a gathering of dharma songs

Moved to trentwalker.org

2010-08-10T12:33:00.000-07:00

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See you there, -Trent

Cambodian Refugee Poetry and Smot

2010-04-20T09:37:00.000-07:00

The book and tour I mentioned previously also has a wonderful website: http://www.cambodianrefugeepoetry.org

Included on the site are four beautiful video performances of smot and traditional instrumental music featuring the great Phoeun Srey Peou and Nhok Sinat: http://www.cambodianrefugeepoetry.org/press_smot.html

I have been reading from the book and am impressed by the depth and art of Ven. Ly Van's words as well as Samkhann Khoeun's lucid English translations. The book is available from the website. I hope that Mr. Khoeun's labor of love will lead a greater appreciation for this powerful form of performance.

In Memory of Prum Ut

2010-03-17T21:09:00.001-07:00

Click on the image to read the poem in English and Khmer.

"O! Maha Mount Dangrek" US Tour

2010-02-24T15:29:00.001-08:00

A wonderful poetry and smot project involving my friends from Cambodian Living Arts, Samkhann Khoeun, Srey Peov Phoeun and Sinat Nhok:

http://ki-media.blogspot.com/2010/02/cambodian-refugee-poetry-chanting-smot.html

See also the tour dates below:

Article on Film about Smot

2010-02-24T15:12:00.000-08:00

My friend Neang Kavich has produced a short film on smot that has already shown in Cambodia. Here's a link to an article about it in the Phnom Penh Post:

http://www.phnompenhpost.com/index.php/2010022432594/Lifestyle/filmmaker-overcomes-childhood-fear-to-document-eerie-khmer-funerary-chanting.html

While he was making the film, Kavich asked me two questions: What is smot and why it is important? I responded in brief:

Smot is a style of sung recitation of poetry and prose in Khmer and Pali with complex and expressive melodies. Smot is closely associated with Buddhist rituals, including funerals, but may be used in a wide variety of sacred and secular settings.

Smot is important because it is a uniquely Cambodian vocal style with a long cultural history, tremendous emotional force and rich musical complexity. The tradition may lose its relevance in the coming decades if the next generation does not take interest in it and make it their own.

I would add that smot also often serves as a colloquial name to refer to the Dharma song genre; i.e. not merely a vocal style but also a textual genre.

Radio Program on Smot and Dharma Songs

2010-02-23T16:32:00.000-08:00

On May 26th, 2008, a radio program on smot I produced, called "Healing Sounds," aired on KZSU 90.1 FM. (Stanford, CA).

Here's the twenty-minute program on smot:

Click here for the whole show, called "Epiphony," three programs on "the life-changing, transformative power of sound." My program starts about a third of the way through.

(Note: I believe I have cleared up the earlier glitch that prevented sound files from playing on my blog)

The Last Testament of the Buddha

2010-02-23T14:03:00.000-08:00

My translation (in non-rhyming "brahmagiti" meter) and smot performance in English of the Cambodian Dharma Song, "The Last Testament of the Buddha" (បច្ឆិមពុទ្ធវចនៈ).

YO VO ANANDA,
Come here now. Don't delay!
The Realized One will
Die—you'll be left behind.

Please, friend, be happy.
Don't suffer needlessly.
I now must leave you.
Don't you grieve, Ananda!

This old body will
Be dissolved in all ways.
Stay, stay, Ananda!
Contemplate your body.

These days your body
Is like a fragile dish
Not lasting for long,
It will soon break in pieces.

So you, Ananda,
Must practice—think deeply.
When I pass away,
You must bear my teaching.

Truly this teaching
Will remain with the one
Whose faith shines clear and
Practices as I teach.

Now the Realized One
Will end in nirvana.
Old age violently
Crushes life breath by breath.

Original Text, Author unknown:

យោវោអានន្ទអើយ
នែបារើយមកអាយរ៉ា
តថាគតនឹងមរណា
ចាកចោលបាមិនខានឡើយ ។

ចូរបានៅឲ្យសុខ
កុំជាទុក្ខណាបារើយ
តថាគតលាបាហើយ
កុំសោកឡើយណាអានន្ទ ។

អង្គអញតថាគត
នឹងរំលត់អស់បញ្ចក្ខន្ធ
នៅចុះណាអានន្ទ
ខំគ្នេគ្នាន់ក្នុងអង្គប្រាណ ។

ខ្លួនអ្នកនៅសព្វថ្ងៃ
មាឧបមេយ្យដូចជាចាន
មិនស្ថិតស្ថេរបុ៉ន្មាន
គង់នឹងបានវិនាសទៅ ។

ហេតុនេះបានអានន្ទ
ចូរគ្នេគ្នាន់គិតឲ្យជ្រៅ
ឥតពីតថាគតទៅ
អ្នកឯងនៅថែសាសនា ។

សាសនាតថាគត
ស្ថិតប្រាកដនឹងអ្នកណា
ដែលមានចិត្តជ្រះថ្លា
ប្រព្រឹត្តត្រូវតាមលំអាន ។

គ្រានេះតថាគត
នឹងរំលត់ខន្ធនិព្វាន
ដោយជរាចូលរុករាន
ទន្ទ្រានមកផ្តាច់សង្ខារ ។

Funereal "Victory Drum Music"

2010-02-21T16:32:00.000-08:00

One of the most evocative forms of Khmer funeral music is known as "victory drum music," or ភ្លេងស្គរជ័យ. It is equally know in Cambodian by its Thai name, กลองแขก, meaning "Indian (or Malay) drum."

Here is an old public domain recording of "victory drum music" as would be played in a funeral. The oboe (ស្រឡៃ) player must use circular breathing in order to produce the unbroken long phrases characteristic of Khmer music.

The poor quality of the audio actually takes on a mysterious, even spooky, effect here, as one could easily imagine this song being broadcast on inexpensive loudspeakers at a funeral in Cambodia. Indeed, given the rarity of live performances of this genre of music, it is more common to here such recordings as this being played at a funeral than hearing a version by live musicians.

This recording comes from an old cassette of Dharma songs, likely a copy of an earlier vinyl recording from the 1960's. This funeral music is literally sandwiched in between two Dharma songs on the cassette, showing how closely woven together "victory drum music" and Dharma songs are at some Cambodian funerals.

Palat Un, "Lotus Flower Offering"

2010-02-21T11:57:00.000-08:00

First in a series of old Dharma song recordings in the public domain I am uploading here to share.

A young novice monk, no older than 15, mischievously began to climb up the sacred cetiya at Vatt Unnalom, Phnom Penh, home of a relic of the Buddha’s eyebrow. He had, in fact, already been kicked out of the temple the night before for misbehavior, but he climbed up the sacred monument in one last act of defiance. Standing still for a moment, he gazed out on to the monastery compound and began to chant a sacred text in the smot style. His magnificent voice — shrill, yet full of rich vibrato and ornamentation — rang out over the whole temple in the early morning air.

My teacher, Prum Ut, who told, me this story, recalled that after that fateful morning climb, the young novice (named Palat Un បាឡាត់ អ៊ុន) was asked to stay in the monastery, so beautiful was his voice and so astonishing his talent for smot chanting. The mischievous boy grew up to be the most famous Dharma song master of the 20th century, and despite his early transgressions of the monastic discipline, remains celebrated in Cambodian Buddhist circles to this day.

Although few people survive today that remember hearing his voice live, Palat Un's reputation lives on through the cassette tapes that proliferated after his death in the mid-20th century. He was not known to have written any texts himself, but his powerful tenor voice and creative re-interpretation of Dharma songs exerted a significant influence on those who came after him. Certain Dharma songs, including the one embedded in this post, “Lotus Flower Offering”(បទុមថ្វាយផ្កា ហៅ បូទុំថ្វាយផ្កា), were popularized by his beautiful interpretations of their melodies. In the 1990's, Palat Un's reputation began to grow again as audio cassettes of his recitations began to surface in the markets of Phnom Penh and in networks of Dharma song teachers and students. The recordings were apparently copied from old French vinyl records, and their quality is correspondingly poor. But for most Dharma song teachers and students today, such cassettes are the only access they have to Palat Un's vocal technique and artistry.

The Power and Influence of Music

2010-02-21T08:03:00.002-08:00

Yesterday I attended a memorial service for the beloved music teacher at my elementary school, Dr. Genevieve Glen ("G.G.") Baker-Fitzmaurice. G.G. turned hundreds of kids on to the power of Western classical music through her engaging teaching, encyclopedic knowledge, and belief in the musical capacities of every student.

At the service, a friend read out this quote G.G. had singled out in her files. Although the language of the author is steeped in the Christian tradition, the meaning equally captures the omnipresence and aesthetic force of music, including Dharma songs, in Khmer life-cycles.

Servant and master am I; servant of those dead, and master of those living. Through me spirits immortal speak the message that makes the world weep, and laugh, and wonder, and worship.

I tell the story of love, and the story of hate; the story that saves, and the story that damns. I am the incense upon which prayers float to Heaven. I am the smoke which palls over the field of battle where men lie dying with me on their lips.

I am close to the marriage altar, and when the grave opens, I stand nearby. I call the wanderer home, I rescue the soul from the depths, I open the lips of lovers, and through me the dead whisper to the living.

One I serve as I serve all; and the king I make my slave as easily as I subject his slave. I speak through the birds of the air, the insects of the field, the crash of waters on rock-ribbed shores, the sighing of wind in the trees, and I am even heard by the soul that knows me in the clatter of wheels on city streets.

I know no brother, yet all men are my brothers; I am the father of the best that is in them, and they are fathers of the best that is in me; I am of them, and they are of me; for I am the instrument of God. I Am Music.

(Anonymous, as found in Cynthia Pearl Maus, Christ and the Fine Arts, (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1938), pp. 19-20)

Lecture/Performance on Cambodian Dharma Songs (Smot)

2010-02-20T09:36:00.004-08:00

On April 18th, 2009, I gave a lecture and performance of Cambodian Buddhist Dharma Songs (colloquially known as "thor bot" ធម៌បទ or "smot" ស្មូត្រ) at the Khmer Arts Academy in Long Beach as part of the Khmer Arts Salon series, curated by Prumsodun Ok. I've studied Dharma songs with Cambodian Living Arts masters Prum Ut (ព្រំ អុ៊ត) and Koet Ran (កើត រ៉ាន) since 2005. For media coverage on the event, see this article.

I dedicate the lecture to the memory of my teacher លោកគ្រូព្រឹទ្ធាចារ្យ Prum Ut (1943-2009), who passed away this summer in the loving company of family, friends and students.

In the lecture, I perform this Dharma song in English I wrote for him, composed in the ពាក្យប្រាំពីរ (peak prampi) meter:

I raise these hands up to you,
Teacher, guru, of this song,
This melody, sung so long
Ago, before the Bo tree.

In your kind home you taught me
To chant Pali reverently,
Treat books with care, so gently,
And to daily humbly pray

To the Three Jewels, our teachers
And all creatures, 'til the day
You and I must fade away,
Die and decay, chasing peace.

Click here to watch it on YouTube.

I have also posted the complete video below (in nine parts):

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

Part 5:

Part 6:

Part 7:

Part 8:

Part 9:

Kambuja Suriya

2009-01-05T21:37:00.002-08:00

I'm been searching all over for some missing issues of Kambuja Suriya, the historic Khmer academic journal. I wonder if anyone knows of where a complete collection might be found. I've looked at most major libraries in the U.S., France, Australia and Cambodia and still can't find the following issues:

1947 (no. 1, 2,3) 1948 (no. 6,9), 1952 (no. 9), 1967 (no. 9,10,11,12), 1968 (no. 7,8,9,10,11,12), 1973 (no. 1,4,7,8,9), 1974 (no. 4,10,11,12), 1975 (any)

Even the Buddhist Institute (which published the journal) and the EFEO don't have these issues, but I surmise they must be somewhere!

A snippet of field research

2008-08-19T22:11:00.002-07:00

    Gathering in the early morning light, Sarin, Samath, Dominique, Pheara and myself piled into the Toyota Camry and headed out of Phnom Penh across the Chrouy Changva bridge. National Road #6, which weaves through small hills and vast fields on its way Kompong Cham province and eventually to Siem Reap and Angkor Wat on the opposite side of the country, nearly burst at the seams from excess traffic. We traveled for several hours, narrowly avoiding collosions with overloaded freight trucks, Landcruisers carrying members of parliament, endless parades of motorcycles and flatbed trucks piled up with cheering supporters of various political parties. Around nine in the morning we passed by a traditional pagoda entrance bearing the inscription, "Vatt Dhammalanka".

    I directed us down the narrow dirt road under the pagoda gate. The scent of deep red earth filled my nose as I recalled how scholars in Phnom Penh had told me about Vatt Dhammalanka. I couldn't remember why, however. We rolled down our windows and shouted at passing firewood gatherers traveling back to the main road by bicycle, "Do you how far it is to Vatt Dhammalanka?" "I haven't heard of it, uncle!" came the response. We kept going anyway.

    After several kilometers a hill to the right became visible, the narrow spires of the vihara peaking out through the trees. We all hoped that wouldn't be Vatt Dhammalanka, because the road may have been of the non-existent sort. We were deep in the countryside now.

    Turns out our hopes came true. Vatt Dhammalanka was just ahead of us, at the bottom of the hill, surrounded by a wide variety of trees. We drove in and parked. But a quick talk with the monks there revealed that this was not the temple we were looking for.

    "Yes, we practice the traditional ways here. But if you want to study about dharma songs, then you'll need to go to Vatt Proes Mas," a young monk informed us.

    Vatt Proes Mas, the "Pagoda of the Golden Stag," as my friend John Marston had reminded me the other day in Phnom Penh. Yes, this would be a true traditionalist temple. It would be another seven kilometers down a unbearably rough road. Unbearable for those not driving, that is. Some passengers requested to stop along the way, at times to admire the elegant scenery and at times to vomit into the rice paddies which lined the road. If we hadn't been blessed with marvelous sunny weather that day, there would have been no chance of us getting through.

    The temple sat nestled in a thicket between the village and a small hill. We drove in under the main entrance gate, admiring the classical carvings that adorned the spacious vihara. Parking the car near a large monastic dwelling, we got out to the sound several dogs barking from inside the building. Cautiously, I approached the entrance, only to be confronted by canine jaws chewing at my pant legs. Another member of our shouted, "Need we worry about the dogs?" A gruff voice from inside building answered, "No, not at all!" We removed our shoes and stepped inside.

    The gruff voice belonged to the abbot of the temple. He sat on a bed smoking a hand-rolled leaf cigarette, his robes in disarray. A few novice monks sat on the floor around him, tending to him with large fans and stroking the dogs' backs. The abbot motioned for us to sit as the novices brought in woven plastic mats for us to sit on.

    We bowed three times before the abbot and introduced ourselves to him. His speech, colorful and full of grunts, seemed perfectly matched to his wide smile. My interview with him was long and frequently interrupted by brilliant smot and dharma songs from him and other monks his junior. At one point I was asked to smot too, in Khmer and Thai and Lao and Vietnamese and English styles. I felt a powerful sense of exchange there, a powerful sense that our presence was welcome in quirky way, that Dharma was looking for itself.

    We left from there to head off to a string of other temples, Vatt Bhumi Bnau, Vatt Brah Trabamn…

Master Prum Ut

2006-10-29T16:12:00.000-08:00

I lived and studied with Master Prum Ut extensively in 2005 and 2006, and the story of his life plays a lot into my own understanding of smot and of Cambodian Buddhism. May he be healthy, well and live long!

Master Prum Ut was born into a family of rice farmers in Ka Yiew village, Kompong Speu province. Like his other brothers and sisters, Prum Ut grew up helping his parents eke out a living from the land by tending cattle, planting fruit trees, harvesting rice, and all of the other labors required of rural life. However, from as early as thirteen, he developed an ear for the beautiful and haunting strains of smot chanting, a complex and demanding way of melodically reciting Khmer poetry, which filled the village or the local temple whenever there was a funeral or other Buddhist ceremony.

Prum Ut did not have a chance to study, however, until he ordained as a novice monk at the age of fifteen. As a young monk at Wat Suvannagiri (Gold Mountain Temple), near his native village in Kompong Speu, he learned to read Khmer and Pali texts, memorizing the simple, monotone chants that form the rhythm of monastic life. After three years in robes, Prum Ut realized that the time was right to begin his study of the art of smot chanting.

To the east of Wat Suvannagiri lived a well-known master of smot poetical recitation named Toeung Phan, an ex-monk who had studied under the revered Palat Un, undoubtedly the most well-known and influential chanting master of the past century, whose renown even continues today in the few sound recordings that survive from his era. Toeng Phan spent most of his time as a monk in Kandal province, near the capital of Phnom Penh, where his reputation grew in light of his gifts for preaching and the smot chanting of Buddhist texts.

Both Palat Un and Toeung Phan had famously intricate vocal styles and high tenor voices that were difficult to imitate, and Prum Ut initially struggled in his efforts to learn this art. The first song he learned, “The Lamentation of Bimba,” tells the story of the Buddha returning to the palace of his birth and encountering his wife Yasodhara Bimba.

O Bimba! Rise and show your face!
Whence comes this sadness that knows no end?
In your heart you have developed so much virtue
And trustworthiness; come now to pay respect to the Lord.

The Lord Buddha has now returned;
Why do you persist in your tears?
If you are upset, he will go back—
How then will your wish be fulfilled? (Author unknown, trans. T.W.)

When Prum was studying this text under his teacher Toeung Phan, his teacher was so demanding in terms of vocal technique that it took ten days just to learn the first two words, “O Bimba,” in the correct way. But after his initial struggles, Prum Ut learned quickly and with his stunning tenor voice, soon proved himself to a worthy disciple and successor of Toeung Phan and Palat Un.

Prum Ut studied under his master for several years, learning many important chanting styles and key texts, both in the Pali and Khmer languages. Even when he knew only the first two words of “The Lamentation of Bimba,” he began chanting for Buddhist ceremonies, including rituals to consecrate religious images, to transfer spiritual merit to the deceased, and to accompany the dying in their final moments. He was widely admired for his light, unforced voice, rich in ornamentation and a special vocal quality known in Khmer as oeun, a precise and carefully controlled vibrato unique to this art form.

Prum Ut left the monkhood and started a family of his own six years after his ordination. He continued to chant at many religious gatherings until 1975, when the Khmer Rouge took control of the country. The Marxist government abolished all forms of religion practice and uprooted most forms of traditional culture, including music, literature and dance. Soldiers ordered Prum Ut and family to neighboring Takeo province, where he worked in the fields. His wife, his children and many siblings perished in the famine that soon followed.

As might be expected of a former monk whose education was steeped in Buddhist texts, Prum Ut relates his experience during the genocide through a story from the Buddha’s time about a young woman named Patacara, who, though a series of unfortunate events, loses her husband, her parents, and her two small children in a single day. She then loses her mind and wanders naked through the streets until she encounters the Buddha, who urges her to reflect on the fleeting nature of life. She comes to her senses and later ordains as a nun and becomes a revered teacher. Prum Ut uses this story to illustrate the importance of understanding the impermanence of human existence. The many texts in the smot tradition that expound this teaching were his inspiration and refuge in surviving spiritually from the wake of the Khmer Rouge era:

Human bodies and minds never last long; they always break apart.
All materiality without exception
Goes from birth to death, from death to birth in a new life,
Without release or peace—all beings are thus!

Old age comes on naturally,
Just as human bodies and minds meet destruction,
Thoughts scattering away into deep silence—
Nothing can last forever. (excerpted from Chey Mai,“Sukhumalakkhana,” trans. T.W.)

Prum Ut speaks of personal experience when he insists of the importance of this tradition in coming to terms with life after so much loss. In the early 1980’s, Prum Ut renown grew as he was frequently invited to chant at temples and homes both within Kompong Speu and in neighboring provinces. He often accompanied monks who preached stories about the Buddha’s lives, chanting the appropriate texts in the smot style in the course of the monks’ narration.

But throughout that decade and into the 1990’s, as the new generation rose to power and foreign influences began to push traditional culture further towards the margins of society, Prum Ut was invited less and less to offer performances of smot chanting. In many parts of the country, poor quality cassette tapes replaced live smot, and fewer and fewer people knew how to appreciate his art form.

Although Prum Ut taught privately on an informal basis for many years, it was not until 2004 when Cambodian Living Arts invited him to join their faculty and teach local youth professionally. He now teaches fifteen students with Assistant Master Keot Ran in a small classroom in Kompong Speu.

Wary of current trends in popular Khmer culture and music, which in his words consists of “seventy percent romantic songs,” he laments that nowadays when some people listen to smot chanting they simple turn away and “chatter idly.” Although he refrains from criticizing such people, he insists on the importance of passing this tradition down to the next generation so that those that do in fact find meaning and value in this art form may have it to study and appreciate. “I am afraid that after I go, then what? I fear that this tradition may not last long,” he says. Many of the chants in his extensive repertoire are rarely heard anymore, and some, like “The Lamentation of Bimba,” are so rare and difficult to learn that barely anyone else can chant them anymore, despite their past popularity with such masters as Palat Un and Toeung Phan. “I am very happy that [CLA] can support these children in their study,” he says, “so that we can continue [this tradition] into the future.”

Biography of Master Koet Ran

2006-10-19T13:40:00.000-07:00

Assistant Master Koet Ran’s father, a former monk, kept a fragile paper manuscript in his house, and in his spare time, he would teach his young daughter the art of smot chanting. These encounters with her father marked the beginning of Koet Ran’s life-long study of smot, a melodic form of recitation that is one of the most complex and difficult traditional Cambodian vocal techniques.

Koet Ran was born in small village in Kompong Speu province, some forty kilometers from the capital of Phnom Penh. Like most families in this district, Keot Ran and her family were rice farmers. Following the traditional way of learning, she memorized and perfected four chants before she was orphaned at the age of nine.

After her parents’ death, she continued to study the chants and developed an appreciation —uncommon for a young woman— for Buddhist teachings. She married at eighteen, but when the Khmer Rouge took over in 1975, Communist cadres sent her from her homeland. She later ended up near the Thai border, hundreds of kilometers away, working on a communal farm. Soldiers of the regime separated her from her children, sent her to jail, and forced her to watch the killing of her own husband. In the end, she survived and made her way back to Kompong Speu in 1979. She frankly says that her life as an orphan, widow and a bereaved mother allows her to deeply understand smot texts in the Buddhist tradition that tell similar stories of loss and spiritual darkness.

Three years later, she met her current husband, built a new life and has lived with her children and grandchildren in the village of her birth ever since. In the early 1980’s, as Cambodians began to reconstruct their Buddhist culture, Koet Ran took up the study of smot again and was invited to chant at various religious ceremonies, including offerings, sermons, and funerals. Inspired by the resurgence of religion in her country, she memorized many texts—an excellent memory being both a sign of wisdom and a vital prerequisite for the transmission of oral literature— and developed a large repertoire of chants.

Koet Ran lost her vision due to a farming accident in the early 1990’s. Despite her difficulties, she continued to learn and memorize new chants with the aid of cassette tapes and her sighted husband. Three years ago, she was asked to join the faculty of CLA as an Assistant Master, and has been training fifteen young students from local villages in the art of smot chanting since that time.

Koet Ran’s chanting style is plain and unadorned, without an excess of vibrato, and uncannily steady in pitch and tone. Her full and powerful voice expresses the religious stories told by many chanting texts with great feeling, focused concentration, and compassion. Particularly when chanting the texts that connect deeply to her own life and her experiences of loss, her performances often bring her audience to tears. It is rare that someone is not moved by her presence and by her art. One of the chants dearest to Keot Ran relates the story of an orphan:

Night! O night, how long and how deep!
Before I'd sleep, you'd hold me tight.
Mother, you'd sing all through the night
Lest I, in fright, should wake and cry.

Mother, I wail for your grace—
Ne'er again your face will I see.
Alone, I burn in agony.
What misery, day after day.

(my translation of an excerpt from “Orphaned Child.” Unknown author)

In the face of her difficulties as a blind woman and as an involuntary witness to unspeakable atrocities, Keot Ran remains very committed to the ideals that underlie the chants for which she has become known. She considers the teaching of smot chanting to children and youth an important opportunity to pass on the wisdom of reflection and compassion. She insists on the benefits of studying chanting texts as a way to see the impermanence of life and the urgency to give to and treat others with dignity.

