In the ordination ceremony for Theravada Buddhist monks in Cambodia, newly-ordained monks ask for nissaya from their teacher after receiving the precepts to complete the ceremony.
In any event, nissaya falls beyond our normal perception. It is a special quantity, one that we may not immediately consider or recognize. In Cambodia, it is almost always used in the positive, meaning our good roots, rather than the effects of karmic retribution. Thus is person is said to "have nissaya" if she exhibits a natural gift for spiritual things. In this essay, I will explore some of the ways in which this key concept has pervaded my experience of Buddhism in Cambodia, and how my experiences reveal the nature of nissaya in Cambodian society.
When I first went to Master Prum Ut’s smot class in Kompong Speu Province during late September, 2005, I had a feeling of welcome and familiarity that is hard to describe. My Khmer was very limited at that time, and I remember my friend Sambor, who was translating for me at that time, kept goading me on to speech the language with the master and his students—I could barely speak two words before having to stop and ask Sambor for help again. But Prum Ut’s stateliness and serene smile immediately brought my heart to ease and the motherly and intimate welcome of his assistant master, Keot Ran, shook me to my senses. I felt complete confidence in a journey I really knew nothing about, a journey that soon brought me to move to the countryside to live with Prum Ut and my master’s family, to study esoteric chanting in a language I had only studied for a few months. In my mind, I did not consider that karmic connection as factor; I only knew that the chanting had interested me, which in Khmer would be translated as “it had captured my consciousness.” But in truth, I did trust the Dharma on that occasion and I knew that this journey was in the realm of Buddhism, and that if I practiced and studied sincerely, I would not need to worry about where I would end up.
A word that has come up again and again in my journeys through Buddhism in Cambodia, is nissaya, a Pali word that has entered the Khmer language, most often translated as "destiny" or "fate." Most people I talked with tended to stick to this translation, which connects the term to a whole mess of Western concepts and superstitions, which may not be entirely relevant to Cambodian cultureFrom a strictly Buddhist perspective, however, I would tend towards translating the word as "affinity," especially as a karmic affinity for the teachings of the Buddha, or the Dharma.
In Buddhist scriptures, the simile of a lotus pond appears: some plants are still deep in the mud, some have emerged from the mud but lie deep below the surface of the water, others are close to the surface but their flowers have not yet opened, and others have burst forth into the sunlight, unstained by mud or water. This is a simile for our journey on the path to enlightenment, or how far our nissaya, or karmic affinities, in past lives have taken us along this path. If we are close to the surface, we can see the Dharma clearly, and it is easy to practice. Thus our nissaya is said to be strong; through cultivation of the heart over many lifetimes, we have developed far along the path. If we are still buried deep in the mud of our defilement, then it will be very difficult for the light of the Dharma to reach us. Thus our nissaya is said to be weak, and we have not yet had the chance to cultivate our heart to its fullest potential.
From some perspectives, the crux of Buddhism is the teaching of cause and effect; According to the Buddhist teaching of karma (which means "action," specifically volitional action), our position in this life is the result of our deeds in the past. If the dominant effect is wholesome, then may be born such that we can see the Dharma clearly and without obstructions. If the dominant effect is unwholesome, then we will likely go further into the mud. In this simile, the position of the lotus plant in the pond refers to our spiritual potential, or how clear our vision of the Dharma is.
But in traditional Cambodian Buddhist society, it can also mean our worldly rank, prestige, beauty or intelligence. However, the word nissaya encompasses still broader meanings. It can also mean "fate" in the sense that who we meet in this life corresponds to events or previous relationships in past lives. This fate can be in a worldly sense, as in the fate of lovers or even friends, or in a spiritual sense, as in the connection between spiritual teachers and their disciples, or even to a sacred place, temple or landscape. Furthermore, the Buddhist monastic code treats nissaya as "dependence" or "reliance," referring to the commitment a disciple makes to depend upon his mentor. In the ordination ceremony for Theravada Buddhist monks in Cambodia, newly-ordained monks ask for nissaya from their teacher after receiving the precepts to complete the ceremony.
In any event, nissaya falls beyond our normal perception. It is a special quantity, one that we may not immediately consider or recognize. In Cambodia, it is almost always used in the positive, meaning our good roots, rather than the effects of karmic retribution. Thus is person is said to "have nissaya" if she exhibits a natural gift for spiritual things. In this essay, I will explore some of the ways in which this key concept has pervaded my experience of Buddhism in Cambodia, and how my experiences reveal the nature of nissaya in Cambodian society.
When I first went to Master Prum Ut’s smot class in Kompong Speu Province during late September, 2005, I had a feeling of welcome and familiarity that is hard to describe. My Khmer was very limited at that time, and I remember my friend Sambor, who was translating for me at that time, kept goading me on to speech the language with the master and his students—I could barely speak two words before having to stop and ask Sambor for help again. But Prum Ut’s stateliness and serene smile immediately brought my heart to ease and the motherly and intimate welcome of his assistant master, Keot Ran, shook me to my senses. I felt complete confidence in a journey I really knew nothing about, a journey that soon brought me to move to the countryside to live with Prum Ut and my master’s family, to study esoteric chanting in a language I had only studied for a few months. In my mind, I did not consider that karmic connection as factor; I only knew that the chanting had interested me, which in Khmer would be translated as “it had captured my consciousness.” But in truth, I did trust the Dharma on that occasion and I knew that this journey was in the realm of Buddhism, and that if I practiced and studied sincerely, I would not need to worry about where I would end up.
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