In her own words, “When one studies [Dharma song], one studies the teachings that will make one calm and free from craving and defilement. One calms greed, hatred, and delusion…Accomplishing things by one’s own sweat and blood, one knows the importance of others [and] contemplates what is right and wrong.” As she searches for new song to teach to her students, she remains inspired by the power of smot, a power she believes to be essential to the development of Khmer society for generations to come.

Meditation for Children

2006-10-16T15:44:00.000-07:00

I was going through some of the books I read when I was in Cambodia when I came across this gem, a slim volume entitled "Meditation for Children." Unlike other books about meditation I saw in Cambodia, which tended to treat it as a subject for philosophical discussion or an opportunity to memorize yet more of Buddhaghosa's Visuddhimagga, Bhikkhu Ma Surin's book is charmingly down to earth and filled with practical exercises.

As someone used to hearing the principles of mindfulness explained in English, I found this book expounded techniques of sati with grace and ease, avoiding excessive Pali terms to eluciade the principles of meditation in fresh terms. It not only deals with sitting meditation and mindfulness of breathing, but also goes through many practical techniques for studying, playing sports, and doing household chores. Of particular interest was the way it integrated Buddhist teachings of filial piety into its discussion of meditation. Western books on the Dharma are often all to silent on this critical point, but Ven. Ma Surin's book emphasizes that meditation and caring for one's parents must go hand in hand.

As the cover shows, it is also filled with pleasant illustrations. In all, a delightful work that deserves to be translated into many languages. Look for it in Phnom Penh bookstores.

Thinking about food

2006-10-15T11:11:00.000-07:00

I can't say I miss all Khmer food, because my memories of food in Phnom Penh are often accompanied by memories of having an IV shoved up my arm. But I still miss the food I had when I lived out in Kompong Speu province with Master Prum Ut and his family. Fresh papaya, ambok (a sort of toasted cereal made from mashed rice), local greens, and delectable peanut and lemon-juice sauces--just the thought of them is enough to make my mouth water. We only had more extravagant meals like this one when visitors came, but each meal there was its own treasure, and I never got sick from it or of it.

Last night I had Khmer food for the third time since I got back to California. Interestly enough, we had ban chau, a sort of Khmer (well, actually, Vietnamese) pancake stuffed with meat or vegetables, which was what I ate at the last dinner I had before I entered Wat Bo as a monk last February.

Digital Manuscripts

2006-10-14T11:26:00.000-07:00

I know it has been a long time since I have updated this blog, but as I settle in more at Stanford and begin to work on my Cambodia projects again, hopefully I will be posting here more often.

A current project I am working on is typing up various Dharma song manuscripts I came across during my stay in Cambodia. Several of them, such as this wonderful "smot journal" lent to me by Suon Bunrith of Amrita Performing Arts (www.amritaperformingarts.org), I was able to capture in the form of digital images. I am now in the process of typing some of the rarer songs into the computer with the Khmer Unicode font, which is a significant improvement over earlier imput methods.

Return

2006-09-25T16:28:00.000-07:00

Now that I have returned to California after 13 some months abroad in Cambodia, it is a bit intimidating to write about my experiences there. I suppose it is only myself who would be capable of such intimidation, but nevertheless I remain in awe of the sheer amount of territory I have observed and experienced without putting it into words. Back in the comfort of life at Stanford, glorious September weather and the eerie security from hazards, Cambodia suddenly seems far away, connected to this realm only through memory, books, sounds, images, and the occasional person I meet who has roots there.
Then there is the issue of the validity of the work I was doing there. The world of scholarship is one that it not entirely foreign to me, but it is certainly one that I have never had a voice in. And now that I do have the knowledge and the experience to make a contribution, will my voice be a valid one? This is where, perhaps, I am looking for a mentor, to search for real meaning in my work and rediscover what I innately know to be the real joy of writing.

But where to start? Cambodia unfolds like waterfall in my memory-- slow at first, then falling in separate streams, each of great intensity, before rushing on into the roaring stream below. The lines between scholarship and memory and also unclear. To what extant can I authoritatively write about my experience? Then again, I suppose, to what extent can I really write about books and the experiences of others. I somehow sense that there will be a voice that emerges from all this, from the growing pains of nascent adulthood, the trials of moral decisions, the quest for a spiritual life, and the struggle to “save” traditional Khmer culture. It’s a journey all right, but who is it really for? I may understand a little bit of my own place in it, at least in terms of my own journey. But how will I contribute to the journeys of others, the journeys of Khmer students, monks and musicians, of masters and apprentices?
I have only begun to unearth the mound of material I have collected, which looms above my desk and fills my consciousness with the thirst of discovery. And for so long my writing has stalled, and I knew inside that I just needed to let this writing come out, without judgment or pre-planned outlines. It feels wonderful, really quite wonderful, to be writing again.

Yesterday I went to Nagara Dhamma temple in SF for their Phchum Ben ceremony, which above all struck me as an American affair. Unlike my previous visit, in which I mostly listened to a bhikkhu for Surin talk in his heavily-accented Khmer, I barely said a word to the monks this time around. The same familiar chants were a always a deep joy to partake in, and I felt a genuine spiritual atmosphere that I had not really sensed in Cambodia. In particular, it felt much more tender and genuine that Wat Campuh k’aek, and the community feeling was much stronger than at Wat Bo. The Thai chanting in Pali was beautiful and unforgettable in a way, and it carried the same kind of resonance of the chanting of the Tibetan Gyuto monks. I also felt like I was building my first connections in the Khmer American community. Obviously, but perhaps surprising as well, was the reaction to the attendees when I spoke Khmer, which was basically the same reaction as in Cambodia. Almost every conversation I had was bilingual, which made for a rich interplay of language and idiom, and it was especially refreshing to be speaking the tongue that had become so natural to me when I was in Cambodia. A chance encounter with a Christian monk in beautiful purple robes who has close connections to Buddhist monks in Cambodia, Father Nazarene, seems to be a fortunate opportunity to continue to connect with the Khmer Buddhist community.

But what I am really here to write about is my research on the Cambodian Dharma song tradition, one that continues to speak to me and pervade my inner life. I continue to hear the strains of “yo vo ananda” and “thvay phka” in my head as I walk around campus, and I often wonder if these songs aren’t the most beautiful thing on earth. The Dharma that they proclaim is slowly ripening as I understand them more and more.

In the studio

2006-08-01T01:49:00.000-07:00

I am currently managing the recording of my smot teachers in the Cambodian Living Arts studio in order to create a complete archive of their knowledge for others to study from and to preserve high-quality documentation of their vocal techinque. Here are few images from the sessions.

My teacher, Assistant Master Keot Ran, smiling with me.

Keot Ran with two of my fellow smot students, Srei Peu and Srei On, who also participated in the recording.

Master Prum Ut preparing to record.

Sarin and Samath, who recorded and engineered the sessions, helping my master adjust the microphone.

Reflection on lay life

2006-07-15T20:06:00.000-07:00

I have now been out of robes for more than five days, and the transition is going smoothly for the most part. I have not given much time to reflect on how radically different my life is now. In some ways, it feels as if the five months I spent as a monk simply disappeared, and I'm suddenly back where I was five months earlier. This is true, in a certain sense, as I am returning to where I left off in the research work, but the sense of disconnect between my life as a monk and as a layman is hard to get my head around. My studies of Khmer Buddhism actually made much more progress during the time I was a monk than they did in the months preceeding my ordination. In the little time that remains, my increased knowledge and experience allows me to accomplish a great deal more than before, but it is just as easy to get too busy in research and other work that I forget to actually slow down and look carefully at things.

When I was a monk at Wat Bo, the environment was full of noise and distractions, and it was hard to find a quiet space, both inside (in my heart/mind) and outside (within the temple grounds). Eventually, I chose to live alone inside of the old main temple, which was the most quiet place I could find, and through carefully increasing my effort I was doing sitting or walking meditation almost the entire day (15-16 hours), with a couple of hours for begging, eating and washing up and four hours for sleeping. It was not an easy time for me, but slowly my mind began to settle out and I could see its contents and nature a little bit more clearly. I also remember being filled with radiant joy during this time, a feeling that I had not experienced for long periods of time before.

But little by little, I let distractions creep in and my practice began to weaken. In May, my teacher went to America and I decided that it would be a good opportunity to switch temples. Yet it took another month and a half at the new temple to settle into an intensive meditation practice again. As a layperson now, the distractions are infinite in variety, and it takes much more effort to settle the mind. I recognize, however, that slowing down and looking carefully at each moment is a source of great peace and happiness for me, and it allows so many for opportunities to be truly useful to others. But I have found that training this mind and heart, especially during transitions in our lives, is not easy for me, and that I need to learn to be patient on this path.

Return to Phnom Penh

2006-07-03T00:50:00.000-07:00

Dear friends,

I have now officially left the monkhood and am back at work at Cambodian Living Arts (a non-governmental organazation (NGO) that supports many Khmer arts projects, including studio and field recording, music, theatre and dance classes for children and young adults, and commissioning new work from Cambodian artists) and my own research work. It is an unusual transition to be wearing pants, shoes and a shirt again, but I have succeeded in keeping my clothes on.

I suddenly have found myself very busy again, running between meetings and enthusiastically searching for books and manuscripts. It is somewhat of a cliché that everything takes longer to accomplish in Cambodia, as snafus of all kinds are a daily affair. Nevertheless, each day has endless suprises too. I may go to bookstore looking for a certain book and get into a 2-hour conversation with the manager about Khmer arts in Vietnam or about the subtleties of Cambodian Buddhist traditions. In the end, keeping my eyes and ears open is the best way to learn. No matter how much I study, there is so much knowledge about Cambodian culture that I am only scratching the surface of.

Below is a brief summary I wrote on smot chanting. I hope it clarifies some of what I write about on this blog.

Smot Chanting

The word smot literally refers to a style of chanting Khmer poetry or Pali Buddhist scriptures that has parlicularly long and flowing melodies. For Khmer poetry, there are around 60 melodies used for recitation today, with many regional variations, although some of the melodies are much shorter and less complicated and are more often called me sot. The shorter melodies are generally used for narration and happier passages, and the longer melodies are more often associated with serious texts or lamentations. The melodies used for chanting Pali, as distinct from those used for Khmer poetry, are generally less-known, longer and more complex; at least 10 melodies are still used today, and regional variations are much more numerous.

The smot chanting of Khmer poetry is used both in the performance of short poems as well as longer pieces of literature (such the Reamké or the Jataka stories of the Buddha's former births) and in Buddhist ceremonies. When smot chanting is used to chant secular poems, a tro or flute may accompany the singer. The large shadow-puppet performance of the Reamké includes narration in the smot chanting style, generally in between musical selections by the pin peat orchestra. Other traditional performance style may include smot as well.

Smot also is used in more religious contexts. Indeed, the popular understanding of the word smot associates it most directly with Buddhist funeral ceremonies, but it is also used in a wide range of other rituals, such as inviting monks to preach, dedicating a new Buddha image, offering flowers to the Buddha, or when a person is preparing for death. For these occasions either monks or laypeople may chant Khmer texts, generally poems translated from the Pali Buddhist scriptures, or Pali texts, although the use of the latter is much rarer today and generally more reserved for the monks.

The long and flowing melodies of smot are considered to be quite melacholy, whether or not the text itself is actually sad. Thus smot, especially in the context of funeral ceremonies, has the power to bring tears to many people's eyes. It should be noted, however, that the purpose of smot in Buddhist funerals is not to cause people to cry or become fearful of ghosts, but rather to "shock" (in Pali, samvega) the listeners into realizing the impermanence of life and renew their efforts to do good, avoid evil and purify their minds in accordance with the teachings of Buddhism.

Smot chanting is known to be one of the most difficult vocal styles because its technique requires precise control of the vocal cords to produce the correct sound. The style is also known for its gentle vibrato, subtle falsetto breaks, and the large breath support required to complete the long phrases typical of smot melodies. The melodies themselves, while frightening to some people, are widely-known for their beauty and the powerful atmosphere they can create. Today, there are few living masters of smot chanting, either in sacred or secular realms, and most who want to learn must learn from cassette tapes.

2006-07-01T01:57:00.000-07:00

2006-07-01T01:49:00.000-07:00

2006-07-01T01:30:00.000-07:00

More on life as a monk

2006-06-22T00:07:00.000-07:00

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.

Nissaya, part three

2006-06-08T04:36:00.000-07:00

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.

Nissaya, part two

2006-06-08T03:36:00.000-07:00

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.

Nissaya, part one

2006-06-08T03:15:00.000-07:00

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.

Nine-month report

2006-05-29T20:13:00.000-07:00

Dear friends,

I hope that this post finds all of you healthy, happy and well. Belong I have included my most recent report, written about a week ago when I was at Wat Campuh K'aek. I am now back in the city, having a brief visit with my brother Aron, and will return to the wat in about a week. I will continue to check my email regularly for the next few days, so if you have any questions or concerns, this would be a good time to contact me. I will return to lay life and more regular communication on July 10th. Please take care of yourselves, and I look forward to the day when we meet again in person.

Many blessings for peace in your hearts and in your livelihood,

Ven. Khema Nando
(Trent W.)

It has indeed been awhile since making my last report, and not a little has happened since that time. Since ordaining as a Theravada novice monk at Wat Rajabo, Siem Reap Province on Magha Puja, 2549 years after the Buddha's passing into Nirvana (February 13th, 2005), I have been mostly concentrating on studying and practicing the Buddhist path. Due to my teacher's, the Ven. Pin Sem, impending trip to the United States in late May, I left Wat Bo on May 25th to move to Wat Campuh K'aek, Kandal Province, about an half-hour from the center of Phnom Penh. I will be here until the Venerable returns from America on July 7th, at which time I will return to Siem Reap and disrobe on July 10th, just before the start of the rains season retreat, during which disrobing would not be possible. This means that I will be extending my time as a monk here to five months and will have only two months remaining to finish up my research before heading back to California. It was a hard decision to make, because I know that I will be much more pressed for time during those last two months. However, being a monk here for an extended period has really given me a chance for a very intimate view of Buddhism in Cambodia, and despite my efforts to take a break from research and focus solely on meditation, I feel that I have made much more progress in the past few months.

I am very grateful for the experience I was able to have at Wat Bo. Even though the monastery is not set up to be a meditation monastery and I was basically alone in my practice, the support of Ven. Pin Sem's teaching and the whole community brought many changes about in my mind and heart. Furthermore, it brought me into deep connection with the ways of Buddhism in Cambodia, and the lives of the monks and pious laypeople. I never once felt like, nor was I treated as, a researcher a Wat Bo. I felt like I could make my contribution to the community and also receive the support of others. Most of all, I woke up every day in peace, thankful for the robes and begging bowl, and for the teaching passed down through many generations. On the urging of an American doctoral student, Erik Davis, who I met shortly before my ordination, I have made extensive notes on my experiences at Wat Bo.

I am now at a very different monastery on the other side of the country, and everything is once again different. There is no teacher here like the Ven. Pin Sem and the general environment seems to be less conducive to meditation. Indeed, to my knowledge, there seems to be no monk or layperson who have extensive knowledge about Buddhism beyond rituals and chanting. However, this is also an excellent opportunity, because this wat is very famous for its rituals and chanting, and my research on smot definitely tends towards that side of the religion. My smot teacher, Prum Ut, is also in residence here, so there are many opportunities. For me, it seems weird to be a monk and not to be sitting in meditation all day long, but in truth few monks in Cambodia include meditation as part of their study and practice. It is sometimes frustrating to not have the same kind of support I had at Wat Bo, but I recognize and appreciate that new situations give rise to new opportunities.

My learning about Pali and Khmer chanting at Wat Bo has been very beneficial to my research on smot chanting. The language of Buddhism in Khmer is now intimately familiar to me, as it fills my breath and my ears every day, and smot songs that would take a week to memorize before I ordained are now only a matter of a few hours. And while I understood the meaning of the chants before, they now seem so much more real and vivid, and I can sense the life and context of the language much more clearly. I am also able to learn a great deal about the ceremonies in which smot is used, and how it is connected to other forms of chanting. In all, I have a much clearer picture of what I am studying now and what I have left to accomplish.

Recently, I have been trying hard to write down as much as I can about what I have observed and learned over the past nine months, a process I should have begun in more depth earlier, though most of what I failed to write down that not yet escaped from my memory. I do realize, however, that the most important product of my research will be this writing.

When I return to Phnom Penh and eventually back to my smot teacher's village in mid-July, my goals for the remaining two months will have to be simple, as the time time will fly by faster than I will believe. First, I intend to to finish up the the manuscript research I started with the Ecole-francais d'extreme orient in January. I had some opportunity before I left Wat Bo to learn the way to read these older palm-leaf and accordion reed paper manuscripts, the language of which is similar phonetically to modern Khmer, but almost every word is spelled differently than it is today. Whereas in January, I was somewhat lost in reading such documents, I now have more confidence that I can find and use relevant materials. The main purpose of this is to make copies of the manuscripts to take back to the United States for further study in college. Secondly, I plan to continue to study with Prum Ut, write a more complete biography of him and assistant master Keot Ran, and continue to take notes on village life and ceremonies. I do not expect to study many more songs from him, but I do plan to invite him to record in the CLA studio, to get a more complete record of his repertoire. During my stay at Wat Bo, by chance I made some contact with other smot masters from various provinces. Although I will not have time to study from them, I hopefully will conduct interviews and possibly make audio cassette recordings. As for the other teachers and professors I studied with in Phnom Penh, I hope to get some questions answered from them, but I realize that I probably will have little chance to study in depth with them.

Although over three months are still remaining before I go back, I realize that there will be many things that I will not be able to accomplish and will have to wait for another time or another person. But I rest in the fact that if I continue to write and keep a good record of my study here, then that will hopefully be something of lasting value, no matter how incomplete it may seem.

Wat Suvanna Muni, known as Wat Campuh K'aek, Kien Svay District, Kandal Province, Kingdom of Cambodia
May 24th, 2550 B.E.

Last post for a few months

2006-02-10T16:01:00.000-08:00

Although I cannot say that I have been regularly updating this blog, this post indeed will be the last one for a while. On Monday, I am ordaining as a novice monk at Wat Rajabo, Siem Reap Province, and will most likely disrobe in late June. I do not plan on using a computer regularly during this time, though the occasion may present itself. I will also check my email tomorrow. I feel very fortunate that I have this time to concentrate on looking inside.

May you and all beings be filled with loving-kindness, peace, well-being and happiness.

Thoughts and Goals

2006-01-23T01:40:00.000-08:00

I have now been in Cambodia for almost five months, and I am beginning to see that I may be very pressed for time from June to September in order to accomplish my goals here. Therefore, I am trying to take what time I have now to reflect on what I have so far accomplished and what goals I would like to achieve before heading back home.

Although this was largely unavoidable and yet rather unanticipated by me, my five months here have rapidly clarified what I want to pursue in college. Thus I am trying to keep in mind that I do not have to study everything about Cambodian Buddhism in the next eight months, and that I hopefully have many more years to learn. That said, I am trying to focus on studying what I only could study in Cambodia, and especially knowing that I have the opportunity to live in the countryside and relative freedom to meet with people in various temples. My goals for the rest of my time here thus reflect these considerations.

The goal that comes to mind first is to develop a catalogue of as many smot pieces as possible. The principle of this is simple: in order to make sure that rarer pieces are not lost, it is necessary to keep track of the songs that are currently in the canon of smot pieces. In a short amount of time, I do not expect to become familiar with the entire extant repetoire of smot pieces. However, I do see it to be very possible to come up with a somewhat complete catalogue and determine from what patterns are revealed how many other songs may exist. For the catalogue, I am trying to record as much as possible of the following information:

Title
Alternative titles
Possible Author/editor
Published texts sources
Palm-leaf and other manuscript sources
Variations between various text sources
Melody used for this piece
Poetic meter
Recordings of this piece
Source in Pali Tipitaka
Teachers who know this piece

Thus far, I have partial information for about 60 songs. At this point, it is hard to determine how many other smot songs exist, although I would currently estimate that it would probably exceed 100 hundred. Part of the dilemma is deciding which texts count as “smot” as which do not.

As I will soon be entering a monastery in Siem Reap to ordain as a monk for about four months, most of my research will have to wait until June, when I disrobe and return to Phnom Penh. During my stay in the monastery, I do not plan to continue research of any kind, but rather will try to experience Cambodian Buddhism from the inside out. When I get back, one of my goals will be to learn as much as I can from my teacher, Master Prum Ut, in Kompong Speu, especially in terms of his vocal technique. Additionally, I plan to organize a studio recording session of Prum Ut and possibly other smot masters in order to ensure that their knowledge is not lost.

At this point, I have developed a fairly extensive bibliography, but I have not had a chance to follow up on the palm-leaf sources for many of the texts I am looking at. This is one of the most tedious aspects of my research, though for the most part I would consider it to be exciting rather than tedious. Moreover, I am unsure of my ability to read “middle-period” Khmer, which at times differs substantially, especially in spelling, from its modern counterpart. My main purpose then will be to identify and gather copies of relevant texts for future study.

Over the last five months, I have met with various professors, achars, monks, and students and asked them about smot. By sifting through and analyzing their various perspectives, I am getting closer to full picture of smot in Cambodian society. However, I intend to continue to search out knowledgeable people on the subject in order to hear from as many perspectives as I can.

One final project I would like to complete while I am here is to do some preliminary research on trai leak funeral music in Siem Reap. Besides from being, in my opinion, some of the most beautiful Khmer music, trai leak is very close to extinction, with only a few living masters, all of whom who are quite elderly. This form of music, in many ways closely related to smot, is covered only briefly in writings about Cambodian music, and early questioning has revealed that possibly only 20 or less songs are currently known. I am planning to spend a couple of weeks in Siem Reap this summer in order to gather what information I can about this art.

On a whole, I feel like I have been on the right track so far in my research, and I am prepared for many more surprises along the way. When I came to Cambodia, I really had know I idea what I was getting into. From this point on, what I hope most is that I can keep an open mind about what I have learned so far, so that what new information and perspectives present themselves to me, I can see them in a fresh way and not be hampered by my own limited perspective.

Four Month Report

2006-01-10T00:23:00.000-08:00

The past month has brought many new developments to my project. I do not hesitate to say that each succeeding month seems to go by faster than the one before, but I am also aware that each month I can see more and more clearly what I am doing here. I have about one more month here in Kompong Speu before I head off to pursue novice ordination in Siem Reap. After four months in robes, I plan to return to Kompong Speu at the end of June for another couple of months of smot study.

As of now , my listening and reading skills have improved from before, and generally I do not have much trouble understanding what people are saying to me or around me. For the most part, books written in Khmer are accessible to me, although I read rather slowly. I have not devoted much time to my speaking and writing skills, however, and subsequently, these areas have not seen much improvement. I have no trouble communicating, but at this point my grasp of Khmer grammar in not sufficient to confidently express complex ideas.

I am learning a lot, however, about the contextual nature of the Cambodian language and I now find myself speaking very differently in varying situations. This is especially true when I make the transition between the city and the countryside. In both Phnom Penh and Kompong Speu, dialects of Khmer are spoken that do not correspond to the standard language taught in schools and heard on television or radio. For example, when taking to a university professor in the capital I tend to use more standard Khmer and more grammatically correct expressions. If I am in a crowded market in Phnom Penh, trying to catch a bus to the countryside, I tend to speak more abruptly and in line with the urban dialect. I n the countryside, I usually need to speak differently to in order to be understood and match the pronunciation of those around me.

In continue to be very excited about my research. My understanding of smot, while still shallow, continues to develop as I investigate more primary and peripheral sources on the topic. Through the libraries in Phnom Penh, I continue to find small insights into smot from a wide variety of source materials. I have also begun to search for more primary literature on smot, especially folding-paper manuscripts (krang) and palm-leaf manuscripts (sastra sloek rit). A trip to a significant wat in Kandal Province where my smot teacher is an achar proved fruitful in many respects, but no ancient or modern manuscripts turned up. I have made contacts with researchers in at the National Library in Phnom Penh as well as at the École française d’extrême-orient and some manuscripts seem to be available. I am waiting for further results in this area.

However important literary sources may be, I know that my most important sources are real people. In addition to my teachers in Kompong Speu, I have begun to study Khmer poetry with a teacher in Phnom Penh and have also begun to study smot chanting of secular poetry from Yang Borin, who teaches smot and poetry at the Royal University of Fine Arts. Both of these teachers have significantly advanced my understanding of the subject.

Back in Kompong Speu, I have been studying intensively with Prum Ut, who graciously gives five hours of his time each day to teach me. At this point, I have studied seven songs from him, although on some of the longer songs (15 minutes or more), I am choosing to not memorize the entire texts, as this would take more time that I have. I am trying to focus on studying the smot songs that Prum Ut considers to be the oldest and least heard today, some of which are apparently only known by him. In addition, I have also been studying the most important Pali chants used in Cambodia as well as the chants needed for the novice ordination ceremony and the daily life of the monks. The study of these chants has been especially helpful for me, as it has given me the skills to pronounce and chant Pali on my own, although I do not understand the meaning of most of the words. Additionally, Prum Ut has taught me a lot about the uses of these Pali chants as well as the smot songs. I have been able to see him “on the job” at many ceremonies, but in the village and at his wat, and these experiences have given me a much better understanding of smot and it place within Cambodian Buddhism.

Life is the village in Kompong Speu is equally rewarding in itself. In general, I end up teaching English a couple of hours a day, at several different local schools as well as for the CLA smot students on the weekends. Prum Ut’s family has become like another family to me, and I have grown close to his sons and I am pleased to see their English skills continue to improve as I practice with them. Furthermore, traditional life in the village shines light on everything in Cambodian culture, from the language to the religion, from its history to its music. I wake up to the sound of threshing rice, eat breakfast as the pin peat music of a ceremony drifts across the fields, study to the voices of monks chanting in a local temple, and fall asleep to the wedding music piped through speakers in a neighboring village. In short, so much of what I learning come from my environment and not from books or even from teachers. I have learned that the most important thing is to simply open my ears and my eyes.

Christmas in Cambodia

2005-12-29T01:19:00.000-08:00

The language school in the village where I am living recently had a "Christmas" celebration. I say so because I don't really even recall the word "Christmas" being mentioned at all, or only in passing. The event was more of a singing and dancing contest for the students of the school. The older brother in family entered the duet competition with Srei Peu, the young woman I interviewed in a previous post. They won first place and a free year of study at the school.

I was asked to play the trumpet to accompany some students singing a traditional Khmer song. The song was about the process of harvesting rice in Cambodia, and many other students were involved in acting out the words of the song, especially the sifting of the rice. It was nice to finally have a chance to play the trumpet over here.

They asked me to give a speech, though I admit I was at a loss at what to say.

Pictures from Ka Yeaw Village

2005-12-17T17:09:00.000-08:00

Below are some more pictures that depict various aspects of life in the village.

Although I am focusing on studying smot, I have also been continuing my study on the tro sao, a Khmer stringed instrument.

This is the stunning view, not really captured in the picture, from the top of the hill. The village in the picture is Tropeang Po village, where many of the smot students live.

This young monk of 34 years is the abbot of the small monastery on top of the hill.

Neighbors frequently come to visit and chat. The jars behind store rainwater for domestic purposes.

This month is the time to harvest rice in Cambodia. Although my efforts did not help out very much, I did get a chance to learn to work different stages in the rice harvesting process (schything, threshing, etc.)

This is one of several "major" roads in the village, though its main traffic are carts pulled by cattle and people traveling by bicycle.

This is a rear view of the house where I am living. The large yard is mostly for cattle.

This small hall is main meeting center in the village and the site of most religious ceremonies. The well is used in the dry season when the rainwater has been used up. However, the well is currently in need of repair and most people use the pond instead.

This is the main pond in the village, and where most people fetch water for household use. It is also a common place to bathe. To my knowledge, everyone boils their water before drinking it.

Scenes from the Speu

2005-12-14T19:00:00.000-08:00

An aspring young trumpeter and his crafty assistants

Where I sleep and study

A memorial celebration in the village

Prum Uth (with the microphone) serving as MC (ta achary) at the memorial ceremony

Left to right: Bunteang (son, 19), me, Prum Uth, and his wife.

"I Hope That We Will Have It Forever"

2005-12-14T17:06:00.000-08:00

I recently conducted an interview for Cambodian Living Arts (CLA) in the village where I am studying smot in Kompong Speu. The aim of the interview was to get an idea of how the CLA class has changed the lives of the young smot students in the village.

Pheuan Srey Peu, 15, lives in Tropeang Po village in Kompong Speu Province, where she has been studying in CLA's smot (a form of vocal funeral music) class since January 2004. Currently a ninth-grade student at the local public school, Ms. Srey Peu had never had any musical training before the masters Prum Uth and Gaut Ran began to teach smot in a newly-founded CLA class almost two years ago.

Smot is a particulary difficult form of music for young Cambodians to learn because the melodies and vocal style are unlike any other form and the words of the songs use many Pali words and cryptic vocabulary that is often highly removed from everyday Khmer speech. Nevertheless, the form is deeply integral to Khmer culture, especially for Cambodian Buddhism, and when Srey Peu found out that the master musician Ieng Sithul would hold auditions for a smot class, she was immediately interested.

She had always loved traditional Khmer music, and was especially interested in singing. However, she had never had any opportunity to study these forms. In addition, she recalls that she liked going often to the local wat, offering food to monks, and listening to the elders of the village chant Buddhist scripture. Her only experience hearing smot, however, had been at the funerals she attended over the courser of her life, and before the smot class came to her village, she had not been interested in it.

Ms. Srey Peu has excelled in her studies of smot so far, and was quickly identified as one of the most promising students in the class, especially for her well-developed voice and amazing mental capacity to commit smot songs to memory. Even though she is still a student, she is frequently asks to perform smot songs at various functions at the local wats, much to the appreciation of the older members of the community.

In her words, "Before I began to study smot, I was interested in singing traditional Khmer songs, but I never I had the chance to study. So I only thought of myself as a normal, average person. After having studied smot, we have the feeling that we are special and extraordinary, because we are young and yet we know how to smot and we know about Buddhist chants." Srey Peu is known throughout the village and neighboring ones for her beautiful voice when she sings smot.

When she graduates from high school, Ms. Srey Peu says she is very interested in teaching smot to children, like the smot masters in the CLA class have done for her, because she wants the traditional smot songs of the Khmer people to not disappear and instead continue to be part of the rebirth of Khmer society.

Through CLA's smot class, Ms. Srey Peu has been able to discover and explore her talents a musician and smot singer, and thereby find direction to her life that she otherwise would not have had. She says that the class and her developing career in smot singing have given great joy and meaning in her life, and she now feels she has a chance to rise out of bleak future afforded by a life of farming in her village. Although she speaks truthfully that a good salary is probably the most important consideration for her future employment, she says that if a career solely based on teaching and performing smot would be a possibility for her, she would pursue this without hesitation.

Indeed, in the coming years such a career may be a possible one for her, but in truth, whatever career she ultimately pursues, smot singing and her passion for teaching it will be present, because in her own words, she says that "I don't want it to disappear, and hope that we will have it forever."

Up on the heights

2005-12-03T03:48:00.000-08:00

Some of the students in the smote class and I recently had a chance to hike up the mountain pictured below. The view from the top is incredible, and I'm afraid that the photos below don't really capture that. I will write more about my experiences here soon, but in short, living in this village has been one of the happiest times of my life. The friends I've made, the kindness of the neighbors, the beauty of the landscape, the talent of my fellow students of smote, the wisdom of my teachers--all are indescribable and I feel very grateful to be here.

Queen Maya's Lamentation

2005-11-26T02:27:00.000-08:00

I've currently been helping out with one of Cambodian Living Arts' CD projects. The song translated below has been proposed to appear on a CD feauturing various kinds of tradtional Khmer music, including smote. For the liner notes, I have worked on researching background info on this particular song and writing an English translation for it.

The name of the song is, in an English transciption of the Khmer, "Tumnuonh Neang Sere Moha Maya." An appropriate English translation would be "Lamentation of Queen Maya."

The context of this song is similar to other smote pieces, in that it used primarily in funeral ceremonies, particularly when a sick person is on verge of death. Smote songs, which recount Buddhist teachings or stories in poetic form, are used to direct the mind of the dying person towards the Buddhist trinity, or Three Jewels: the Buddha, his teaching, and his disciples, so that they will be reborn in a favorable realm. This particular ceremony is called samwek, and this particular song is one of many that can be used for that occasion, to be sung by either monks or laypeople.

The content of the song is centered around the Buddha's mother, Queen Maya, lamentation for her son, who has left the palace where he was a prince and heir to the throne, gone deep into forest, and taken up extreme austerities, including eating very little food, in order to reach enlightenment. The Buddha later realized the futility of his efforts and accepted food in order to nourish his body and mind, after which he finally attained enlightenment. Before this, however, he became extremely thin and weak, to the point that he was practically only skin and bones, and the shape his backbone became visible from the front. Queen Maya, having died only seven days after his birth, is told by her fellow gods in the realms of heaven that her son, now in his thirties, has become very weak and emaciated. It is at this point that she begins her lament.

This particular song is closely related to another that I have been studying, called "Bandam Neang Moha Maya Devi Jampuah Neang Goutamei," or "The Admontions of the Buddha's Mother Maya for Lady Gotami." A translation of this song follows below the translation of "Lamentation of Queen Maya."

Lamentation of Queen Maya (Tumnuonh Neang Sere Moha Maya)

O my son, my dear son!
You have become so thin and weak.
And your mother feels great sorrow for you,
Sorrow that exceeds all comparison.

O my child, seven days after your birth,
Your mother suddenly passed from this world,
And ascended to the highest realms of heaven,
Where she now resides with the gods.

I, your mother have heard from the gods
That you, my child, were born into a beautiful body,
Magnificent in form and free from disgrace.
So now why have you become so emaciated?

Your mother has come to see your body, O child!
She feels great sorrow, and her heart
Grows soft with pity to see you like this.
For what reason do you do this, my son?

The Admontions of the Buddha's Mother Maya for Lady Gotami (Bandam Neang Moha Maya Devi Jampuah Neang Goutamei)

"Dear Lady Gotami, o younger sister!
Please remember this advice
That I admonish so strongly on to you.
Please, younger sister, be kind and forgiving to me.

"Elder sister gave birth to a beloved son,
Only to live as a his mother for seven days.
Seven days, younger sister!
Death came and blocked my path.

"Sister, this child is remarkable indeed.
Wise sages came to pay respect to him.
His is called Siddartha according to the law.
For the benefit of all living beings,

"Our beloved son will attain enlightenment,
Knowing all paths to salvation by his own effort.
Many will come to ask for his help,
Granting abundant happiness to humans and gods alike.

"Younger sister! Please be determined
And have compassion for this child.
Let him suckle at your breast
And care for him with your own hands.

"Sister, don’t lost your fortitude
And call on servants to care for him.
Raise him with your own strong arms
And know that this is true love."

Having finished giving her admonitions,
She passed away and her life was finished,
To be reborn in the Tusita heaven,
Resplendent in numberless colors and powers.

The reason that Queen Maya was born
In the blissful Heaven of the Thirty-three,
Is that many gods there could inform her
About the exceeding virtue of her beloved son.

There came a time when the Buddha
Wandered back and forth across a stretch of forest
Staying for four reasons
In the Uruvela forest in the city of Gaya.

His body grew emaciated till his bones poked through,
His eyes grew bleary, wide-open beyond description,
As he collapsed down to the earth,
Enduring terrible suffering but still alive.

At that time the beautiful Queen Maya
Descended from paradise to come take a look
At the body of the Blessed One.
I humbly now finish this poem.

Written Culture

2005-11-25T22:45:00.000-08:00

My smote teacher, Proum Uth, is also the head layperson (ta achar) at a temple on the outskirts of Phnom Penh, and one day, when he returned his wat back to Kompong Speu, he came with a most unusual book, unlike any I had ever seen in Cambodia. The book brick-shaped, narrow but long and thick,

and opened in a concertina arrangement, rather like an accordion.

Inside the book were hand-written texts for the smote songs most often used at funeral ceremonies,

written in unfailingly beautiful Khmer script.

He later explained that this sort of manuscript was called a krang. We then began to study some the smote songs contained within. After doing some more research on the subject, I found out some more information on the history of this kind and other kinds manuscripts in Cambodia.

The history of written culture in Cambodia begins with the history of Buddhist scriptures. The teachings of the Buddha were passed down orally for about five hundred years before monks began to start writing them down on palm leaves. This tradition of palm-leaf manuscripts came to Cambodia with the spread of Buddhism, especially with the conversion of the kingdom to the Theravada branch of the religion in the 13th century. Khmer palm-leaf manuscripts were mainly used in wats to be studied and recited by the monks. Mostly written in Khmer script representing the sounds of the Pali language, palm-leaf manuscripts are difficult to handle and to study, and reading them is an art in itself. Thus the Khmer script used in the manuscripts came to be associated with mystical powers, and many rituals developed around the their use. Palm-leaf manuscripts do not last very long, and today very few Cambodian manuscripts remain from before the 19th century. They were regularly burned as a way of making merit and then recopied onto new leaves. This tradition survived as the main method of recording Buddhist scriptures and literature well in the 19th century.

The krang developed later than the palm-leaf manuscripts, but has also been a traditional method of storing Buddhist scriptures throughout Asia. Most temples in China and Japan have collections of this kind of manuscript, both for ritual use and for study. In Cambodia, krang are produced on paper made from mulberry leaves, hand-written in ink, and then bound in a folding arrangement. They generally last longer than palm-leaf manuscripts but are nearly as difficult to produce, as no printing technology is used.

With the onset of the French protectorate in Cambodian in the late 19th century, as well as the influence of reformed Siamese Buddhism from Thailand, the culture of palm-leaf and other manuscripts in Cambodia began to change. In order to increase their control over the Buddhist clergy, the French colonial government establised the Buddhist Institute in the early part of the 20th century. The Buddhist Institute set about to produce a complete translation of the Tripitaka (the corpus of Buddhist scriptures) in Khmer, at a time when most temples in Cambodia lacked even a complete Pali version of the scriptures. The was initially much resistance to the move away from hand-written manuscripts among traditionalist monks, who sensed a magic power in the ancient Khmer letters and the rituals associated with them and therefore feared a change in how the teachings of the Buddha were respected. However, although there are monks who still use the palm-leaf manuscripts, serious monastic students more often used printed literature to understand the words of the Buddha. The Buddhist Institute also printed the first Cambodian dictionary, under the leadership of Buddhist patriarch Chuon Nath, which is still the only Cambodian dictionary in use today, to my knowledge. Most importantly, the Buddhist Institure made possible the advent of print culture in Cambodia, and they have printed many hundreds of small and large volumes alike on Buddhism and traditional literature over the past seventy years. Thus most Buddhist education has changed from being focused on palm-leaf or krang manuscripts to printed books.

Today, printed books are available very cheaply in Cambodia, usually starting from around 25 cents. This is because most of the titles, both foreign and domestic, are photocopied from the original publications. Some would caracterize Cambodia as not being a very literary culture, although I would argue that this is not the case. Traditional literature is, however, to some extent endangered in Cambodia, like some many other traditional arts forms. Furthermore, the traditional manuscripts may be lost if efforts are undertaken to preserve them.

For me, it's really an honor and a wonderful opportunity to be able to study smote from the krang manuscripts and learn about the care and effort that had to go into each word before the advent of printing in Cambodia. As of late, I have been learning to type in Khmer, which is a rather slow and cumbersome process, in order to record some of the smote texts found in the manuscripts and in other sources. Even if typing now seems slow, it is fascinating to think about how much the culture around written texts in Cambodia has changed over the past one hundred years.

Three-Month Report

2005-11-24T23:28:00.000-08:00

I suppose at this point, three months into my time in Cambodia, that I should be used to the fact that one year is indeed not very long at all. While a day in the countryside seems long and certainly tends to unfold in a more natural way than in the city, I am continually faced with the realization that in the blink of an eye my time in Kompong Speu will be over and I will be off to Siem Reap to pursue monastic ordination. Although it seems crude to do so, I will try to sum up what I have accomplished since mid-August as a way for me to make a more informed assessment of what goals I would like to pursue over the next few months.

From one perspective, I really have no idea how much my Khmer has progressed, as not being a native speaker, I have no ear for whether my accent is reasonably acceptable or if my grammar accords with modern conventions or not. However, I do know that my language skills have improved somewhat since last month, particularly in the areas of reading and listening. As I have been focusing most of my attention on the literary, Pali-laden Khmer that smote songs employ, most of my progress has been in understanding this particular style. For the most part, I am able to read texts of smote songs and understand what they are about, and with the aid of a dictionary, I can produce a reasonably coherent translation. At this point, I have stopped taking language lessons, and I notice that my speaking and writing skills, in particular, are falling behind. The smote masters obviously simplify their language when they speak with me, so I can usually understand what they are saying without difficult. Nevertheless, when it comes time to respond to them, I am often lost for words. I hope that I will have more chances to work on this.

I have been continuing my study of the tro sao, and I generally find time to practice the eight songs I have learned so far. However, my teacher Yun Theara has been, understandably so, very busy, and I have only been able to study with him on an occasional basis, about every two weeks. I have really enjoyed my studies so far, and have had some chances to share some Mahaori songs with the people in Ka Yeaw village, where I am staying in Kompong Speu.

Additionally, I have also had the opportunity to spend a good deal of time researching Khmer Buddhism, and more specifically the literature associated with Theravada Buddhist funeral rites. I have had a few chances to do relatively independent research in the past, but this is the first time that I really had no idea what I would find over the course of my research. At this point, I have identified most of the relevant English and French language material on Khmer Buddhist rituals and literature and am presently in the process of reading, rereading and taking notes on these sources. I also searching for Khmer-language sources, which has been very rewarding, and I look forward to discovering more useful texts through this process.

Now on my third week in the countryside, I am realizing the challenges of studying smote. Once I translate a particular text into English and have a clear idea of its content, I find that it is not too difficult to memorize the Khmer words, although the length of the songs certainly requires that memorization takes a significant time commitment on my part. The melodies also stretch my musical capabilities as their freedom from Western standards of rhythm and meter makes them very difficult to transcribe accurately. However, the hardest part about learning smote songs for me is pronouncing Khmer words correctly. Certain sounds in the Khmer language are very difficult for me to pronounce clearly, and I know that I will continue to struggle with these sounds as I continue my study. I am very grateful that the masters are patient enough to accommodate for my deficiencies.

As for the coming months, I have a clear idea of what path my research and writing will take. I hope that I will soon be able to find a mentor for this project, a process that should give me more direction and point out some of the many gaps and oversights in my research. I am less sure, however, about the actual study of smote. Some of the more difficult songs reportedly take months to learn, and while my pace of learning may be different, I do not have high expectations for learning more than a handful of smote songs. In my view, learning just a few songs well will be ultimately more important, to both my research and my understanding of the art more.

At the urging of my teacher Proum Uth, I have begun to study the Pali and Khmer chants used in the novice ordination ceremony. Although he recommended this course of study in order to prepare me for the monkhood, the study of Pali chants, in particular, is helping me with the pronunciation of the regular Khmer smote songs, as well as teaching me about the Pali chants used in the funeral ceremonies of which smote is a part.

Overall, I am very happy to have come to this point after three months here and I am especially grateful to have met so many people who were so willing to help me in surprising and wonderful ways. I am cautious in terms of my expectations for myself, and I hope that in the coming weeks I am able to find more direction and sense of purpose for my studies here.

Water Festival

2005-11-18T18:29:00.000-08:00

This past week was the Water Festival in Phnom Penh, a three-day event which usually draws almost two million people from the countryside to come to the capital, which normally has a population between one and two million, depending on how the city limits are defined. I only spent a little time in Phnom Penh during the festival, as it is quite a chaotic and crowded event. At night, particularly, the streets near the water front and major parks are packed with people, and it is difficult to move. But for many Cambodians, especially those who come from the countryside, it is a wonderful event and a celebration of national pride. The boat races are the highlight of the event, with long boats (see photo above) competing head-to-head in the Tonle Sap river.

However, the countryside has its own version of the Water Festival that is equally special. Most provinces have their own boat races, but to me the most interesting part comes during the evening. The ambok (raw, unhusked rice that is crushed flat and roasted) ritual usually takes place well after the sun has set, during the night of the full moon which occurs during the three days of the water festival. The ceremony is nearly identical to that which takes place concurrently in the royal palace. The royal ceremony, ostenstibly Brahmanstic (Hindu), has mnay animistic elements as the essential purpose is predicting and petitioning for good rainfall in the coming year. However, the full moon night is also significant in Buddhism, as it is the time when monks and laypeople renew their vows to lead upright and virtuous lives.

Above is the table where food offerings are made, including bananas, coconuts, sugar cane, and ambok. The food will later be mixed together and eaten--it's quite delicious!

Because of the full moon night, Buddhist Pali chants are recited along with the animistic petitions for rain.

The three candles on the top of the wood frame represent three districts in Kompong Speu province. They were later allowed to drip thier melting wax onto the large banana leaves as a way of predicting the amount of rainfall in each district. I was very glad that I was able to witness and participate in this event and see the whole village come together, revealing many more aspects of Khmer culture than I ever would have been able to see in Phnom Penh or read in a book.

Ka Yew Village

2005-11-17T02:23:00.000-08:00

Due to some difficulties with registering my stay in Kompong Speu with the local police, I have returned to Phnom Penh earlier than I planned and will probably return on Tuesday with the appropriate papers. Below are some photos from Ka Yew village where I am living. The two sons in the family were very eager to use the camera, so I can't claim credit for any of these photos. But I hope they give a better picture of things in Konmpong Speu than my words do.

The house where I am staying.

The "spirit house" that serves as altar to tutelary spirits (neak ta)

Teng, one of Proum Uth's sons and Proum Uth's wife.

One of Proum Uth's daughters.

Pakdey, Proum Uth's youngest son, and me.

A neighbor and his beautiful cow.

A happy neighboring family.

L'apprentissage des langues

2005-11-14T22:14:00.000-08:00

Je viens d'écrire une lettre à mon ancien professeur du francais. Là-dedans, je discute à propos la valeur evidente de mes études du francais au lycée. Donc, je mets sur ce blog afin de montrer un autre aspect de mes travaux au Cambodge.

Quand j'ai decidé d'étudier le français, je n'étais pas tellement sûr que je pourrais utiliser cette langue à l'avenir. Cependant, j'adorais le son du français, et donc j'étais bien heureux de l'apprendre. Après avoir obtenu mon diplôme, je me suis étonné si je ne parlerais le français plus jamais. Au lycée, je me suis amusé en lisant des livres en français en dehors de la classe. Mais je savais que si je ne parlais point, ma facilité vis-à-vis le français irait se perdre tout à coup! Ainsi j'ai pensé, "pourquoi ai-je l'étudié? Quels sont les bienfaits de mon travail?"

Je suis au Cambodge depuis le mois d'août, et déjà j'ai trouvé une réponse. À l'heure actuelle, je travaille avec une organisation qui s'appelle Silapak Khmer Amatak ("Les beaux-arts vivants cambodgiens"). Pour cette organisation, ma poste est simple: étudier et faire des recherches sur la musique khmère. Bien sûr, pour ce travail il faut d'abord apprendre la langue de ce pays.

La langue cambodgienne n'est pas difficile à apprendre; la grammaire, en particulière, n'est pas complèxe. Toutefois, je trouve que la langue pose des difficultés à pronoucer droitement, et la système d'écriture, en tant qu'elle reste complètement different de l'alphabet roman, est également difficile. Néanmois, à UHS j'ai commencé à aimer l'étude des langues étragères, et donc je suis fasciné par le khmer, malgré ses difficultés. Ainsi je suis plein de graditude pour mes classes du français à UHS qui m'enseigne, surtout, la valeur et la joie de l'apprentissage des langues.

De plus, mes études du français me servent en des façons divers. Par exemple, bien que mon français, en particulière au niveau de la langue parlée, reste éparpillé des erreurs grammaticales et manque d'une vocabulaire riche, mon organisation m'a fourni l'occassion de faire la traduction khmer-français pour des visiteurs étrangères qui viennent à voir nos projets d'aide pour les musiciens cambodgiens.

Bien sûr, il y a très peu de gens qui parlent le français au Cambodge. Pourtant, c'est grâce à mes études de la langue à UHS que je peux faire des recherches aux bibliothèques à Phnom Penh, parce que la majorité des tomes sur le cambodge se sont écrits et publiés exclusivement en français. Mes recherches continue à m'interessent beaucoup, et je suis tellement heureux que j'aie trouvé un lien entre mes études en Californie et celles-ci à l'étrange et que je peux continuer à étudier la langue française.

Au demain, je vais retourner au petit village au province Kompong Speu, Cambodge, où j'habite et étudie un genre de musique qui est utilisé pour les cérémonies bouddhistes, souvent des funerailles, au Cambodge. À mars 2006, je vais se raser le cheveux et deviens un bonze dans un pagode près d'Angkor Wat, et je vais retourner aux Ètats-Unis au mois d'août 2006.

Life in the countryside

2005-11-13T16:24:00.000-08:00

Having returned to the insanity and chaos of Phnom Penh after a very peaceful week in a village in Kompong Speu province, I now have a much better appreciation for life in the countryside. I had first envisioned that I would have a very difficult time there, but to my surprise, it is actually easier than my time in Phnom Penh.

When I arrived, I had the impression that almost everyone in the village (about sixty families) knew about me before my arrival. I am staying with the family of Proum Uth, the smote master who teaches a class near a wat on a small hill a few kilometers from the village. As Proum Uth spends the first half of each month as a achar in a wat in Kandal province, only his wife and two of his sons where living at the house when I arrived.

The house is situated on the edge of a rice field on the outer portion of the village. Like most Khmer houses, it is "on stilts," in that it sits on raised pillars to create a shaded area underneath where the family spends most of their time. The upstairs area has one room where the family sleeps, and food is prepared in a separate room attached to the house at ground level.

Electricity exists only in the form of batteries, and water used for bathing and cooking is collected in large jars. Water for drinking is boiled in the form of tea, and heat for cooked is generally firewood. I brought along a cheap gas stove, but it blew up (fortunately no one was nearby!). This makes me believe that firewood may be a little safer!

Shortly after I arrived, the two brothers took me meet some of their neighbors in the village. In general, people in Cambodian villages have a good deal of free time each day, and they tend to spend most of it visiting their neighbors or their family (who also may be their neighbors). Wherever I went, the local people always wanted me to try a new kind of fruit or vegetable. After several hours of this, I was feeling rather full but also delighted to meet so many kind and welcoming people.

The two sons, Teng, 19 and Pakdey,17, are currently studying English and other subjects at local schools in preparation for their high school graduation examinations. Pakdey is also a student in the smote class, which meets daily during the week from 4:00 PM to 6:00 PM. They are like brothers to me in many ways, and I am really enjoying being able to spend time with them. Occassionly I go to the local English to help the students there. As there are no foreign teachers there, even a relatively inexperienced teacher can fill a large gap in their English education: pronounciation and proper grammar. I probably will continue to spend a hour a day helping out there or at other schools in the area. In the evening, I am also able to help Teng and Pakdey with their homework. From my point of view, this is the least I can do for them, for not only does Pakdey help me with smote songs, but the whole family, according to Khmer tradition, does not permit me to help very much with the housework, so I am happy that I can help them in other ways.

I will post more about the smote class itself a little later, but I am really happy to finally start studying this form of religious music. I feel truly fortunate to have this opportunity, and while I know it will be a challenge for me, every aspect of smote --contextual, textual, musical, and spiritual-- is fascinating to me.

As I'm writing this, I'm in Phnom Penh, looking out a window to the Tonle Sap river, where 30-meter rowboats, holding sixty or seventy strong rowers are practicing in preparation for the Water Festival, which will take place here over the next three days. Hundreds of thousands of people come from all over Cambodia for this event, and it makes the already apparent chaos of Phnom Penh that much more acute. It's exciting, for sure, but I hope I can sneek back to the quiet of the countryside before the festival ends.

O Ananda!

2005-11-13T04:45:00.000-08:00

I recently returned to Phnom Penh after my first week living in the countryside. I do have pictures, but I am unable to post them at the moment because I forgot the USB cable in Kompong Speu. I will also post more later about my experiences in the countryside, but in this post I will share a little more about smote.

The following is a translation and transliteration of a smote song called "Pacchimbuddhavacanak." The song is sung from the perspective of the Buddha as he is dying. Ananda was the Buddha's faithful attendant throughout his teaching career and was known for his remarkable memory; indeed, it is said that he had memorized every one of his teacher's sermons. Considering that the oral teachings of the Buddha fill over forty volumes of text, this is an impressive feat.

The Buddha referred to himself as "the Tathagata," which means "the one who comes from suchness". Tathagata could also be translated as "coming from nowhere, going nowhere". He used this appellation to emphasize his realization that living beings do have separate souls or selves and eventually return to emptiness.

This song, like all smote songs, is actually more of a poem set to a standard melody. The poem can be recited as well as sung. Each stanza consists of four lines, and the metric pattern for each stanza is five syllables, six syllables, five, six. The rhyme scheme is such that that the last syllable of the second and third lines of each stanza rhyme with the last syllable of the fourth line of the preceeding stanza. The last syllable of the first line of each stanza also rhymes will the third syllable of the second line of each stanza.

The translation does not reflect the meter or rhyme scheme, but the transliteration of the Khmer which follows the translation should make this more clear. Because smote songs often contain many Pali words (e.g. Tathagata, Ananda), I have chosen to use a transliteration system that reflects the standard way of Pali romanization, so that the Pali roots are more clear, although much phonetic representation is lost. For example, "Tathagata" is transliterated as "tathāgat," but the actual Khmer pronounciation is closer to "dahk-ta-koot."

As the most common context of smote is a funeral ceremony, this particular song is representative of many works in the genre, as it recalls the deathbed of the Buddha himself. It is also typical in its recounting of a famous Buddhist story, its frequent use of Pali words, its poetic meter, and its lamenting tone charged with exhortations to practice Buddhist teachings.

O Ananda, do not delay!

Come here immediately,

For the Tathagata will pass away.

Abandon yourself without fail.

Please dwell in happiness.

Do not be miserable, dear friend!

The Tathagata will now depart

Do not grieve, O Ananda!

Within the body of the Tathagata

The five aggregates will all be extinguished.

Please stay, O Ananda!

Try to look deeply into your body.

Every day your body

Is like a fragile plate.

It does not last long

And will surely be destroyed.

For this reason, Ananda,

Please reflect deeply,

Not about the passing of the Tathagata,

But about your own salvation.

The teaching of the Tathagata

Will surely last long

And whoever has a pure mind

Can practice the path accordingly.

Now the Tathagata

Will be extinguished in Nirvana.

Old age moves in by force,

Crushing and cutting off all life.

yo vo ānand 'aoey

nae pā 'aoey mak 'āy rā

tathāgat niṅ maranā

câk col pā min khan ḷoey

cūr pā nau 'auy sukh

kuṃ jā dukkh ṇā pā 'aoey

tathāgat lā pā hoey

kuṃ sok loey ṇā ānand

aṅg añ tathāgat

niṅ ram lát 'ás pañcakkhanth

nau cuḥ nā ānand

khaṃ gne gnân knuṅ aṅg prāṇ

kluan 'anak nau sabv thṅai

mān upameyy ṭūc jā cān

min shtit ster punmān

guṇ niṅ pān vinās dau

hetu neḥ pān ānand

cūr gne gnân git 'auy jrau

it bī tathāgat dau

'anak eṅ nau thae sāsanā

sāsanā tathāgat

sthit prākat niṅ 'anak ṇā

ṭael mān citt jrah thlā

prabrẏtt truv tām laṃ 'ān

grā neḥ tathāgat

niṅ raṃ lát khanthanibbān

ṭoy jarā cūl ruk rān

dandrān mak phtâc saṅkhār

Moving Out

2005-11-07T22:31:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time since I've updated this site, and I regret my negligence. After a few weeks of illness, I am feeling much better and am now enjoying my last day in Phnom Penh, as I will be moving out to Kompong Speu province tomorrow. I also recently returned from Battambang province with the yike opera class from Phnom Penh. The kids performed for the opening of a new school in a village about a half hour from Battambang city. It was a really inspiring event in many ways, both in terms of the care and thought that went into the new school and the talent and dedication of the many children who performed. I also had a chance to visit some of the arts schools in the Battambang region, and I am continually reminded how important the arts are for creating healthy and dynamic societies.

As I will not have internet access in the countryside, or electricity, running water or refridgeration for that matter, I will be able to update this site only on a weekly basis, as I currently plan to return to Phnom Penh on weekends in order to continue study on the tro sau instrument. As my path of research unfolds, I am also finding more and more books and documents in the Buddhist Institute and in other libraries that are relevant to my study of smote chanting, so I also plan to be using these resources when I return to Phnom Penh periodically. I must admit that I miss going to school, and I am getting really excited about my research here. I hope I will be able to post more about it here in the future.

Smote class in Kompong Speu

2005-10-27T04:58:00.000-07:00

I wrote a brief report about the smote class where I will studying in Kompong Speu, so I thought I would post it here to give a more-detailed picture of the art form and how it is taught.

Kompong Speu, one of poorest and least developed provinces in Cambodia, subject to both devastating drought and periodic flooding, is also the home of a remarkable class sponsored by Silapak Khmer Amatak (Cambodian Living Arts). I hesistate to call to the class of fifteen students a music class, because smote, a hauntingly beautiful form of funeral chant steeped in Buddhist teachings, is not often referred to as music by the Khmer people. An integral part of funeral rites in Cambodia, smote is performed by both monks and laypeople at a variety of religious functions, and thus is generally seen as outside the realm of secular music. Nevertheless, the smote chants are expressive, highly melodic and filled with emotional and spiritual significance, managing to transcend boundaries set by conventional definitions attributed to the sacred and secular realms alike.

Proum Uth, the master teacher for the class, brings a captivating voice, a depth of knowledge and a gentle prescence to the way he passes down the tradition of smote chants to his students. He is assisted by Kaut Ran, a smote teacher blind since the Pol Pot era, whose lively, strict and respectful approach adds further depth to the education of the students. As Master Proum Uth spends half his time as an achar, or lay Buddhist ritual specialist, at a wat outside of Phnom Penh, Master Kaut Ran also has considerable opportunity to instruct the students on her own.

The classroom for the smote class is situated in small village alongside the national road that passes through Kompong Speu Province. The village is home to two small wats, one at the summit of a small hill and the other at its base, and bright green rice fields, dotted with occassional palm and coconut trees, stretch out for miles in all directions, extending as far out as the forested mountains in neighboring provinces. The classroom itself is on the second level of a small, but well-kept wooden house at the edge of the village, and the students arrive from neighboring villages or from the local school by bike.

Every afternoon when the students assemble in the classroom, they begin with Pali and Khmer sacred chants that remind them to pay attention to the sacred nature of the smote tradition. These chants are not melodic like smote, but instead follow the traditional style of recitation of Buddhist scriptures in Cambodian wats. They then show respect to their masters and the teaching of the smote chants begins. Although the words to many of the smote chants are written down, the students, following ancient traditions of oral transmission both within Theravada Buddhism and traditional Khmer music, learn primarliy by ear, directly from the mouth and heart of the masters.

Smote holds a power to bring tears to the eyes of almost every Cambodian, as both its soulful, ethereal melodies and poetic lyrics, which speak to the bare reality of the suffering of human life, the impermanence of the body, and the mystery of death and transmigration to other realms, are heard at nearly every funeral ceremony across the country. Rarely, however, do Khmer people have a chance hear smote performed live, and most make do with an old, scratchy cassette recording. But in its live form smote is not only melancholy and somewhat frightening, but also terrifyingly beautiful, rich in poetic imagery and Buddhist philosophy.

Of all the forms of traditional Khmer music, smote seems to be the most distant from the popular trends in music today, especially for young Cambodians. But it is also very close to the heart of Khmer people everywhere, and when it is performed, its captivating and enchanting power ensures that it is not easily ignored. And the children who attend the class, ranging from about ten to seventeen years of age, with their bright smiles and playful manner, may seem like unlikely candidates to pass down this deep and mysterious art form. Yet every student, however talented she may be, brings an attitude of respect and seriousness to the class that is highly impressive, and points to both the importance of the art form and the ability of the masters to impress this importance upon their students. After listening to the students perform by themselves, it is hard not to imagine these chants not being passed down for many generations to come.

Smote Translation

2005-10-22T07:20:00.000-07:00

Although the festival of Phchum Ben has already passed, I've been working on studying a smote chant that's traditionally connected with this Khmer holiday. Phchum Ben literally means "lump of food," but a more descriptive translation is "the festival of hungry ghosts." My language teacher gave me an old cassette recording of the chant, and I poked around in a few Khmer-language Buddhist bookstores before finding an accurate transcription of it.

What I've translated here consists of two parts, a prose introduction, which is recited and accompanied by a tro sau (the string instrument I've been studying here), followed by a section in rhymed and versed poetry, sung a cappella in the smote style. On the whole, it is very beautiful piece, though like most smote, it is exceptionally sad and melacholy, with a clear intention to make the listeners weep. I don't think my translation conveys much of this feeling at all, so I hesitate to call it anywhere near adequate; however, hopefully it will suffice to give an example of what some smoat chants are about.

Translation of Dumnuanpretrongkamma (“Lamentation of the hungry ghosts bearing the results of their sins”)

Prose introduction:

Dear honorable and noble people, young and old, men and women, the month of the Festival of Hungry Ghosts has arrived. Only think about going to the temple. Don’t just stay around the house or go out carelessly seeking pleasure, saying that giving doesn’t have a good taste and only alcohol has a good taste, cursing others as you pass by, wandering back and forth across the street. That’s enough already, please stop! Stop and reflect carefully, change yourself and do good by offering food with the others. In your free time, don’t be useless.

Smote chant (in verse):

Parents live in order to support their children. When the end of their life arrives, they don’t know where they will be reborn: on earth as humans, in heaven as gods, or in the realm of the hungry ghosts.

If they are born in the superior realms as humans or gods, this excellent state was reached for a reason, as were very fearful about falling into the lower realms and becoming hungry ghosts, where their poor bellies would be empty and without food.

Hungry ghosts only can eat pus, blood and excrement. With a miserable body worthy of pity, and a life full of terrible suffering, they don’t know when they will be reborn as humans again.

All this came about because of sins they committed to support their children, evil deeds which caused them to lose their human life and be reborn as ghosts, enduring suffering without a trace of happiness. All people, all beings, should reflect about this carefully.

Now it is the tenth month, the month of the Festival of Hungry Ghosts, and the ghosts are wailing and screaming because they miss their children. The ruler of hell is setting the ghosts free, and they come at night to find their ancestors, their children or their spouse.

How pitiful, how worthy of compassion! The ghosts have tears flowing from their eyes as they bear such heavy suffering. They go from temple to temple, watching carefully, but they don’t see their wife or children.

They only see the relatives of others. They think hard about food and nourishment, hoping there will be rice, water, bread, and sweets that invite the ancestors to come and eat, until all of them are full.

But the ghosts do not say anything. They are lonesome and abandoned, crying so pitifully, hitting their bodies near the temple, enduring terrible and immense suffering.

They pound their chests and wail loudly, screaming, “O! How pitiful this body is!” When they were humans they carried heavy loads on their backs, day and night never sleeping in order to support their children.

But now, without knowing, they have fallen into the realm of hungry ghosts. Let them eat so that they feel satisfied and don’t have to always think, “O! How full of suffering this body is—abandoned, sore, painful, and miserable!”

Kampot Province

2005-10-16T03:41:00.000-07:00

A couple of days ago my Khmer teacher and I were acting out a scenario between two friends taking a weekend trip to the countryside. As usual, I was struggling to find the right words appropriate to the situation, but my teacher, who hadn't taken a trip out to the provinces in years, got so excited about it that he insisted that we go the coming weekend. It's always good practice for me to speak with people in the countryside, who generally speak different dialects than in the city, so I was also excited to leave Phnom Penh for a brief while.

We traveled to Kampot province, which borders the ocean at the southwestern corner of the country. This part of the country is not nearly as flooded as the part along the road to Siem Reap, where it sometimes seemed that we were driving across an immense lake. In contrast, Kampot province, full of beautiful rivers and mountains, was relatively dry. I am sorry that I didn't bring a camera along, because the areas we visited are among the most beautiful I have ever seen, in Cambodia and in the world.

Along the way, we stopped near a hill that had many caves. The caves, inhabited and used as temples for well over a thousand years, are still a site for religious pilgrims. Although a Buddhist wat has been constructed near the caves, the temples inside date from the sixth century, long before Buddhism became the state religion. Thus the temples are dedicated to tutelary spirits (neak ta) or Brahmanistic deities (usually Shiva). We had a chance to talk to a lot of people about the history of the caves, though I admit I didn't understand everything the people were saying. But some of the young boys who lived near the caves were able to show us into some unbelievable caverns and beautiful spaces. I thought only small kids like them would be able to fit through some of the tunnels or be comfortable wading through the water, but in fact the majority of visitors to the caves were elderly women, who showed no fear and always wore wide smiles. One of the caves we visited, very deep into the earth, had a set of rock formations that sounded like a pin peat orchestra when struck. It was a remarkable sight to see how intertwined the religious sights were with the natural formations of the caves.

We then continued on to the city of Kampot itself. A former neighbor of my teacher when he was living in Kompong Sam province lived near the market in Kampot. She and her family of five welcomed us very graciously into her home. Although I've been in the country for a month and a half now, I still hadn't had a meal or slept in a traditional Khmer home or bathed in the traditional way, and as I am probably going to live with the family of the smoat master in Konpong Speu province in the coming weeks, it was good to have the chance to experience what it might be like. The family were staying had built their home next to a small garbage dump, in a squatter neighborhood inhabiting by many Vietnamese (Kampot is close to Vietnam). They did, however, have electricity and one pipe with running water. The family was one of the most welcoming I have ever known, and we were able to have some good conversations together.

Before returning to their house to sleep, we visited Kep, a small town by the ocean. Kep is situated at the edge of a very large bay ringed with islands and dramatic mountains, and the view from the town is spectacular, especially as the sun sets over the ocean. We went swimming the ocean, where the water is refreshing but not at all cold. And it was all strangely deserted, with very people near the waterfront or among the few houses in the town.

The next day we traveled to Mt. Bokor National Park, a beautiful forested region with clear, cool air and beautiful rivers. We came across a large family near one of the rivers and joined them for some swimming in the clear water flowing down from the mountain. Along the way, I had plenty of chances to meet the local people, including the abbot of a small mountain temple, and practice speaking with them, so although this weekend seemed like a vacation, I was glad to get some "studying" in. I definitely learned a good deal this weekend, both about the language and the culture, from having the opportunity to see a different region of the country, and I am excited to spend more time in the countryside in the future.

Translation

2005-10-11T21:22:00.000-07:00

Translation has been something that I developed an interest in over the past several years, and if I continue with my current plan to study a form of funeral chanting, I will need to work on my Khmer reading and translating skills a lot more. So to practice this, I have been working on translating some of the writings of But Savong, a Khmer lay Buddhist teacher. My Khmer teacher introduced his work to me, and he uses very simple language, usually not specifically Buddhist, to express his wise approach to life. But Savong, well-regarded throughout Cambodia and the countries of the Khmer diaspora, is not a monk, but wears the white robes of an acar, owns no personal possesions, and spends all of time giving lectures on Buddhist teaching to people who request. The following is a translation of a talk of his from his book Words of the Parents. My knowledge of Khmer is pretty limited, so I'm sticking to a fairly literal translation so as not to obsure his meaning.

Translation of “The Virtue of Difficulties” (gun nei sechkdeylumbak)
Written by Teacher But Savong in Words of the Parents

Dear beloved child,

Your parents are just like all the other people, in that they should not give themselves difficulties nor give difficulties to their children. There are no parents who wish that their own children be desperately poor and saddled with difficulties, but even so, sometimes children encounter difficulties because their parents cannot make them happy in all ways.

Considering this point, you should always bear in mind that to have difficulties in life is not really bad at all. To have difficulties is not venomous, cruel or brutal, and nor should we see the suffering of these difficulties in just one way. If we look carefully into what we are studying, seeing the various components of goodness and the usefulness of having difficulties, we can practice accordingly and see how difficulties give us immense strength and resolve, the power to think clearly and the chance to be persons of importance, just as iron that passes through the furnace is made into a stronger and more useful material.

Our difficulties teach us to become adept at helping ourselves, because we sometimes have to struggle intensely in order to conquer them. There are not few among us who are able to react well to difficulties by holding to the idea of “difficult before, easy later,” which is to say that with patience and perseverance, we can tread between difficulty and ease and reach superior happiness and prosperity.

On the other hand, there are not few among us who have only known happiness since they were born, and who have never known and never met any difficulties. When they come across difficulties, they can barely help themselves. They attempt but cannot succeed, grab but cannot hold on, and whether their work is heavy or light, they do not know how to do it, and this continues until they can barely live and hover close to death. There are some who cannot withstand any difficulties, and thus they lose their life.

Therefore, please do not be afraid of difficulties and always bear in mind that our difficulties are our mentor. You should stand up on your own through your difficulties by cultivating patience and should use your difficulties to increase the virtue in your heart. You should use your difficulties as lessons for yourself, lessons which you should study so as not to return to the same difficulties again.

Pictures from the Tonle Bassac Community

2005-10-09T19:37:00.000-07:00

Master Tep Mori's pin peat and dance class

Trying out a keyboard at the home of an instrument maker

Playing Khmer mahori music with instrument maker and younger relative

Master Ki Mum's yike opera class

Talking with Master Tep Mori

Back to Angkor Wat

2005-10-09T19:28:00.000-07:00

Talking with a monk

Ryan enjoying the view

More pictures from Wat Atwear

2005-10-09T19:15:00.000-07:00

Silapak Khmer Amatak (Cambodian Living Arts) students playing pin peat music for Pchum Ben at Wat Atwear, Siem Reap

Rice fields near Wat Atwear, Siem Reap

Back in Town

2005-10-03T07:19:00.000-07:00

I've been a little busy and away from blogging for the past few days, but I am now back in Phnom Penh after a few days in Siem Reap with my high school friend Ryan. Ryan Kellett has been spending this semester on the falculty of Shantou University in Shantou, China, where his position is to produce and direct a musical in three months for the annual English festival. It has been amazing to hear some of stories of this 19-year-old teacher and his students in China, and I am glad that I will be able to hear more from him over the next five days that he is living with me in Phnom Penh.

So, Ryan's permission, here are two links of Ryan's accounts of what we have done together for the past few days:

A Flood of Flowers

and

Something in the Atmosphere

More pictures of Wat Ang Krapeu

2005-09-27T01:07:00.000-07:00

The "lake" in the background is actually flooded farmland (rice fields). Many of the provinces surrounding Phnom Penh receive this kind of flooding during the monsoon season.

Rith with a crocodile that actually floats in high flood waters. Behind is the small temple where the gru boramey lives.

Wat Ang Krapeu

2005-09-25T01:15:00.000-07:00

Today Rith, my language teacher, and I went visit Wat Ang Krapeu, a popular pagoda during the Buddhist holiday of Pchum Ben. Together with Rith's extended family and friends (about 15 people), we traveled for about hour outside of Phnom Penh to visit this wat, which in the rainy monsoon season is mostly surrounded by water stretching out to the distant hills. The name of Wat Ang Krapeu refers to the crocodiles (krapeu is Khmer for crocodile) that used to live in the area.

Pchum Ben is one of two major Buddhist festivals each year in Cambodia, the other being Khmer New Year. Pchum Ben, celebrated in different forms and with different names throughout Asia, is the official end of the three-month rainy season monastic retreat, a tradition begun by the Buddha himself 2500 years ago, during which monks are expected to study more intensely and follow a more strict discipline in their home wat. Pchum Ben, celebrated over a period of fifteen days, actually has little to do with the monastic retreat. The fifteen days begin with Autumn Moon Festival, which is more known as a Chinese holiday and even in Cambodia it is traditional to eat Chinese moon cakes.

During Pchum Ben, many Cambodian Buddhists believe that the spirits (hungry ghosts or hell-beings) of their ancestors, especially those who have accumulated negative karma, come out during the early morning hours, usually from 3:00 AM until sunrise. So at 3:00 AM all across Cambodia, the wats are filled with people. Most buy or have made for themselves plates of rice rolled into small balls, which are used to feed the ghosts and hell-beings which come out during the night. The believers, with candles in hand, then circumambulate (very slowly, because there are often lots and lots of people) the vihear (main temple building of the wat) while simultaneously throwing the rice balls towards the walls of the temple. In case you're wondering, this also happens to be a good deal of fun; in fact, I have rarely seen people having so much fun at 3:00 AM.

Pchum Ben is also much more than these early morning rituals. During the daytime, many more lay Buddhists go to the wats during the day to listen to Buddhist teachings, pray, or offer food to the monks. Because Pchum Ben is generally more about honoring one's ancestors than practicing Buddhism, the aim of all these activities is to transfer karmic merit to one's deceased relatives. Women tend to dress up in a traditional Khmer dress and white top when they visit the wat during Pchum Ben (as dressed up as they would be for a wedding or another formal occasion), which is interpreted as a gesture of respect. The wats themselves also have a great deal more decorations during this time.

Wat Ang Krapeu, like nearly all wats in Cambodia, was rebuilt after the Khmer Rouge destruction, so it is architectually in the same mould of most other wats. However, the large concrete elephant tusks shown above were new for me, and those who I talked to about them didn't seem to understand them either.

Another interesting element to the wat is the prescence of this small Chinese altar, unusually for a Khmer wat, in a small temple behind the main vihear. Although these pictures were all taken after most of the people left to go home, Wat Ang Krapeu was indeed very crowded today. Some of the people were making ritual minature sand mountains on the grounds of the wat, others were offering and preparing food for the sangha, while others were seeking the advice of a monk in the vihear. A festive, though respectful, atmosphere pervaded the wat, and the well-dressed lay believers, young and old alike, were engaging in just about the full range of Khmer religious activities.

Rith's family and I went to a small temple on the edge of wat to visit a tsun ji, the closest equilvalent of a nun in the Khmer tradition, who was also a medium (gru boramey). Mediums and trance states are outside the realm of Buddhism and are specifically prohibited in the vinaya, but their popularity in Cambodia is widespread. In short, a gru boramey is a medium for any number of spirits, usually those of kings or accomplised acsetics, who manifest in the gru boramey when he or she calls the spirit to enter their body. When the spirit in present in them, they manifest the characterestics, including the preferred language, of the spirit.

The tsun ji we visited, a relative of Rith's, is a gru boramey who manifests the spirit of Jayavarman VII, a famous Angkorian king. Rith's mother was looking for advice, so she sought out this medium to for help. After presenting the medium with some symbolic gifts, she (the medium) began to make incantations in Sanskrit to call the spirit to enter her body. After a period of more chanting and ritual, the spirit entered her (apparently) and her personality changed completely. She also began to speak in Thai, a language that the gru boramey doesn't know when the spirit is not inhabiting her body. Then Rith's mother, Rith, the spirit inhabiting the medium, and a monk the spirit was talking to (this monk we couldn't see or hear, but we could tell the spirit was talking to a monk), began to have a lively conversation. For the most part I could follow what was going on, as Rith would occasionally translate and clarify things for me, except when the spirit began to speak in Thai!

Gru boramey have a complex relationship with mainstream Theravada Buddhism, because although they are generally prohibited from practicing in wats, many still do and even some monks are known to be gru boramey. Gru boramey are also generally dedicated practioners of the Buddhist precepts and are supportive of the sangha, and nearly all of them give everything that people offer to them directly to the wat. Taking this into account, it is hard to say how they fit into the context of a wider Buddhist tradition, if they do at all, but it is safe to say that Cambodia is the only country where gru boramey and Theravada Buddhism co-exist to such a great extent.

After the spirit left the gru boramey, we were all able to have a nice conversation and lunch together in her small home. A while later, I was by chance able to meet some young orphans at the wat and hear them perform some pin peat music that they had been studying. I am continually amazed by these kinds of experiences that I am having in Cambodia, and while some of them are certainly more foriegn to me than others, I am very grateful for the chance to have them.

The First Month

2005-09-24T02:11:00.000-07:00

The first month has passed before my eyes very quickly, and while I now have a pretty clear picture of what I will be doing this year, I think it's important for me to reflect on the broad and amazing experience I've had so far. This month was my chance to get oriented--oriented to the culture, the music, the religion, and the language. In each of these areas I have learned a great deal and, perhaps more importantly, I have had many experiences, both positive and negative, that have supported what I have read or been taught.

Starting with the language, perhaps the most tangible of the four areas, I now feel well-aquainted with basic conversation skills, have devoleped more of an ear for understanding Khmer, and have learned enough to read and write as much or more than I can speak. Moreover, I now realize how much work it is going to take to make further strides in my language abilities. I am currently studying with my teacher for four hours a day and I also study about that much more on my own, and what I enjoy most about studying Khmer is that it never feels like a burden or a task--language learning, especially when it can be applied in almost any situation I encounter outside my flat, is deeply satisfying to me.

My plans for the coming months are as follows. I will stay in Phnom Penh for about another month, focusing on studying the language, so that by the end of October, I will be ready, or as ready as possible, to live in the countryside without a translator. I plan to take up residence in Kompong Speu province--pending the availability of a place to live--in order to study smoat chanting there. The chanting master also spends two weeks per month as an achar (lay ritual specialist) at a wat on the outskirts of Phnom Penh, so my living arrangement may also take this into account. After about 3 1/2 or 4 months of smoat study, towards the end of February I plan on preparing for ordination into the novitiate, most likely under Ven. Pin Sem at Wat Rajabo, Siem Reap, where I plan on spending the rest of my time in Cambodia, most likely six months, until September 2006.

This brings me to the second of the four areas, religion. From the beginning of my interest in coming to Cambodia, I have been most focused on studying the interrelationship between Khmer music and the religious practices of the Khmer people, for the most part dominated by Theravada Buddhism. While in Phnom Penh, I am doing what I can to observe and participate in the life of the wats. Concurrently, I am reading as much as I can on Khmer religion to be able to put into a larger context what I observe from day to day. Again, my study constantly reminds of how much I have yet to learn.

I have had a great many enriching experiences with the third area, music. Whether it has been visiting the masters and their students in the Tonle Bassac community, taking trips out to the provinces to see how music is taught and performed there, or taking up study on the tro sau with master and professor Yun Theara in Phnom Penh, I have learned about and experienced a broad slice of traditional music in Cambodia. There has been little that makes me happier than seeing the young people in the classes show such talent and dedication in their study of traditional music--it is a joy to behold and makes me feel a great deal of respect for the masters and the way music is taught and passed on in Khmer culture. Each class I visited affected me in a different way, and I still am sometimes without words to describe how moved I am to see a culture and an ancient tradition blossoming again.

The fourth and final area, culture, is the least tangible to me and the area where I sometimes feel the most lost. Culture is deeply embedded in history, and I am doing what I can study and observe how Cambodia's past guides the lives of people today, but in general I realize that learning about a culture is not something that really can be quantified. Cultures enter our bodies more than our minds; we adapt to living in another culture below the level of intellectualization, but rather at the level of intuition. And in my experience, learning about another culture turns out to be much more about learning about myself and my own attitudes and prejudices than those of others. I am not trying to rush this area of learning, but rather let it seep through me and change me from the inside--this is the only I way I know to learn. And while I laugh as I realize that it will be hard for me for to go back my country and not address everyone by their kinship relation or not be able to expect a backdrop of Theravada Buddhism as the norm, I know that learning about Khmer culture has been a wonderful journey so far and I will continue to meet more joys and difficulties in the future. To be sure, the same could be said of the three other areas of language, religion and music in my first month: what I have learned has energizied and inspired me to just let myself go deeper and open my eyes wider, so that journey of these coming months may continue to be fruitful.

Centre Culturel Français

2005-09-21T22:51:00.000-07:00

Aujourd'hui je suis allé au Centre Culturel Français à Phnom Penh. Au CCF je trouve une bibliothèque qui possède un grand nombre de livres sur le Cambodge, sur la langue khmère, et sur la religion cambodgienne. Pour faire des recherces au Cambodge, il faut lire en francais, car il n'existe tant de livres en anglais sur ce pays-là. Donc j'ai payé le tarif pour emprunter des livres--leur collection est tellement merveilleuse! De plus, le CCF est un endroit, très rare à Phnom Penh, ou on peut étudier et parler la langue française. Un petit erreur: ma carte de lecture dit que je suis un élève à l'Université Royale des Beaux Arts--ça ce n'est pas vrai, tant pis!

At the Desk

2005-09-21T18:39:00.000-07:00

I've been spending a good deal of my time at my desk recently. I feel very fortunate to have the time to study this month. Studying Khmer is always fulfilling and the results are always quite tangible, but it is also just as compelling for me to read about new research in Cambodian Buddhism and then go out to local wat and observe what I have read about firsthand. I am very excited to be able to do some reseach of my own over the next couple of months.

I have also started working on transcribing some recorded smoat music and reading some translations of the chants. In order to really learn the music I will also need to know the meaning of the words, which are both in Khmer and Pali (an ancient Indian language). So while I have a good deal of work to look forward to, I am grateful that this kind of work is very fulfilling for me. And the music is all around me. When I walk through the streets and pass by a funeral, the smoat music, made even more eerie by the fact that is played on cassette tapes that have been copied way too many times, echoes between the building. And because I live across the street from a wat, if I rise at 4:30 AM (well worth it), I can hear both the chanting of the monks and live smoat chanting, because the Pchum Ben fesitival is currently taking place. Every hour of every day there is an opportunity to learn something new.

Silapak Khmer Amatak (SKA or Cambodian Living Arts) has asked me to write monthly updates of my progress. I wrote a first draft in Khmer (above), but when I finish a longer (and more gramatically correct) version in English, I'll post it here.

Buddhism in Cambodia, part 2

2005-09-18T17:42:00.000-07:00

The dominant religious tradition in Cambodia is not actually Buddhism; it is in fact a rich belnd of Buddhism, Brahmanism (usually placed under the larger category of Hinduism), animistic practices, and with the impact of the Chinese diaspora in the 19th and 20th centuries, Chinese folk beliefs. This syncretism has existed in Khmer society for many centuries dating back to the days of the Angkorian empire (c. 850-1450), the peak of Khmer civilization. Before the Angkorian period, Indian culture and Brahmanistic traditions gradually mixed with local folk beliefs over a period of about one thousand years. Angkor Wat and many of the other temples in the vicinity were built as Hindu monuments, although today they now house Buddha images. Angkor Wat, for instance, was built as a temple dedicated to the Hindu god Vishnu, and the bas-reliefs and iconography in the temple reflect Brahmanistic beliefs. In the 14th or 15th century, however, it was converted to a Theravada Buddhist wat to reflect the changing beliefs in the kingdom. Bayon, another famous Angkorian temple, was constructed under the orders of Jayavarman VII, a rather self-centered and megalomanical monarch who saw himself as an heir to the archetypal Buddhist kingship of Emperor Ashoka in India, and the temple displays tantric Mahayana Buddhist concepts popular with the Khmer elite at that time. But Jayavarman VII also built Brahmanistic monuments, so it is clear that kingdom maintained a tolerance for both Buddhist and Hindu beliefs. In short, syncretism is nothing new in Khmer society.

But what does Khmer religion look like today? My perspective, of course, is limited, because I tend to view Buddhism from a philosophical or practical point of view rather than one of faith or culture. Thus it is easier to consider most of the religious practices I see as having nothing to do with Buddhism, though many would say otherwise. For example, people often consult monks or achar (laypeople adept in rituals who often dress in white and spend most of their time in the wat) for astrological or other speculative purposes. Not only is fortune-telling specifically recommended against in the vinaya, it has very little to do with Buddhism.

When I was in Siem Reap, I visited a small wat in the forest near some the Angkorian temples. Near the vihear (main hall of the temple) a middle-aged monk was performing a ritual in which he splashes blessed water on a groups of praying recipients. I'm afraid that I don't know very much about the origins of this ritual, which is very common throughout Cambodia. Again, I don't mean to criticize in any way, but it points to a broad dichotomy in Cambodian Buddhism, between "traditionalists" who maintain that orthodoxy in Buddhism means these sort of "supernatural" rituals, practiced in Cambodia for centuries, and "modernists," who advocate a text-based study of Buddha's teaching and the elimination of "magical" elements. There is, of course, a great deal more subtlety to this dichotomy, and many shades of gray in between. But when I observe Buddhism in Cambodia, this is the dominant paradigm I see.

Now I have given a few examples of the traditionalist side of Buddhism in Cambodian, but I have also observed more modernist elements as well. I currently study vipassana meditation at Wat Langka three days a week. Vipassana, or insight meditation, was the practice heralded by Theravada Buddhist modernists in the early and mid-twentieth century and it continues to be taught and practiced by monastics and laypeople, both in Southeast Asia and the in the rest of the world. Even though other aspects of life at Wat Langka may be more traditionalist in character, there are still some monks who feel more connected to a more modernist approach.

When I was visiting Angkor Wat, Ratanak and I were looking closely at some Buddha images when we noticed that the pedestals that the sitting Buddhas were supported by were actually Brahmanistic yoni altars with the linga removed. Linga, phallic representations of the Hindu deity Shiva, are very common throughout Southeast Asia as a result of Brahmanistic religious influence. In many of the Angkorian temples near Siem Reap, there are many altars featuring linga and/or yoni, the female counterpart to the lingam. I suppose that as Angkor Wat was converted to a Theravada Buddhist temple hundreds of years ago, the people in charge simply plopped the Buddha images on top of the yoni, which made convient pedastals. I was slighlty bemused by this, but Ratanak seemed to think it was disrespectful to place a Buddha image on a non-Buddhist altar. To some extent it represents a misguided attempt at syncretism, but on the other it simply shows disrespect to both religious traditions. And for those that would like to see Buddhism "purifed" of Brahmanistic, superstituous, and animistic elements, it is just another symbolic representation of the dilution of Buddhist teaching.

As a closing example, when I had a chance to meet with Ven. Pin Sem at Wat Bo, he also mentioned some things that struck me as going against the grain of religion in Cambodia. Many people in all Buddhist countries and of all dispositions regularly offer incense and pray before a Buddha image. About this Ven. Pin Sem says (this a paraphrase of what I got through translation), "If you pray to Buddha, and make offerings to him, he won't help you. Indeed, Buddha won't help you at all. The key point is to rely on yourself. You are the only one who can help you. This is the difference between Buddhism and other religions. You can't go to God or to Buddha and ask him for help or ask for your sins to be forgiven. You have to work with the consequences of your own actions and work things out for yourself."

Buddhism in Cambodia, part 1

2005-09-17T19:23:00.000-07:00

When I realized that I was going to live in a Buddhist country for one year, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. I knew the statistics, to some extent: 95% of the country's population is Theravada Buddhist, the rest mostly from historically Muslim ethnic groups or Khmers who have converted to Christianity. And I knew that a large percentage of Khmer men have been, are or will be monks for a period in their lives, although this percentage is much smaller than in pre-revolutionary times. Moreover, I knew I was going to encounter a large discontunity between the scriptural teachings of the Buddha--his message of rational inquiry, meditation, and liberation from suffering--and the actual practice of Buddhism in Cambodia. But on the whole I was unprepared for the forms of Buddhism and religious practice I have encounted so far.

In America I became closely acquainted with two Buddhist communities, both nominally from the Sino-Japanese tradition of Mahayana Zen Buddhism. While one stressed community life and rigorous meditation and the other put an emphasis on devotional chanting, they both essentially came from the same roots. Mahayana Buddhism, practiced in Vietnam, China, Korea, Japan, Mongolia, Tibet, and Bhutan, developed about 500 years after the death of the Buddha as a reaction to the tendency of Buddhist monastics to pay attention only to themselves and not to the wider community. Mahayana scriptures thus emphasize compassion and the ideal of dedicating one's life to the service of others. There are many more philosophical differences as well, but I think they are easy to stress too much. In truth, there is not that much difference between the two branches, especially at the level of everyday practice, and much progress has been made in the twentieth century to bring to the two schools back together.

Nevertheless, Theravada Buddhism emerged in a different cultural context than the Mahayana, so I am still a little lost when I walk into a Cambodian wat. The chanting, the bowing, the symbols, and the cultural traditionsare still mostly unknown to me. Whereas in Vietnam it was easy for me to feel comfortable and at ease in the temples, I am still a bit bewildered by the wats I have been to.

However, At the level of monastic discipline, there is very little significant difference between the two branches, and so I expected at least this to be similar in Cambodia to what I had seen in America. At one temple I became familiar with in San Francisco, the seven resident nuns maintained a strict observation of the Buddhist vinaya, the texts that detail the rules of monastic comportment. The nuns rise at 3:30 AM, meditate for several hours before beginning work around the temple after dawn, eat one meal a day before noon, and then work, study, and meditate until late in the evening, when they sleep sitting up in the lotus position until early the next day. The nuns always maintained a meditative atmosphere in temple, treated everyone with respect and quiet dignity. This kind of discipline is specifically outlined in Buddhist texts, and was advocated by the Buddha as providing a helpful structure to community life.

I do not generally making judgments about others whom I do not really know, but the discipline of the monks in Cambodia really suprises me. I am not used to seeing monks smoking, handling money, or chatting online. Of course, these are small things, but the discipline of the sangha as a whole does not seem to lend itself to the primary intention of Buddha's teaching, which is the release from attachment and suffering.

One possible reason for this is that most young men who enter the monkhood have no intention of studying and teaching dhamma for their whole lives. Some are monks for very brief periods as a way to honor their parents, some are seeking to escape from drug addiction or alcoholism, and still others are looking for a secular education to prepare them for a business career. There is nothing wrong with any of these reasons, and I don't want to criticize them, but they frankly have nothing to do with the Buddha's essential message of rational inquiry, meditation, and liberation.

The Cambodian sangha suffered a tremedous blow during the Khmer Rouge period, and over 80% of the monks living in Cambodia in 1975 died before 1980. So the sangha that did survive was one that was fractured and much smaller before, and without a doubt some of the continuity, traditions past down orally over 2,500 years, was lost. This again explains much of the state of the sangha today.

When Ratanak and I were visiting Angkor Wat, as a monk and another young man passed by us I heard a "rubber ducky" sound. I chuckled a little at hearing this quirky, quacky sound at a place as solemn as Angkor Wat, but Ratanak was clearly quite upset. She explained that monks are not supposed to behave like that (i.e. have a plastic squeaky toy under there robes as way to amuse themselves), and that she gets upset when she sees monks who aren't really interested in the monastic life (i.e. men who just want to say they are monks and get respected by others, but who still talk to their girlfriends on their cellphonesat night). For me, I was not really upset, because as a non-Khmer, I haven't grown up with the same feelings of reverence toward the sangha. But it did make me realize that many Cambodians are also not content about the discipline of the monks they support.

Of course, I do not mean to say that all the monks in Cambodia lack discipline; this is far from the truth. And they are all certainly more disciplined that I am as a layperson. I have met monks and visited wats where discipline is strong and alive and in whom I can sense the original teachings of the Buddha--to me this is very inspiring and moving to witness.

Tro sau jen, tro sau khmer

2005-09-16T19:53:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to lohk gru (master-teacher) Yun Theara's house to study tro sau for the first time. As I didn't have a Khmer instrument of my own, I brought along my erhu (tro sau jen in Khmer) because the instruments are very similar. Yun Theara, a master of many Khmer instruments, especially those in the tro family, also has an erhu, so he was able to understand my instrument. Vice-Dean and Professor of Music at the Royal University of Fine Arts in Phnom Penh, Yun Theara is a well-respected Khmer musicologist who is also very knowledgable about Western musical theory and notation.

We started by discussing the various differences between the tro sau jen, tro sau thom (large tro sau), and tro sau dooj (small tro sau). I couldn't quite follow what he was saying, but I had a chance to watch him play the different instruments with great skill, rapidly transposing melodies for different instruments. I had heard him on recordings before and had even watched him play at a recording session, but I feel fortunate to now take lessons from him. Although I still don't understand Khmer music enough to appreciate his skill and aesthetic on the instrument, his musicianship and keen ear are very apparent, more so than in any other musician I have met in Cambodia.

The traditional way of teaching music in Cambodia is by rote memorization, and all of the classes I had seen so far used this method. Yun Theara, too, began to teach me a Khmer song, "Khmer Dom Benh," by playing it and having me repeat it back. This was pretty hard for me, as I have always learned music by reading notation, and I am not especially proficient on the erhu. But Yun Theara had also transcribed the song into Western notation, so I was able to read and remember it more easily. He is the only Khmer teacher I know who uses notation, in addition to rote memorization, to teach music.

Unlike most Chinese melodies, which are similar in phrasing and structure to many Western classical songs, Khmer melodies are very difficult for me to remember because the phrases seem so irregular and the meter of the tune is often obscured by rhythmically complex ornamentation. Again, while the Chinese pentatonic scale and system of temperment (tuning) is close to that used in the West, the Khmer scales use a different system of temperment. What this means is that when I hear I note in a Khmer song, it is sometimes between the notes of the Western scales I'm used to playing, so it sounds out of tune. Of course, it's not actually out of tune in terms of the Khmer scale, but my ear says it is. Khmer music even uses slightly different temperment when accompaning a male vocalist than when accompaning a female vocalist. I am excited to learn more about this music!

On a different note, my language teacher caught me off-guard by mentioning a music group called "The Monsters" or something like that. I was very confused, as I had never heard of any "Monsters" before, until he clarified himself and said "The Jazz Monsters." But I was still a little befuddled, because I had no idea how he had heard of my jazz combo before. And he mentioned it so casually that it sort of slipped below my radar. I suppose he followed some links from this blog, but in any event I am sure the other Jazz Monsters are happy to know that they are known even in Cambodia.

Parler français au Cambodge

2005-09-15T20:52:00.000-07:00

Même s'il nest pas tellement nécessaire, je vais ecrire en français ce fois-ci. Sur l'autobus de Siem Reap à Phnom Penh, j'ai fait de la conaissance de deux parisiens qui étaient en train de visiter le Cambodge. Nous avons parlé de ce pays et sa culture en particulière. Ils m'ont dit qu'ils voudraient voir la musique khmère à Phnom Penh, alors j'ai demandé à Ratanak s'il serait possible. Elle m'a dit que cela serait bien possible, et j'ai dit à mes amis français que j'enverrais un email bientôt concernant le temps et l'endroit.

Nous avons nous rencontrés au leur hôtel à 7h40 au matin. Avec Mlle. Ratanak, nous sommes allés au commaunté Tonle Bassac, le quartier où la plupart des musiciens habitent. La première classe à laquelle nous avons rendre visite était celle du maître Tep Mari, une musicienne et professeur de pin peat (la musique de la court de roi du Cambodge et aussi celle qui accompagnie la danse classique aspara). De suit, nous sommes allés chez maître Kong Nai afin de écouter à sa classe de chanson et de l'instrument des bavardes khmers, le chapei dong veng.

Pour moi, c'était la première fois que j'ai dû employer le français pour communiquer dans une situation en dehors de l'école et ma classe de français au lycée. Mes deux amis français étaient très patients avec mes efforts à parler leur langue, mais quand même j'ai réalisé les bienfaits réelles à apprendre des langues étrangères. Avec la classe de Kong Nai, j'ai trouvé que je pouvais suivre les paroles entre les étudiants et que je pouvais, finalement, parler le khmer avec eux sans arrêter, même si ma vocabulaire n'était pas encore très riche. Tout ça m'a rendu bien heureux et content!

More from Siem Reap

2005-09-14T04:39:00.000-07:00

I recently returned to Phnom Penh after a wonderful five days in Siem Reap. Seng and Ratanak were very helpful to me in visiting the classes in the area and were, of course, friendly and knowledgable travel companions. I am very glad to have made the trip.

We had a chance to visit both troeming classes, both of which I was fascinated by. The music is so much more compelling live, and it was interesting to see the differences between the two classes and the two masters. However, after visiting the classes and returning to Phnom Penh, I have thought about what I want to pursue study in during my time in Cambodia and I think it will likely be smoat, not troeming. The troeming class that took place at a wat was very small, and while their music impressed me more than the other class, I had a hard time communicating with the master. The master other troeming class in Spiek Aek (I think) seemed a little easier to communicate with, and whose personality was wonderful to be around, but it still seemed hard to imagine myself fitting in to that class.

At the smoat class in Konpong Speu, on the other hand, I immediately felt very welcomed by the community and the two masters, with whom it was much easier to communicate. I will talk to Seng about visiting Konpong Speu in the near future.

In any event, I am now much more sure of my plans for the year, or perhaps I should say that I indeed now have a plan. From now until the third week of October, I will be living in Phnom Penh in Charley's place where I am living now. Because studying smoat will require more Khmer than troeming or studying an instrument, I will be intensely studying Khmer during this time. In addition, I am talking with Seng about the possibility of studying tro sau with Yun Theara during this time. I will also continue to observe and participate in some of the wats.

After the second or third week of October, I plan to make short trips out to Konpong Speu to study smoat for a few days and then returning to Phnom Penh, so I can get accustomed to the class and the village and determine whether it will really be possible for me to stay there long-term. If this looks like a possibility, I will likely move to Konpong Speu at the end of October or early November. If things continue to work out, I plan to study smoat there until mid-February, making trips to Phnom Penh when needed.

While in Siem Reap, I had the opportunity to meet twice with Ven. Pin Sem. He was very welcoming to my interest to study meditation and Buddhism in Cambodia, and suggested that I could come to Siem Reap at any time for a day or more to practice at Wat Bo. While I did not ask him about becoming a novice monk at Wat Bo for six months, he did say it would be very possible to study there for 1 or 2 months.

After 3 1/2 months of smoat study, in late February I plan to seek ordination as a novice monk, with the intention of studying Buddhism and meditation in Cambodia until the end of August. I am unsure whether this will be at Wat Bo or elsewhere, but Pin Sem's Buddhist teachings strike a chord in me, so I hope to be able to explore his wat and his style of practice a little more in the coming months.

Below are some images from Siem Reap. I am having a little trouble loading them on to the computer, so I will continue to post more of them in the future.

Troe ming master and rice farmer in front of his classroom

Troe ming master and students

Preah Khan Temple, Angkor Thom

Bayon Temple, Angkor Thom

Angkor Thom

Seng and I relaxing

Pictures from Angkor and Siem Reap

2005-09-13T05:28:00.000-07:00

Angkor Wat-- more pictures to come

troe ming funeral music class in Siem Reap

My bilingual business card

Dance performance for Khmer tourists

Buddha entering mahaparanibbana, Siem Reap

Siem Reap

2005-09-09T17:17:00.000-07:00

Having left Phnom Penh by bus a couple days ago, I have now been in Siem Reap, a moderately sized, tourist oriented town near Angkor Wat in Cambodia's poorest province. I have spent most of the last two days with Seng, who the program coordinator for CLA, and two chapei masters, Kong Nai and Suan Beng, who were performing at a fancy hotel in town, where one of my friends is currently putting on an exhibition of his sculpture. It was wonderful to spend time with the two elderly masters, as they both had animated personalities and joyful laughs. It was a little hard to communicate with them because of the language barrier, but Seng was often able to translate and I could often understand from context even if I had no idea what they were saying. Kong Nai and Suan Beyng are both lively performers, too, and it was great to see them performing side by side.

Ratanak, an assistant to Seng, arrived in Siem Reap yesterday, and the three of us have been going to meetings and visiting the masters in the area. One of masters we visited, a teacher of the troe ming funeral music, is also a full-time rice farmer, so we went to see him and his family near their rice fields. The master teaches his students in a small, thatch-roofed house in the middle of his rice paddies. There was no class in session today because so many of the students were away working in their own rice fields. We will visit again tomorrow.

Seng and I also had a chance to visit Wat Bo yesterday. The head monk of the temple, Ven. Pin Sem, a supporter of the arts and a great friend to Silapak Khmer Amatak (Cambodian Living Arts), is very wise and I feel fortunate to have the chance to talk with him. I am pretty sure that I will pursue monastic training while in Cambodia, and most likely I will end up at Wat Bo under Pin Sem. I hope I will get another chance to meet with him before I return to Phnom Penh.

I have yet to see Angkor Wat or any of the many other ancient temple in the vicinity of Siem Reap, but I am hoping that I will also get a chance to see these. I have many pictures from the last few days, but the computer does not seem to want to cooperate enough to post them here. The internet connections, along with the power and water utilities in Cambodia, are adept at cultivating patience. And with the ever-present heat, it's nice to slow down and enjoy.

Tuol Sleng

2005-09-07T01:35:00.000-07:00

On a cloudy, warm and gently raining day in Phnom Penh (not like the one pictured above), I rode my bike to visit the Khmer Rough prison S-21, now known as the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. I keep my bike locked overnight at alot near the local market for a few dollars a month. Yesterday, as I was returning back to the lot on my bike, one of the handlebars broke off. I stayed on the bike, but I was a little suprised to say the least. Many onlookers were prompted to point and laugh at (well, actually with) me and my awkwardly shaped bike as I rode back home. Today I was planning to get the boke fixed somewhere, but when I came to the lot this morning to find my bike, I noticed that someone had welded it back together. When I asked the owners how much I should pay for this mysterious service, they smiled and refused money.

Phnom Penh, with a population of 1.3 million densely packed into a relatively small city radius, is easy to get around by bike. I had passed by S-21 a few times before but never had the chance to go inside. I had also seen the film,"S-21: The Khmer Rouge Killing Machince" when I was in San Francisco, so I was somewhat emotionally prepared to visit. What is perhaps most striking about Tuol Sleng is its ordinariness; the building was actually a high school before it was taken over by the Khmer Rouge.

S-21, or Tuol Sleng, was essentially an interrogation center for the government of Democratic Kampuchea (DK), which exercised an extremely brutal rule over the country from 1975-1979. During the DK years, over 17,000 people, mostly Cambodians, were detained in the prison where they were kept in unbelievely crowded and unsanitary living conditions, were subject to severe beatings, and were frequently tortured to extract (mostly false) confessions of disloyalty to Angkar, the mysterious leadership of DK. Of these 17,00 people who entered Tuol Sleng, less than ten survived.

Now converted into a museum, the compound and its buildings are now filled with displays of pictures of the 17,000 who were interrogated there, both before and after torture. Most of the torture implements remain, and indeed the large bloodstains seen on the floor in photographs of the torture victims can still be seen on the tile floors visitors walk on each day. It's not an easy place to visit, but it is a powerful reminder of the horrrific things we as humans have done to each other throughout history.

Studying Khmer

2005-09-05T18:05:00.000-07:00

Many have asked how my Khmer is going. It's a hard question to answer, because you could ask how my English is going and I would say I'm still learning new things about the language every day. But I am now able to hold basic conversations for a couple minutes or more, can bargain for whatever I need to buy at the market, and can understand more and more what people are saying around me. My study of written Khmer is difficult, though I didn't imagine it would be easy. I'm on the verge of being able to read phonetically Cambodian script, but I still don't know what most of it means. It all makes French seem very, very close to English!

Just so that I'm not writing in vague terms, I'll outline some of basics of the Cambodian language, also known as Khmer (pronounced as khmae in Cambodia). Khmer is the major representative of the Mon-Khmer language family, part of the larger Austro-Asiatic family. Most of the other languages in the Mon-Khmer family are spoken by relatively small tribal and ethnic groups throughout Southeast Asia, with the exception of Vietnamese, which is related to Khmer but was heavily influenced by Chinese over a one-thousand year period of Chinese domination.

Khmer is spoken by about thirteen million people in Cambodia, with smaller populations of speakers in Vietnam, Laos, Thailand, France and the United States. Although they are not related, Khmer and Thai share a lot of common vocabulary and the Siamese in fact borrowed the Khmer writing system hundreds of years ago. Pali, the language of the scriptures of Theravada Buddhism, also had contributed a good deal of words to the Khmer vocabulary, along with French, Vietnamese and Chinese.

Khmer uses a syllabic alphabet, which means that consonants have inherent vowels sounds associated with them but can also be modified by vowel symbols. Khmer has 33 different consonant symbol, divided into two groups based on their inherent vowel sounds. There are also 32 subconsonants used to create consonant clusters, which are very common in Khmer. There are 87 different initial consonant clusters in use in Khmer. Khmer has over thirty different vowel sounds, represented by both independent vowels and vowel symbols which modify consonants or subconsonants. In addition, there are many diacritical marks used to further modify sounds. If this all was very confusing to you, it is still about that confusing to me!

I am currently developing more plans for what I will be doing this year. In couple days, I will be going to Siem Reap, a city near Angkor Wat where more CLA musicians teach to students. After I get back to Phnom Penh, I will then probably decide where I will live to study Khmer music, most likely either in Siem Reap (at Wat Bo studying troe ming instrumental funeral music) or Takeo province (in a village studying smoat vocal funeral music). Whatever my actual research project turns out to be, I aim to complete it by February, at which time I plan ordain as a novice monk in a Cambodian wat, possibly Wat Bo in Siem Reap. In the meantime, I am working to build contacts with mentors and experts in my fields of interest, as well as continuing to study the language.

If you have any questions for me about Cambodia or my experience here, I'd be more than delighted to respond to them. Just comment to this posting or send me an email (trent.t.walker@gmail.com).

Takeo Province

2005-09-03T01:32:00.000-07:00

Just before I wrote this today, I was taking a stroll along the riverfront in Phnom Penh. Not many people were out, because the rain had just stopped, so I was quite suprised indeed when an elephant strolled by. Elephants, I had forgotten, are really quite large, and they're hard to miss. As I'm typing this now, there is a very small and very furry puppy yelping at my feet in the otherwise quiet internet cafe. This concludes my monthly animal update.

Yesterday Sambor and I, along with Sinath, a highly talented student on the khsae dieu, traveled to Takeo province to visit the master teacher (look gru) Sok Duch. One of older CLA masters, Sok Duch has a lively personality and a great laugh. He is not only master of the khsae dieu, but also is proficient and knowledgable about nearly all major Khmer instruments. And he not only teaches his students how to play the instruments and the traditional music associated with them, he also teaches them to build their own instruments. This was the most impressive part of visiting his class, to see students playing on instruments that are two hundred years old or on instruments that they had crafted themselves.

In fact, when we arrived, Sok Duch was literally putting the strings on a chapei dong veng that he had just completed in time for a student to use in the afternoon class, after working on it for about a month. Sok Duch actually did not spend much time with the class that afternoon; he mostly smoked and paced about the yard before sitting down to talk with me and Sambor. But his work with them was evident; the students had memorized 41 songs over the past year! And these are not short pieces of music, as most are well over ten minutes or more.

After visting the class and meeting the students for a while, Sambor and I went with Sok Duch to his house to talk further with him. I shared some of the Chinese erhu songs I knew on his tro sau, which he had built for his grandchildren. It was amazing to see the dedication and craftmanship he put into all the instruments he has made. In his house he kept a radio for the Sihanouk era (1950's and 1960's in Cambodia), which he used to use 70 batteries to run. When it wouldn't work, he would just replace a couple of them to fix it. It is hard for me to imagine living without electric power lines in the Cambodian countryside.

He also talked at length about his concern for the current situation in his country, especially the gangs and the corruption. Almost everyone I talk to, actually, is pretty upset with the corruption and the current government. I won't attempt to explain the political situation here, but is mostly stems from a prime minister who neither cares for his own people nor for the demands of other nations. Whatever people may complain about the government of the United States, it's hard to overstate how much more corrupt the situation is in Cambodia. The country is safe, but so many things that I take for granted as the duty of a government to do simply do not exist in Cambodia. For example, I have been trying to post this post on the blog for more than a day, but have been delayed by power outtages, very common in Cambodia. I'm not frustrated, but it is interesting to see exactly how much we have in the United States, how much is provided for us, and how little we actually, in fact, need.

Wat Lanka

2005-09-01T05:28:00.000-07:00

Today, another beautiful day in Phnom Penh,

I went to visit Wat Lanka, a temple-monastery near the Indepedence Monument (above), that is home to about 200 monks and novices as well as a community of nuns. The main hall (vihear in Khmer) was closed when I came in the morning, so I quietly explored the rest of premises, consisting of many stupas (cheddai) and residences for the monks.

As I was walking out, a group of monks motioned me to come over and sit with them. We talked for a while in English and Khmer, about my stay in Cambodia and about Buddhism, until it was time for the monks to eat. I found out that one of the monks, Bhikkhu Saron, was a friend and former classmate of two of my friends at Silapak Khmer Amatak (Cambodian Living Arts), Rattanak and Seng. They were very suprised when I saw them later that day at the office that I knew their friend. I, too, was suprised and delighted to find even Phnom Penh to be a small world.

The monks informed me there would be vipassana meditation in the vihear at six in the evening, so I returned then to join a group of monks and laypeople in meditation practice. I am glad to have finally found a sangha (Buddhist community) in Cambodia where I feel supported and will learn more about this spiritual path.

High-Context, Low-Context

2005-08-30T07:01:00.000-07:00

One of the most troubling things about being a foreigner in Cambodia is the respect that is afforded to one. Sometimes this is just simply respect that is put on as a way to attract business--and I understand and appreciate why this is important when only a few dollars a day is a liveable wage. Sometimes the respect comes out of genuine interest in what I'm doing here, for instance when I ask questions of the masters about their music. But the respect that is troubling to me is less tangible and harder to locate. I get respected just because I am a foreigner, and I have a certain place in the hierarchy of Cambodian society. Khmer society and language are bth can be described as "high-context", which means that how people interact with each other and what kind of language they use is highly dependent on the hierarchical relationship present. One of the difficult things about the Khmer language is that there different forms of almost every word to be used in differents contexts or with different people. For example, there is a special vocabulary to be used when talking to monks, and another set of words to be used when talking to royalty. There are also a baffling number of pronouns in frequent use that define the context of a particular conversation and the relationship between the affected parties. These traits are of course present in other neighboring Asian languages, but it seems that Khmer takes it to a higher degree.

Well, to get back to the question of respect, I notice that Khmer people use pretty respectful language around me, which defines the context of our relationship. I'm pretty used to our American "low-context" society, where we use about the same language with everybody and how we act is often based more on our individual disposition than the particular context we are in. So it is occasionally frustrating that it is nearly impossible to have "normal" social relationships with other Cambodians--that is, it is hard to be on equal terms with them. And because I am almost always in the dominant position of power, it can be hard for me realize the societal context that I'm in.

Of course, I have a lot of "power" in American society, but I was not made aware of it until coming here. And I can hardly complain about it, both because I want to respect the culture I'm living in and because I can appreciate what it's like to be on the other side of the hierarchy. Yet I realize that my American habits and inability to understand the "high-context" nature of Cambodian society will be an ever-present source of learning and frustration.

After I finished that paragraph, a young boy came up to me and asked me if he could shine my shoes. He explained that tomorrow he needed money to go to school. Whether or not this was true, it saddens me greatly to see children having to work or beg all hours of the day. But to express hope at the end of this post, I visited a gallery opening today of probably the first arts school in Cambodia (Reyum Arts School, www.reyum.org) that encourages creative expression through painting, drawing, and other media. Because schools are so overcrowded in Cambodia, kids can only go to either in the morning or the afternoon, and Reyum gives kids not only a safe environment so they don't have be unstructured and unsupervised on the street for much of the day, but also a chance to create and learn with their peers and prepare for a future vocation and a lifelong love of art. It makes me truly happy to see such positive action and the beautiful results of such action.

A Breath of Fresh Air

2005-08-29T04:45:00.000-07:00

Today I made my first trip to the Cambodian countryside to visit two smoat masters in Konpong Speu province. Smoat is a very soulful style of singing, almost chant-like, that is used in Buddhist funeral ceremonies. The songs are often poetic retelling of Buddhist stories, and usually are morally or spiritually didactic. A common subject of smoat music is jataka, Buddhist stories, either canonical or apocryphal and unique to Khmer culture, that recount the Buddha's previous lives before he attained enlightenment. There are over 547 jataka in the Pali Canon, and many more have circulated in Cambodia, and most of them recount the lives of virtuous animals and have a very playful character, although they generally end with the main character dying. The most commonly heard are the last ten lives of the Buddha, and even more so the Buddha's final life before he was born as the Indian prince Siddartha Gautama. In his next-to-last rebirth, the Buddha took the form of Prince Vessantara, who represents the perfection of generousity by giving away his possesions, his land, his country, his wife, his children, etc., until he literally gives away his heart. It's a remarkable little story with lots of delicious details, including a greedy old man who eats too much and, just like you or I would in a similar situation, explodes. But getting back to the music at hand, smoat is particularly beautiful style of singing, with long phrases and characteristic ornamentation.

Sambor and I drove for about an hour and a half to reach the masters, after making it through some muddy roads and several detours. The countryside, filled with rice paddies of a brilliant green color and tall, slender palm trees, is beautiful. It was so refreshing to be out of the city, where the pollution makes it difficult to breathe, and be closer to nature. The poverty is also more apparent, but in a different, and less jarring, way than in the city. We finally arrived at where the smoat class was being held, at a house, on stilts to avert flood damage, in a small village. We were greeted by one of the masters and some of the students, who led us up the stairs and into the house, where there were about twenty students sitting on the floor. After traditional greetings, we all took a seat and introduced each other.

The two masters, one man and one woman, have very fine voices and it was great to meet them in person after listening to their recordings. The man began his study of smoat when he was fifteen years old and a novice monk at a Buddhist wat. He is now considered one of the foremost masters of the art. The woman was a bit younger, and is believed to suffer from hysterical blindness, a psycho-somatic illness that afflicts a certain number of older Cambodian women who were forced to watch the execution of their husbands during the Khmer Rouge era. They are both very kind teachers, and I feel fortunate to have had the chance to meet them.

We all talked for a couple hours about smoat, and I learned a lot from the exchange. Several of the students, who had remarkable voices, also shared some of their skills. They were interested in opera, but through some confusion in translation, I thought they meant throatsinging, so I shared some of that before I sang some of the very limited German opera I know. All things considered, it did feel a little weird for me to be the only medium through which they had ever heard Tuvan throatsinging or German arias. But the sense of exchange was powerful for both me and them, and they repeated that I would be very welcome to stay in their community, perhaps at the local wat, and study smoat. I don't know if will decide to live in Konpong Speu and study this wonderful form of music, but I am very happy to have this experience and to meet such welcoming people.

Sambor and I then went to visit the local wat, which sits on top of the only hill for miles. As such, it has a gorgeous view of the surrounding countryside. After two weeks in crowded, congested cities, the pure air and the peacefulness were a welcome relief. The wat was very simple, but the trees and majestic silence were duly inspiring. I hope very mcuh that I will return. Here's a picture of the view from the top:

Below is another image of the view:

After I captured this image, it realized that the view really reminded me of a series of paintings by Cezanne of Mont St. Victoire.

New and Depressing Things

2005-08-28T04:45:00.000-07:00

Each day I learn new and wonderful things about Cambodia and its rich culture, but I also learn new and depressing things about the state of this poor Southeast Asian nation. I though I had seen poverty before, whether through living in Chinatown in San Francisco or through visiting parts of other countries, and indeed in all these places there is a great deal of poverty, and the people in these places struggle each day to put food on the table--even they even have a table, a home, or a family. But the poverty in Cambodia is much more acute, and the signs of suffering are much more visible and apparent. I don't mean to say that the people are necessarily less happy or content because of this, but I do mean to say that the suffering here is very real and cannot be ignored or mitigated by looking away.

There are many victims of land mines in Phnom Penh--those that have lost limbs, mobility, livelihood and sometimes even half their face from the perennial results of war from decades earlier. And their are just as many who are handicapped or horrifically disfigured from illnesses and accidents unrelated to war, but because of the medical standards of the country, they are unable to find meaningful or affordable treatment. Young men arrive from the countryside and find no work in the city. Mothers send their children out onto the street with their babies to beg for money. And street children who truly have no home struggle to survive by selling a few newspapers or bootlegged books.

Moreover, even their own government is trying to uproot the poor from their homes and their livelihoods. The Tonle Bassac community where I visited four masters and their music classes is one example. The community is named because of the theater that used to exist there, which was likely burned down by the CPP (Cambodian People's People, the current ruling party of Cambodia, headed by Prime Minister Hun Sen, who is widely disliked among the Khmer for his authoritarian rule, the corruption of his administration, and his disinterest in helping Cambodians who are not rich businessmen). The community lives in fear of eviction because developers and the government officials who will profit from such development want the slum converted in a shopping mall.

For me, this is the kind of story that I read about happening but could never really understand what was going on. But now that I know the people that it affects so deeply, and have witnessed the strength of their resolve in creating a revival of the arts in their community, the situation pains me much more. Today, UN officials visited the community and interviewed Ki Mum and her students, whom I had visited just days before. Through the interviews it became apparent that the government had been threatening the residents of the Tonle Bassac to move elsewhere or their community would be burned down or bulldozed without advance notice. And the threats are not empty because the community has been a victim of arson by the government before. Furthermore, the government is now threatening legal action against the members of the community because it alledges that the 800 fingerprints the residents collected to certify the joint complaint they filed were fake. This is truly a deplorable situation, and is certainly one of the most outrageous examples of economic cruelty I have ever heard of.

All this makes me wonder why I choose to just study music and Buddhism during my time here. Shouldn't I be working to improve the material conditions of the people in Cambodia? Well, shouldn't you? If you have the financial means, there are many NGO's that are doing excellent work in health care, human rights, AIDS, women's rights and other areas in Phnom Penh and I am sure they would appreciate your support. And not just in Cambodia--a comparatively small sum of American money goes a long way in developing countries, whether it be to buy mosquito nets, to fund education about sexually transmitted diseases, or to help bring justice to issues of human rights. I, too, hope that I can find a way to meaningfully contribute to the material well-being of Cambodians.

However, my main intention in my time here is to look at Cambodia not as a country of problems, but as one whose rich musical, spiritual and artistic traditions have a great deal to teach the world. In a post-genocide society, restoring faith in one's culture, religion and traditions goes a long way toward promoting emotional and spiritual health. And while I know my impact me indeed be small, I sincerely hope that I can always remember to make this my intention during my time here. I love this country, its people, its language, its spiritual values and its arts traditions, and I want to make sure these treasures are accessible to the Cambodian people and may be a point of pride to the world at large.

One-string Wonder

2005-08-27T04:57:00.000-07:00

I've been teaching myself to play khsae dieu (see above), a one-string Khmer instrument with a particularly delicate and quiet tone. The instrument was once heard often in the countryside in the evenings, when elderly men would quietly play the instrument before retiring to bed. Although it only has one string, the instrument can produce complete scales through the use of overtones and pitch-bending. The picture below shows me attempting to play it.

The left hand stops the string against the wooden shaft to generate different pitches, while the ring finger of the right hand plucks the string. However, many more pitches can be generated through two special techniques in the right hand. The first is simply to push down on the shaft with the right little finger, which increases the tension on the string and thus raises the pitch as much as a fourth. The other technique is to gently touch the right forefinger to the string while plucking as usual with the ring finger. If done at the right places along the string, a particular overtone is isolated (the octave, the fifth, the second octave, the third, the fifth, etc.), allowing for a full range of three octaves and all the tones in between. When the overtone is isolated in this manner, the khsae dieu has a very pure and beautiful tone, unlike almost any other string instrument. The only other similar instrument I've heard is the Vietnamese dan bau, another one-string instrument that uses overtone isolation.

The khsae dieu is a very enjoyable instrument to play, one that is uniquely Khmer in character. The Ven. Pin Sem, abbot of Wat Bo in Siem Reap (near the Angkor Wat temple complex, northwestern Cambodia), pleaded succesfully with one of the few remaining masters of this instrument to have it taught to the wat to local students. It now looks like there are enough students to pass the instrument and the repertoire associated with it down to the next generation.

I also had my first Khmer lesson today with Rith, a sharp, enthusiastic fellow. His teaching style seems to work well, and today we acted out a scene in a restaurant to practice vocabulary and sentence building. And the lesson has already paid off, because for dinner today I went to a local Khmer eatery (not really a restaurant, more a home that turns into a noodle-serving joint in the evening) and ordered in Khmer. I am planning to go to the local market tomorrow to buy fruits, vegetables, and tofu so that I can cook for myself. I probably won't be saving money this way, as my dinner today was about 63 cents, but it will be more enjoyable and I need to improve my cooking skills.

Settled In

2005-08-26T03:46:00.000-07:00

Parker departed to the States yesterday, and Beau will also be leaving in the next five days, so I'm now trying to figure things out on my own. I beginning to know the city well enough to get around, and I'm also becoming more adept at finding out which Khmer food is meat- and dairy-free. I now feel settled in the apartment where I will be staying for the next month--I'll probably move into a home-stay with a Cambodian family after that. Below is a photo of what the kitchen looks like (it's way more than adequate!).

The room where I'm sleeping looks something like this:

I am continuing to practice Khmer on my own, although I am meeting with a teacher tomorrow to arrange some lessons. I am finding it much easier to learn a language in the country where it is spoken, because it can be used all the time. Below is some writing I've been working on (colors inverted just for fun).

On Monday, I plan to make my first trip out of the city to visit the smot masters in Takeo province. In the meantime, I will be helping as much as I can with the CD project, which is a great learning experience for me. It is only now dawning on me that I am going to be spending such a long time in this country, which is both daunting and comforting. I hope that over the next month I will have a much better idea of what I will be focusing on this year.

A Successful Session

2005-08-25T18:30:00.000-07:00

I spent most of the day yesterday at the CLA recording studio, observing a very successful recording session. My official duty was to take pictures forthe liner notes, but the flash drained the batttery after about five pictures. So I mostly was able to listen to some amazing music, watch how Cambodian musicians work, and learn more about the process of recording. The sessions were remarkably problem-free. Apart from some drilling and other construction work happening next door, there was little to worry about in terms of sonic interference. In addition, there were only a few technical difficulties with the recording equipment. But most of all, the musicians, fifteen in all, played almost flawlessly throughout the day, and only a few takes had to be restarted.

The music and musicians had been organized by the master teacher and professor Yun Theara, a enormously talented multi-instrumentalist who has emerged as one of the leading traditional musicians in Cambodia today. Beau, who was supervising the recording process and training the Cambodian studio engineers in the art of microphone placement and levels, was very happy with the results. Although I know only a little about Cambodian music, what I did hear in the studio was some of the best-recorded and well-performed Cambodian music I have ever heard. It's great to see Cambodia's master musicians recording and playing music together at such high levels again.

As I am writing this at an internet cafe in Phnom Penh, I am sitting between two monks who are chatting online or writing emails. I have been reading about the state of Cambodian Buddhism in the post-Democratic Kampuchea (Khmer Rouge) era. I am curious to learn more about the state of the sangha, the vision of the leadership (if indeed they have a vision), and the way contemporary Cambodian Buddhism relates to the arts in the country (if there is indeed any relation). There is always lots to learn!

Four Masters

2005-08-25T00:28:00.000-07:00

This morning Sambor (pronouced Sambo) and I visited the Bassac community, which is a slum neighborhood on the edge of Phnom Penh. The Bassac Theater, destroyed by a mysterious fire some years ago, was once an importatn venue for traditional Cambodian drama and the music that accompanied it. Many of the Cambodian Living Arts (CLA) master teachers live there along with their students, and many of their classes are held their too.

Sambor, a young Cambodian man who works for CLA, was kind enough to translate for me when meeting with thew masters and their students. We parked the car and walked through the dirt and gravel streets of the community, which mostly consists of corrugated metal and wood homes, with many familky members crowded into each. The poverty heree has no equivalent in the United States, and I have to constantly remind myself that so much of humanity lives on as little as these people do. And it makes it all the more remarkable that this is the focus of a renewal of the arts in Cambodia.

Sambor and I first went to visit Tep Mori's pin peat class. It was held in a tile-floored room, and there were about a dozen young students sitting on the floor with their instruments. Pin peat is a form of court music, used for formal ceremonies as well as certain dances in Cambodia. The ensemble typically consists of several large drums (sko thom), three or four wooden xylophones (roneat), and several circular metallophones (gong). The students were mostly girls, between nine and fifteen years old, and they played together extremely well. All the songs they know they learned by rote memorization from their teacher, as no notation system is widely used in Cambodia. When I asked them what they enjoyed most about studying traditional music, the students replied that they got a chance to learn "precious knowledge"about their culture from great teachers. I think all too often I have taken for granted what I have learned in school, but the spirit of these students reminded me how precious it is to learn. Tep Mori had clearly trained her young students very well, and she remarked how important it is to pass down the musical traditions to the next generation.

We then headed over to Kong Nai's house. Blind from the age of four, Kong Nai began to study chapei dong veng when he was thirteen at the behest of his uncle, who knew music would be a possible profession for someone who had lost his sight. His musical gifts are apparent in his dynamic chapei playing and in his soulful, improvised song. He's kind of a Cambodian blues man, and he often commands a lively social scene on his front porch. Kong Nai talked about his music for a little while, though it was hard to get an idea of how his class was run. One the whole, however, he displayed a much more casual and easy-going attitude than the other masters.

Sambor and I then went to visit Ki Mum's yike class, which was held on the third floor of an appartment building in dangerously poor repair. The class had about twenty-five students, with an even mix of girls and boys, ranging in age from nine to eighteen. Divided into groups of instrumentalists, singers, and dancers, the class performed a lengthly and complex piece. They sang and danced with vibrant enthusiasm, and I realized how wonderful it was to have young people dedicated to learning such ancient music. They studied six days a week to learn the songs and dances. I don't know enough about dance to write about it coherently, but I observe that Cambodian dance is very grounded in approach and prominently features highly stylized hand gestures, to the extent that the hands are almost always the center of attention. The more time I spend around this music and dance, the more I realize how much I love it.

The last class we visited was that of Ieng Sithul, a master teacher of wedding music. Because he is currently performing in the United States, his class was taught by two assistants, including Ieng's wife. This was the largest class I visited, with about forty students. It was also the most disciplined class, and I was deeply touched when they all stood up as we entered the room, palms joined in the traditional Khmer greeting. Wedding music has a particularly joyful sound, and the students played and sang with evident mirth and concentration. These were truly some of the best young musicians I had ever seen, and I was equally impressed with their dancing. For such a young program, the students seemed to be exceptionally well-trained.

After I had the chance to ask them questions about their art, the students asked me why I had come all the way to Cambodia to study Khmer music for a year. This was the first time I really had to think about this question, and the first time I had an experience that really showed me the answer. Music in Cambodia is not separate from the other arts, religions and the culture in general. Although the continuity of Cambodia's musical tradition was severely damaged by the Khmer Rouge and remains under threat by a lessening interest in traditional arts among the youth, I cannot hope to understand the culture withou understanding the music, and vice versa. When I come back, I will not know enough to really teach about Khmer music, but I think I will get a sense of how intertwined music and culture are, and how important music is to a healthy sense of identity and meaning in a country whose tragic history rendered life increasingly meaningless and painful. Music redeems us, and it challenges us to continually create new life and light where there was only death and darkness before.

A Change in Pace

2005-08-24T17:16:00.000-07:00

Things have gotten a lot busier recently. Yesterday, using my new motorcycle helmet (below),

Parker, Beau and I went to visit the Buddhist Institute. The library they have is a fantastic place to study and do research, and I have inquired as to whether classes are available and if I might find support for my project there. The building itself is quite handsome, although there is a gigantic casino located right next door.

Today, I a m going to visit four masters in CLA's program and then head over to the studio to help out with the recording session. Yesterday, when meeting with Yun Theara, the Cambodian multi-instrumentalist and professor of the Royal University of Fine Arts, it looked like I would have to play bass on the album, but fortunately it looks like my role will be to take pictures for the liner notes. I'll try to report back after today.

A Restful Change in Plans

2005-08-23T21:22:00.000-07:00

I was planning to go to visit the Bassac community and Tep Mori today, but the car broke down without notice, so I ended up waiting on the street for about an hour. As it turned out, this was a great way to watch how life unfolds on a sidewalk in Phnom Penh. Children, some just learning to walk, roamed the sidewalks with their friends. Women sat outside their shops and chatted. Moto drivers took naps on their bikes in the shade. Monks in bright orange robes frequently passed by on their to Wat Unnalom. Trucks, buses, motos, cyclos (pedicabs), bicycles, and dogs all came by.

The time passed relatively quickly. One thing I've noticed about life in Cambodia is that people never seem to be bored. When there's nothing to do, even for hours on end, this is no cause for complaint. Rest is appreciated, especially in such hot weather and with hard work to do.

Today, Parker and I are planning on visiting the Buddhist Institute in Phnom Penh, which offers graduate study of Buddhist philosophy. And tomorrow it looks like I'll have a chance to meet four of the CLA masters in the Bassac community, including Tep Mori, Kong Nai, Kea Mum and Im Hito--we'll see!

Conversation and Collage

2005-08-23T03:09:00.000-07:00

I am slowly beginning to get a sense of what I'm going to be doing this year. Yesterday, I took a walk along the river (the Tonle Sap) and had a chance to talk with many Cambodians who wanted to practice their English. I also got to practice my limited Khmer with them. It's great to meet new people in this way, even when our respective language skills makes it hard to communicate. But I am continually amazed and overjoyed by the friendliness of the Cambodian people, even in a hectic, modern city like Phnom Penh.

Today, Parker and I went to buy some Khmer newspapers and magazines in order to make collages with them. Making art is both calming and centering, and I feel more balanced and ready to live more carefully after doing so.

Tomorrow, I am going to visit Tep Mori's pin peat class in the Bassac community (more on this after I tomorrow). I actually briefly visited her on the first day I arrived, when we were on our way to visit Kong Nai, a blind chapei (Cambodian long-necked lute) player and improvisational singer. He's known as a sort of Cambodian bard, whose words and music express the popular sentiments on the people as well as his own personal flair. CLA is now working to produce an album of his music, part of an upcoming release of three albums of Cambodian music on the CLA label. It has been great to watch this project unfold, from meetings with the Thai embassy to secure a printing house in Bangkok to press the CD's to listening to different cuts of Cambodian musicians at the studio. As the project moves further along, I will probably get more involved to make sure everything runs smoothly. It's really exciting to be a part of this organization and I am hoping to learn more about how CLA and World Education work in Cambodia, as well as about the general model for NGO's in developing countries.

Wat Ummalom and Wat Phnom

2005-08-22T00:45:00.000-07:00

It was a gorgeous, sunny day in the city today. I took a walk across town to visit several wats (Buddhist temple-monasteries). The first wat I visited, Wat Ummalom, is an historically important wat, seat of the patriarch of the Mahanikay sect. Today, however, is looked deserted, and there were very few monks around.

But the grounds and buildings of the wat are peaceful and beautiful.

The stone carvings were especially intricate and complex. The Khmer architectural style is unlike any I have ever seen, reminescent of some Indian Buddhist structures but completely different than the temples in Vietnam. And the symbolism in the art is a rich blend of Buddhist, Brahmanistic (Hindu), and indigeneous Khmer elements. At Wat Ummalom, there are also many stupas (conical Buddhist reliquaries), lingas (phallic representations of the Brahman deity Shiva), and scenes from the Reamker (the Khmer version of the Indian Ramayama epic).

And it was great to see the wat on such a gorgeous day, as it has been raining a lot lately. When it rains in Phnom Penh, it really rains hard, and the streets flood temporarily. Once the rain stops, however, the weather is very pleasant and cool. Because didn't rain today, by noon it was very hot outside.

After seeing Wat Ummalom, I took a walk over to Wat Phnom, which is situated on the only hill in the city. The wat is surrounded by a public park, for both humans and monkeys.

The wat also has many stupas, but is more typically Buddhist in style, and there are even several areas which are devoted to a more Chinese religious theme. The main temple is decorated with scenes from the Buddha's mythological past lives, known as the jataka stories, in which he sacrifices himself for the benefit of other living beings, especially animals. The most famous jataka in Cambodia is that of Prince Vessantara, which is the archetype of generousity in the popular Buddhist tradition. I had never been in a Theravada Buddhist temple before, and I was suprised to both the similarities and differences to Mahayana temples I have visited elsewhere. Wat Phnom does not appear to have many monks, and its function as a wat is mostly ceremonial.

I have a lot to learn about Buddhism in Cambodia, both in terms of understanding how animistic and Brahmanistic elements have been incorporated into the tradition and in terms of understanding how the terror of Democratic Kampuchea (the Khmer Rouge) broke the continuity of Buddhist teaching in Cambodia.

CLA Studio

2005-08-21T02:40:00.000-07:00

Parker, Beau and I went to visit the CLA Studio today near the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, of which I have read and seen a film about but have yet to visit. The studio is tucked away in the middle of an apartment building on a dirt backstreet in Phnom Penh. It has served to record many Cambodian traditional musicians and ensembles over the past couple years, including three new albums about to be released on the CLA label. The sign outside is amusing, though it speaks to the mission of CLA:

The inside of the studio is simple and functional, if a tad disorganized:

And there was a tro sau lying around that I tried to play. It's quite similar to the Chinese erhu, though with a slighter huskier and rougher tone:

While at the studio, I had the chance to listen to some of the recordings they had on file. The quality is excellent, although some recording glitches are still present. Beau burned a CD for me of as sampling of traditional genres. I'm still trying to figure out what kind of music I will pursue study in. At this point, I am particularly interested in smot, a vocal form of funeral music. It may sound morbid to you, but the music is haunting, soulful and meditative, and I am curious to learn more about it.

Tropical Fruit and Syllabic Writing

2005-08-20T19:16:00.000-07:00

I am now feeling more settled in Phnom Penh. I went shopping for food, clothes and soap yesterday, which was an interesting experience. Parker and I went to open-air markets to buy fruit, Turkish-style bazaars to buy shirts and trousers, and a Western/Japanese supermarket to buy juice and cereal. The fruit here is delicious, especially this kind (mongkut, I think):

I have also begun to study written Khmer (Cambodian) on my own, starting with consonants:

and moving on to simple sentences:

It's difficult, but very satisfying and I hope to find a language teacher soon.

Greetings from Phnom Penh!

2005-08-19T03:38:00.000-07:00

It has been an exhilarating first couple of days in Cambodia. I have met lots of new and wonderful people, reconnected with friends, and been to a variety of places. The weather has been equally dramatic, alternating between sweltering heat and torrential rain. I haven't gotten sick yet, but i am somewhat prepared for that. I'm now living where I will likely be for the next month or so. It's an apartment on the 4th floor of a building across the street from a famous wat:
Saffron-robed monks can be seen on the sidewalke and the grounds of the temple.

Phnom Penh is a beautiful city, with wide, tree-;oned boulevards and few, if any, tall buildings. There are several rivers that cut through the city as well as several lakes. There are also many wats and other cultural landmarks in the vicinity. I definitely feel like I am a completely different country than Vietnam.

I am basically hanging out with Parker all day for the next few days as he helps orient me to the city, the culture and the work that Cambodian Living Arts (CLA) does. It has not yet dawned on me that I am staying here long-term, but I am slowly getting the hang of it.

Tran Quoc Pagoda, Part 2

2005-08-18T21:37:00.000-07:00

(please see below, Tran Quoc Pagoda, Part 1, first-- t.t.w.)

I returned to Tran Quoc Pagoda in the afternoon. There were many more monks and laypeople there this time. In addition, there were two laymen, of whom was Chinese, who were there to help out with the ceremony.

One of them played dan nhi (a Vietnamese version of the Chinese jinghu, a two-string fiddle related to the larger erhu) and a shawm (sona), an extremely loud, wailing oboe-like double-reed horn. The other, who was proficient in classical Chinese, helped with some of the chanting and also played drums. The two men were dressed in black lay robes.

I had a hard time understanding the context of the ceremony. I expected to stay only a short while, but when I left, over three hours later, the ceremony was still going, with no sign of stopping.

I was directed to sit on the tile floor, about twenty feet from the altar. The hall on this level was much more complex than the one downstairs. There were paper pendants and flags hanging everywhere with Chinese characters written on them, and the altar itself was huge, with four or five levels extending back another twenty feet. On the altar were of course the requisite Buddha images but also about a dozen life-size statues of men sitting in Chinese mandarin chairs with long beards and traditional imperial headgear. Upon closer inspection, I realized that one of the figures was King Tran, a medieval monarch of Vietnam who lated abdicated the throne, took on the robes of a monk, eventually becoming a Zen master and an important patriach of Vietnamese Buddhism.

Before the ceremony began, an elderly monk donned formal robes and a silk Chinese crown. He also carried a large staff and stood solemnly in front of the altar. The rest of the monks and the two laymen, sitting behind him in two rows, began to chant and play their instruments. One of the monks had a mircophone that was hooked up to a speaker system that was turned way up, so the chanting was rather loud, especially in a tiled room where most of the materials reflected the sound. And with the wailing shawm and drums, bells, and cymbals played at a high volume, it became extremely loud. But the chanting and the music that accompanied it was beautiful and had a centering quality, and all of the men played together exceptionally well.

The opening chants, sungs from books or from memory, lasted about an hour, at which point my last had fallen asleep and probably were dreaming, though I'm not sure. Then the elderly monk began a complex, esoteric dance before the altar, employing highly stylized mudras (hand gestures) and intricate footwork. Hen then took a carving knife and a red pair of scissors (supposed both remplacement for more expensive ritual items) off the altar and continued his dance with them, as if he was holding a Tibetan bell and vajra.

The monk danced rapidly around the hall, stopping by the walls and pillars to hack off various pieces of paper and cloth imprinted with Chinese characters, which he wound into a ball. The characters were the names of deceased people associated with the temple and this ceremony, I think, was a way of remembering, honoring, and transfering merit to them, and marking the impermanence of all things. The monk held the ball with the knife and scissors, brought it to the altar, bowed low, set the ball on fire, and continued the dance around the hall while holding this ball of fire, which he eventually placed in a bucket of water at the front of the altar.

Midway through the ceremony, a candle accidently set a paper flag ablaze, which prompted several monks to set about trying to put the fire out. At this point, I realized that there were no smoke alarms in this temple! Occasionally the elderly monk would lead us in a quick-paced circumambulation of the altar as a way of further honoring the dead.

A little after six in the evening, I realized I needed to leave to meet a friend, but the ceremony (and the deafening music) was still going strong after three hours. I quietly bowed and left, hoping that I would return one day to talk to the monks again.

Although I experienced only a small part of Vietnam, I am thankful that I had the chance to experience that part deeply and meaningully. Everyone I met was warm and friendly, and many wanted to talk to me. Earlier in this blog, I mentioned how I thought that joyful and honest interactions with strangers were a good measure of the health of a society. And while I don't know to what extent the Vietnamese wlecomed visitors from within their own country, I did always feel welcomed here, in a way that went beyond simple means of securing their income from my wallet. For example, I don't recall the same friendliness in China or Japan, and only on occasion in the States. As I was writing this on the plane to Cambodia, I am sad to leave but very excited to settle more long-term in a new culture.

To all of you who read and don't read this blog, I extend my best wishes to you and I would love to hear from you anytime.

Tran Quoc Pagoda, Part 1

2005-08-17T21:11:00.000-07:00

One thing I love about traveling is that even ordinary things in far-away places become full of interest and wonder. I was walking through the streets of Saigon, not having any idea of where I was or where I was going, and I was amazed at how much the city came alive when I walked this way. I didn't need to look to find anything--everything captivated me, from the tiles on the sidewalk to the patterns of the traffic, from the scent of fish sauce to the cries of small children, from the signs of shops to shops of signs. And as I was heading down a crowded street, I happened to run into a temple, sandwiched neatly between some motorbike repair shops and furniture makers, by the name of Tran Quoc Pagoda. I had been to some of the temples on the tourist circuit, but this one was not in the books I had seen about Ho Chi Minh City.

The outside of the temple is rather dull and gray in color, but the second and third levels of the facade has ornate Buddhist images. I walked into the doorway, and an elderly woman, crouching in a corner, directed me inside. I removed my shoes and entered into the lower level Buddha hall, where three monks and about six lay believers were chanting and bowing. The style of the musical accompaniment (very vigorous drum and cymbal work) and the motifs on the altar (lots of colors, ornate Buddhist imagery) gave the temple a Tibetan feel. And monks were wearing very formal ritual robes--this was not a Chien (Zen) temple! I joined them until the ceremony ended.

Afterwards, I began to talk with some of the lay believers there, some of whom spoke English. They seemed to appreciate that someone was interested in their religion. One of them even insisted on giving me an apple and an Asian pear (which I think she snatched off the altar) as a "souvenir." I tried to refuse, but they insisted. I was getting ready to leave when the monks led me in to their kitchen, sat me down at the table and served me some tea. I was suprised and delighted by this unexpected hospitality, and appreciated the chance to be able to meet some of the sangha in Vietnam.

We attempted to communicate through hand gestures for a while, but one of the monks slowly began to reveal his English skills. We talked about our families--some of them had family in America--and when they couldn't quite say what were trying to say, they wrote it down on a piece of paper and we worked it out together. When we began to talk about Buddhism, I discovered that some of them knew Chinese, and most of the extremely limited Mandarin and Chinese Characters I know are Buddhist-related. I had never really had a useful conversation in Mandarin before, and it was a pleasant suprise to have it in Vietnam. My tea cup was always kept full!

Later on, the elderly woman who was at the doorway of the temple came up to me and began to speak in French. She was 82 years old (I had originally thought 92, but I mixed quatre-vingt-deux and quatre-vingt-douze!) and had studied French in the eight years she attended school during the colonial era. She had a consistent and beautiful smile on her face, and I feel fortunate that we shared a common language.

One of the monks, Thich Giac Lam, gave me his email address and asked for mine. I didn't hesitate, but I was slightly suprised because a) the temple had bats in it b) I didn't see a laptop under his robes and c) I wouldn't know how to email in Vietnamese. However, I could understand because a) the bats weren't that big b) Thich Giac Lam did indeed have a cell phone under his robes and c) the abbot of the temple took cell calls during ceremonies.

We got to talking about Guan Shi Yin Bodhisattva, when one of the monks disappeared through a door and came back with a small ceramic image of her (Guan Yin). Again, they insisted tthat accept it as a souvenir (although they explained that was infact from China, and the colored strings inside were of special importance. We then shared some of the mantras we knew associated with Guan Shi Yin pu sa.

The monks asked that I return the next day at 3:00 PM to see the drums and bells upstairs. We then bowed and said goodbye ("nam mo a mi ba phat," except the elderly woman, who said, "Au revoir!").

I was out of clothes, so the next morning I perused some shops to obtain a couple of shirts, a pair of shoes, and trousers. Again, it was a delight to just do simple everyday things in Saigon.

(continued above in Tran Quoc Pagoda, Part 2)

Four Pagodas in Saigon

2005-08-16T16:58:00.000-07:00

The grounds of Vietnam Quoc Tu Pagoda are a peaceful retreat from the buzz of the city. At two o'clock in the afternoon, a monk in saffron robes leads a congregation of mostly women, dressed in humble gray ao dai which resemble traditional lay robes in China. Their chanting is very beautiful, distinctly Vietnamese in melody and inflection, and is accompanied by traditional Chinese Buddhist bells of various sizes and timbres. The temple itself is not particularly beautiful, with lots of overly bright painted images and colored tiles but little older religious art. Yet the practice of those participating demonstrates sincerity and faith. The posture of the sangha is very clear and upright, and the lay worshippers bow with precision and dignity.

The temple is a real community center, with little kids and elderly alike just hanging out on the premises, seeking refuge from the midday heat in the shade of its trees. And those chanting parked their motorbikes only a few meters from where they now stand barefoot, with hands in prayer. The horns of the street traffic are wholly mixed with the beautiful sounds of the chanting. A layman, meditating with his prayer beads, eyes closed in concentration, invited the large hanging bell to sound at regular intervals.

When the weather is this hot and humid, thinking comes a little slower and it is easier to relax. There are so many new smells here. Even the incense is different, and in already polluted air is takes on new dimensions. Humid, warm air itself feels a certain way in the nostrils.

This morning I visited three other temples, each of which had a distinct character. The second temple I visited seemed deserted at first, as I could hear loud chanting but couldn't tell where it was coming from. I walked towards the rear of the compound and a woman directed me upstairs to where a group of about twenty monks and fifty laypeople were chanting in a large, open-sided hall. I went to the back and sat down next to a young man who shared his chanting book with me. I was eventually able to follow along in the Vietnamese text, but I didn't dare actuallt chant!

It was a beautiful temple, almost French in style, but with many Sino-Vietnamese elements as well. Although Buddhism came to Vietnam mostly from China, the chanting style is markedly different, and of course even the Buddhist mantras (sacred syllables) are pronouced differently (nam mo a mhi pa phat). Occasionally a particular mantra in the chanting will remind of something I've heard in Chinese, but the similarity ends there. It is so refreshing to be in a new Buddhist culture!

At the last temple I visited (the third temple actually was deserted, unlike the second), which was decidedly Chinese in style (it was built by ethnic Chinese), I went to the back of the main hall where I heard some chanting. I was unsure of the occasion, but the familial bonds between those attending made it seem like a memorial observance. I didn't intend to crash a funeral! But I met another young man there, in his late twenties, by the name of Dui. He spoke excellent English and we discussed meditation practice at length. Hen graciously showed me downstairs and explained a series of pieces of Vietnamese Chien (Zen) calligraphy. It was really wonderful to meet someone who shared such interest and experience in the Buddhadharma from another country. A practicioner of Pure Land Buddhism, he also clearly understand the connections between the various Buddhist schools, especially Chien. And despite our different cultural backgrounds, we were able to communicate in the language of Mahayana Buddhism and when it came time to part, it came naturally to use the universal Buddhist gesture (gassho in Japanese), bow to one another and say "Na Mo Amitabha Buddha," which replaces "Hello," "Goodbye," "Thank you," and "You're welcome" in Buddhist community life.

At all of the temples I visited, after the service ended, a relaxed atmosphere pervaded the pagoda, and everyone takes time to chat with one another or ask questions of the sangha. Another thing that struck me at the places I visited was that I saw barely any tourists, unlike other parts of town. I only wish I could stay longer in Vietnam and learn and experience more of its fascinating and endearing Buddhist tradtion.

Good Morning, Vietnam

2005-08-15T17:52:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning in Ho Chi Minh City, and turned to the window of my hotel room to check out the view. Well, it's nothing spectacular, but I'm happy to have made it over here. A harrowing taxi ride gave me plenty of excitement last night, but it was also great to see the city by night, when the air is a little cooler. Saigon reminds me of parts of Chinese cities, and the traffic is equally confusing, even at 12:30 AM. I won't say any more because I've seen so little. After today, hopefully I'll have a different picture of the city.

Beautiful Clouds in Korea

2005-08-15T00:52:00.000-07:00

The keyboard which I'm typing at now has the Korean hangul alphabet on it, which means, I suppose, that I've ended up in Seoul safe and sound. The airport here is particularly clean and well-maintained, and it has fantastic views of the green hills and blue mountains which seem to encircle the runways and terminals. The clouds are also very beautiful here, and the sun is still quite high in the sky at 5:00 PM local time.

I must confess that I love long plane flights. I enjoy the opportunity to sit in one spot (apart from getting up to go to the bathroom every hour) and just focus on reading. I'm in the middle of an admirably good book, "The Gods Drink Whiskey," which chronicles a year spent in Cambodia by a young Chicagoan professor of Buddhism. Although unsettling at times, his reflections on his experiences in Phnom Penh reveal the complexities of life there more than an objective text ever could. And as much his opinions and observations challenge my preconceptions, his tone is warm and endearing, and it puts the fears I have of living in Cambodia in a better perspective.

Because I received a vegan meal on the plane, one of the flight attendants knew my (sur)name and proceeded to call me "Mr. Walker" for the rest of the flight. This I found rather amusing but reminded me of the unexpected kindness we receive from people we only see once in our lives. A couple of months ago, a friend and I discussed such moments that occur in our everyday lives, where we interact with total strangers, like bus drivers, waiters, clerks, shopkeepers, or just people on the street, who greet us warmly and with kindness without expecting anything in return. And when we, too, reach out with kindness in such momentary and singular relationships, then we are suprised by the enduring good-heartedness of others. These encounters, however brief and seemingly inconsequential, are vital to a healthy society. Of course, in urban settings we cannot trust others so easily, a fact I am sure to encounter in Saigon and Phnom Penh. But when there is warmth and honesty between strangers, then human life becomes real again.

I'm soon to be boarding a plane to Ho Chi Minh City, where the weather will be much hotter. Even though I haven't arrived in Vietnam, it is truly exciting to be on the other side of world, and I am ever thankful to all of you that have made this adventure possible for me. Best wishes to all.

And He's Off

2005-08-13T12:52:00.000-07:00

This is my last day at home for about thirteen months. Tomorrow, I board an airplane for Seoul, Korea, which stops there for a few hours before moving on to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. I'll spend a couple of days there in Vietnam before boarding a flight to Phnom Penh, Cambodia, where I'll be, probably, until September 2006.

I'm going to Cambodia as an intern for Cambodian Living Arts--a division of World Education Fund-- which works to help preserve and reinvigorate traditional Cambodian performing arts. I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to be doing there at the moment, but I expect to study the Khmer language, study a Cambodian instrument and/or musical genre, and conduct some research on particular aspect of the connection between religion and music education in Cambodia.

Over the past few days I have been packing and preparing to leave. It's an interesting exercise to consider which items are essential for a trip and which are not. As it turns out, very littleis essential, and part of the joy of leaving home is findinga a new set of material expectations--that is, finding out how little we actually need.

It's been harder to say goodbye to those who I won't be seeing for a while. But I've noticed that when people realize that they won't see each other the next day, their thoughts are more sincere and more honest-- this is something I've really appreciated lately.

I hope that with this blog I will be to share my experiences with all of you. Please also email me if you have questions or would like to hear more.

Last Ride on BART

2005-08-13T11:50:00.000-07:00

Even though I am still in my home country, everything suddenly seems fresh and new. Every moment here is a moment to appreciate, every breath is a breath to take care of , to cherish. My seat on BART is well-worn, with a subtle and thick fragrance. I don't know anybody aboard--I haven't met them--but I smile at their prescence, and pause to wonder what their worries are.

I don't try to listen with my ears; the heart knows better. The heart knows my mistakes and their mistakes, and it forgives. The heart does not say much, so I listen to its listening. When I pay attention to the heart, the thoughts of the mind don't matter so much. I laugh at myself for the silly things I worry about.

I enjoy feeling my two feet on the floor--to touch the Earth, even on a moving train, fills me with peace. And I ask myself, "Am listening? Am I listening? Am I listening?" And I ask myself again, "Who's listening?"

Who, indeed, is listening? Who is it that is sitting on this train? I have no idea who I am, how I got here or where I'm going or who this "I" is. And that's okay, for the most part. To not know such things confuses me, amazes me and fills me with wonder. To not know turns me inside-out, but it also opens me, frees me. And in a moment of stillness, where sound and listener and listening merge as one, it's okay. It's really quite okay not to know who I am or where I came from. It's really quite okay just to sit here on this BART train and let wonder open into wonder.

Living in God's House

2005-08-06T16:53:00.000-07:00

I'm speaking at the Presbyterian Church in Chinatown this Sunday (August 7th). Below is a general outline of what I will be saying.

Good morning! This summer I lived at Cameron House as part of the summer staff, where I worked as the coordinator for the 3^rd and 4^th grade department of the Cameron Ventures Program. This year, our department was blessed with ten wonderful leaders and over thirty highly energetic kids.

I graduated from high school in San Francisco three months ago and this was my first summer at Cameron House. I found out about Cameron House from my experience here at PCC, to which I first started coming as part of a research project during my senior year.

When I was in high school, I never thought I would end up attending a Christian church, much less working at a place like Cameron House. As a Buddhist, I never had much interest in the Christian faith of my ancestors. I found spiritual fulfillment in the Buddhist tradition of meditation and mindfulness; I had little interest in Christianity.

However, my experience at PCC changed my view. This church introduced me to an open-minded, socially aware, and justice-seeking model of spirituality which really appealed to me. I don't mean to say that I am now less of a Buddhist than before, but I now feel comfortable living with the two religions side by side in my heart.

And so, today I'd like to speak about my experience this summer in terms of what it means to live in God's house. One meaning of what it is to live in God's house is simply living in a Christian community, a community where we make a conscious and explicit commitment to live honestly before God. To live honestly means that we take responsibility for all of our actions, words and attitudes, and to live before God means to live humbly, in respect and wonder. I'd lived in other spiritual communities before, but I'd never lived in a Christian community before coming to Cameron House. I am not without my qualms about Christianity—about evangelism, for instance—and I don't hesitate to say that I would probably feel uncomfortable in many other Christian congregations in this country. But there are aspects of the Christian life at Cameron House that I have come to appreciate very much.

At Cameron House's youth programs, we work to create an environment that balances and fosters physical, mental, social and spiritual development. These four aspects of growth are outlined in the Gospel of Luke, and the expectation is that we model our lives and our development on that of Christ. So much of our media-saturated, hyped-up, heart-broken and suffering world lacks this principle of balance, and our children are not encouraged to grow into their full potential, especially in the spiritual realm.

My time with the kids and high school leaders this summer gave me the chance to encourage their balanced development by working on devotions—spiritual lessons—for the kids and working with the leaders to develop creative and meaningful devotions of their own. I encountered a fair amount of resistance, from the kids, from the leaders, and even from myself, in making these devotions a part of every day. And it forced me to step away from my own perspective and get into the heads of the kids and youth, and see what was meaningful and relevant—spiritually relevant—to them.

Let me offer you an example. A couple of weeks ago, my department was struggling, and the problems were not with the kids, but between my leaders and me. In the end, everything worked out, and to the credit of my leaders, they were able to transform their negative actions into positive lessons for themselves, for me, and for the kids. They accomplished this by creating devotions that spoke to the choices they had made and the lessons they had learned, and I was impressed and moved by their sincerity and thoughtfulness. This sort of transformation is, in my eyes, the essence of the Christian life, that our unwholesome thoughts and deeds may be transformed into what is wholesome and good, through our will and that of God. And I am thankful that we worked out our mistakes in the context of a Christian community, because it was our shared life in God's house that made everything possible.

However, beyond the simple fact of living in a Christian community, there is a further meaning of what it means to live in God's house that I learned about over the summer. For me, God’s house is the wealth of peace, joy and contentment that is available—through the grace of God—in the present moment. To live in God’s house means to live in gratefulness—mindfully, lovingly, slowly but dearly—so that the wonder of life, the wonder of being alive, is fully available to us. The door to God’s house is always open—it is only through our self-centered wills and desires that we cannot find it.

I cannot live this way very well. I find it difficult to slow down and truly appreciate the people who are around me. It’s hard to for me to remember to live mindfully, to live humbly, in wonder. Usually I’m carried away by worries about the past or the future or simply desires and emotions in the present—I rarely can just take a breath and appreciate the whole breath, or listen without judgment to every word someone is saying. But this summer I have learned that when I do take the time to enter the present moment, offer thanks for what I am blessed with, and let God take me in to God’s house, then everything works out better.

This summer, I was called to find resources of patience with the kids that I didn’t know I had. I was called to find energy and enthusiasm to make each day fresh and new. I was called to reconcile conflicts that I struggled to identify with and understand. And much of the time, I didn’t succeed at these things. But remembering to live gratefully in God’s house was a source upon which I could rely to see and care for the kids and leaders more clearly and more carefully. Living in God’s house—in touch with the Holy Spirit—allows us to be in touch with God’s unconditional love and the seeds of unconditional love in ourselves. When we are aware of God’s unending love for us, we begin to see God in other people and appreciate them in their highest potential.

Let me offer you another example. Over the course of the summer, I ended up spending a good portion of my time at Cameron Ventures with one of the kids in my department who really struggled with his anger. I often encountered him fighting with the other kids or physically expressing his frustration on the leaders. Often, together with one of my leaders, I sat him down outside the group and had a conversation with him about his behavior. These conversations were difficult, but they revealed to me that he knew he was struggling with his emotions as much as we were. Moreover, I realized that if I was angry or showed any frustration myself, we wouldn’t be able to move forward. Each day had to be a clean slate, without making judgments about him from his past behavior. And I noticed that when I took the time to remember that God’s house is always here, that the present moment is always here, that each and every person is overflowing with God’s love, we were able to reconcile his behavior and come to a solution. It seemed that when we let ourselves return to God’s house and took refuge there, God took care of the situation in a way that no forcing or extra effort on my part could ever do.

A couple of hours before our Parent’s Night, an annual celebration of the kids and their talents at BYP and Ventures, the same kid stormed out of the room where we were rehearsing and proceeded to shout at me and the leaders. He refused to perform that night and was threatening to break things. It took a long time to reach him, to really communicate with him and have a conversation about why he was so angry. I began to ask him about his anger: where he felt it, what color he thought it was, what shape it had, and other physical qualities of his anger. He said it was a deep, deep red and in the shape of the Devil. He was an exceptionally gifted drummer, so I asked him what the beat of the Devil was. Confused, he said it was just random rhythms, not conforming to a particular beat. Eventually, he worked through his anger and performed with great gusto and enthusiasm that night.

However, for me the real miracle came the next day, when he came running up to me with a big smile on his face, saying, “Trent! Trent! Remember when yesterday you asked me what beat the Devil had? Well, I just figured it out. It goes like this: umph chick chick ahhh boom boom, umph chick chick ahhh boom boom…” I was deeply touched by this kid in that moment. The day before, I was barely able to understand his emotions, much less work with him and his anger constructively, but the next day he inspired me with his radiant wonder and excitement. I was overjoyed, and I felt thankful for not passing judgment on him the day before, but instead letting myself enter God’s house and letting the Holy Spirit transform the situation. Working with kids at Cameron House has constantly reminded me that every person has something to offer that is unique, inspiring, and infinitely precious.

I feel exceptionally fortunate to have spent the summer at Cameron House, and to have become familiar with a Christian community, one that is welcoming, vibrant, and socially engaged. And I am thankful to have worked and grown together with a wonderful group of kids and leaders. Most of all, however, I am grateful that God’s house opens its doors every moment of every day, that peace and transformation are indeed possible, and that the Holy Spirit can be present in our lives. May the peace of Christ be with us and may God’s house always be our refuge and our strength. Amen.

the scent of summer in the homeland

2005-07-30T19:18:00.000-07:00

I breathe in and joy washes through me. The scent of summer--a mix of dust, dry grass, ocean winds, pines and wildflowers--reminds me I am home. I revel in the majesty of the landscape, the sweep of the green hills and the blue mountains in the distance, the dry heat, the ants that are crawling across the page and up and down my spine; they, too, are my friends, my compatriots.

I sit outside on the side of the road because this is my homeland, and in less than twenty days I leave for Cambodia. As Dogen Zenji says, "Time moves from present to past"--I already miss this place, this moment. The weeds and rocks here are dear to me. They call me back to my childhood and the wonder of being alive. A handful of dry grass is infinitely precious, irreplacable.

What will it be like to depart from familiarity for a year? I stare at the sun and sneeze.

Crickets sing on one side of me while a river of cars flows past on the other. I sit at the edge of certainty. Here, I know what a summer day is, when the sun rises and when the sun sets. But I don't know a monsoon, much less monsoon season.

I place my hand on the Earth and feel her warmth. Geologic time stretches fault lines and gopher holes into a landscape that rests peacefully in the present moment.

Worries now seem so distant, so useless. I touch the unexpectedly tender leaves of a sticky green weed. The stickiness lingers on my fingers as a momento of my country. I love my country but most of all I love my county, San Mateo, overfull with the history of the Miwok, the Franciscan monks, and white-tailed deer. And native plants, too numerous--too wonderful--to mention.

At home I'm packing my bags, my mind full of Cambodian history and Khmer phrases and anger and frustration about my work and great joy about my work. But here in the fresh air and with scores of ants crawling all over me the joy and frustration and Kampuchean battlefields are one. A sheriff just pulled over to check on me. Sometime I take a breath, feel the Earth beneath me, and realize that I'm having a wonderful day.

Les Haiku de Ryokan

2005-07-30T12:34:00.000-07:00

some english translations from the french versions by joan titus-carmel (Paris: Editions Verdier, 1986)

aomitaru
naka ni kobushi no
hanazakari

in the green brush
a single magnolia flower
in full bloom

aki hiyori
senba suzume no
haoto kana

clear autumn sky
ten thousand sparrows fly
the sound of their wings

ake mado no
mukashi o shinobu
sugare yume

the open window
the whole past returns to me
better than a dream

ame no furu
hi wa aware nari
Ryokan bo

days of rain
flooded with sadness
the monk Ryokan

ara ike ya
kawazu tobikomu
oto mo nashi

the new pond
a frog jumps in
no sound at all

iza saraba
ware mo kaeran
aki no kure

let's go, it's over!
I, too, am running away--
autumn dusk

uguisu ni
yumesama sareshi
asage kana

Ah! the rooster
his song thrusts me from a dream
morning rice

oi oo ga
mi wa sama ni uzu
yuki no dake

a very old man
his body seized by the cold
bamboo under snow

ochitsukeba
koko mo Rozan no
shigure kana

a great peace
here, just as in Rozan
autumn mist

onajiku ba
hana no moto ni te
hito yonen

right at this spot
beneath the blossoming cherry
sleep the night through

kakitsubata
ware kono tei ni
yoi ni keri

an iris
not far from my hut
intoxicates me

kakimogi no
kintana samushi
aki no kaze

picking persimmons--
my golden spheres seized
by the autumn wind

knon miya ya
kobushi no hana ni
chiru sakura

in this sanctuary
fallen on the magnolia--
cherry blossoms

koraya kora
kora ga te o toru
tsutsuji kana

children, let's go!
but these azalias offer themselves
to their hands

shiba taite
shigure kiku yo to
nari ni keri

burning some dead wood
with evening comes the sound
of autumn rain

Suma tera no
mukashi o toeba
yamazakura

Suma temple
that we may know it's story--
wild cherry trees

tsuto nisen
Yoshino no sato no
hanahatami

so that I recall
the country of Yoshino
a basket of flowers

tetsubachi ni
asu no kome ari
yuusuzumi

tommorow's rice
in this iron bowl
evening freshness

hibi hibi ni
shigure no fureba
hito oinu

day after day
the falling of gentle rain
oh! how we grow old

Summer Reflection

2005-07-23T15:02:00.000-07:00

Life is endlessly suprising. I've spent the past six weeks living and working at a Christian social services organization, an environment I never thought I would find myself in. Few experiences in my life have required me to give up my conceptions of myself and of the world as this has. And right in this letting go, this giving up of old conceptions and habits, lies great joy and freedom.

When I first started coming to Sunday Worship at the Presbyterian Church in Chinatown (PCC) as a part of a research project, I never expected that I would end up living at (Donaldina) Cameron House, a Christian social services and youth ministries organization which was founded as a mission branch of the Presbyterian Church, a few months later. I had grown comfortable with the Christian environment at PCC and when the opportunity for a job at Cameron House came up, I was genuinely excited about living in a spiritually grounded place. Several months after the initial decision, I am still grappling with the consequences.

I felt welcomed and accepted from the beginning, so I can't say I really have felt uncomfortable, but the sheer unfamiliarity of the situation bears a certain psychological weight. This weight is not really a burden, but it tranforms my mind, my emotions, my sense of self.

The first week was the biggest shock. In my current position, I am responsible for the care, leadership, and training of ten high school volunteers, who in turn lead a group of about 30 3rd and 4th graders in day camp activities, including games, songs, crafts, devotions and field trips. In the first week, my task was to train the high schoolers to be effective day camp leaders. My main teaching experience was co-teaching a sophmore health class once a week, so I was poorly prepared to teach seven hours each day. My lesson plans were pretty shabby, and I struggled to earn the respect and trust of the leaders. But I can think of no better way to learn to be a better teacher. By the end of the week, I finally felt like I knew what I was talking about, and in my mind I pretended I was ready for the first day of camp.

The kids were actually a whole different story. They are an energetic, easily distracted, and highly likeable bunch. For the past five weeks, my interaction with them has been limited, but highly rewarding. During the day, my main responsibilites are to attend to first aid situations, encourage the leaders to stay on task, and work out discipline issues with the kids. This last bit has been especially challenging, and has forced me to call upon all my resources, which, as it turns out, mostly consist of other people. I have learned greatly from consulting with my peers and other co-workers, but I found the most important resource in dealing with a kid who struggles to cooperate or follow the rules is the kid himself. Most of the time, the kid knows the solution more than I do, and the best course of action is to let her find it for herself. I find this requires more patience, trust, and open-mindedness than I possess, and thus I am forced to grow.

The living situations teaches me a great deal as well. I notice that whatever bad, unhealthy, or otherwise unwholesome habits I have at home have tended to disappear when I live in close promixity or cooperatively with others. I can't say I do the dishes, make lunch, clean up after myself, or take out the recycling very often at home, but when I'm at Cameron House I do these things without even thinking. I really love this part about living with others, and it fills me with more energy and vigor than I have at home. Furthermore, I'm living in the city, where everything seems close at hand, and in Chinatown, a district of which I knew very little of before this year. It is an amazing feeling to wake up and walk out the door and myself in a local temple or in a local church, places that once seemed so far away.

There are other aspects of my life here that equally rewarding, but a great deal more confusing, because they relate to two parts of my identity, my race and my religious practice. As an organization that almost entirely serves Chinese Americans, Cameron House represents a very different environment from the one I have grown up in. At Cameron House, I am not particularly aware of my own whiteness, but I certainly notice when another white person is present. I really have no idea how others change their behavior around me because of my race, but living here forces me to reexamine my own perceptions about race. The answer that comes up for me, time and again, is that I judge people based on their ethnicity very often. I can't claim to understand what it is like to be in the racial minority in American society, but I feel I have a better sense of how ingrained racism is in our society and in our collective consciousness.

The spiritual side of my experience at Cameron House continues to shake and stretch me in new ways. Living in a Christian community where Christian values are appreciated, and to some extent, practiced by young people is inspiring to me as a Buddhist. From my experience at PCC, I have grown comfortable observing and participating in Christian spirituality. What is confusing and unsettling (though ultimately rewarding) for me is that at Cameron House, I am expected to teach not only Christian values, but also faith.

During the first week, I led prayer frequently with my high school leaders. Some were clearly not interested in prayer, but followed along anyway. I also pushed my leaders to do more devotions (activities and lessons drawn from the Bible or Christian spirituality) with the kids, and I worked with them frequently to develop and deepen these devotions. With my red, sunburned skin, plaid shirts, and Texas Rangers hat, I sensed that they thought of me as a "Bible thumper," which, I concede, is a pejorative label. Whether or not this was true, I still did not feel entirely honest propagating Christian teaching to them while hiding my Buddhist practice. Last week, I had a conversation with my high school leaders about this, and I heard a general sigh of relief from them that I was indeed not trying to convert them to a form of evangelical Christianity.

Nevertheless, prayer and devotions are something that I now love, and I have a deep respect for the Christian life. I don't identify as a Christian, but in full honestly I would still say that I am a Christian. I take the life of Jesus as an example of how to live a life of compassion, devotion, and peace-- in this sense I am a Christian. This doesn't mean I am less of a Buddhist, but it does mean that I realize that labels such as "Christian," "Muslim," or "Buddhist" are less important than we make them out to be. During this summer so far, my intention has been to help the kids and the leaders in their spiritual growth and development, whether it be Christian or agnostic or otherwise. I want to instill in them the joy of life, the beauty of the nature, and a sense of graditude for all that they have been given, whether they see God in their lives or not. As I move into the final two weeks of the program, I hope and pray that their lives may be filled with happiness.

A visit to the temple

2005-05-30T19:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday afternoon, I found myself once again at Gold Mountain Monastery, a small Chinese temple on Sacremento and Grant. I had not been for a few weeks, and I had never been on a Sunday before, so I was suprised to witness so many people there to participate in the afternoon's recitation session. We chanted the final portion of the Medicine Master Repantance, which took about two and a half hours. It was almost entirely unfamiliar to me, and as my Chinese reading skills are basically non-existent, I really had very little idea of what we were chanting about.

But the melodies of Chinese Buddhist chants are hauntingly beautiful. There is a considerable amount of musical variation over the course of the ceremony, but not so much that the music becomes distracting. Drums, bells, and chimes accompany a lively array of major and minor modes of the pentatonic scale, with tonal modulations and rhythmic changes at important points of transition in the text. In the Chinese tradition of Buddhism, recitation is seen as a centering spiritual practice akin to seated meditation. And indeed, there is a wonderfully subtle and serene meditative quality to the practice.

Officially, I first starting coming to Gold Mountain Monastery as part of a school project. But I will admit that I was attracted to finding such a place even before that project began. The temple represents a side of Buddhism that it at once deeply devotional and yet makes sense to me, as one who is familiar with the (healthy and unhealthly) skepticism of (primarily white) Western Buddhism. In a little more than a week I will be living about a block from the temple, so I may try to come more often.

After the service, one of the laywomen gestured for me to come to a meditation and study session being held upstairs with two of the resident nuns. The discussion, led by the nuns, took place in the mixture of Cantonese and Mandarin I have become accostomed to hearing. After trying to follow the discussion for a while by examining an English translation of the sutra passage that was the subject of the discussion, I spent a good while trying to formulate a question I had about the passage in Mandarin. In the end, I pretended that I didn't know a word of what was said.

I later wondered what would have happened had I asked the question. First of all, my pronunciation is likely too poor for me to have been understood, so I probably would been detracting from the overall flow of the discussion. But moreover, I wonder about the complex array of racial and cultural dynamics that were incumbent upon my entry into the room.

I feel spiritually nourished and at home at Gold Mountain Monastery, and I connect with the people there on that level, where words and cultural barriers are no longer of any great importance. But I am also curious of the racial and cultural dynamics of the situation. Why, for instance, were the laywomen so eager to have me come to the discussion? They are genuine and incredibly kind people, for sure, and I don't intend to discount that. But at the same time I can't be a young, white male and fit in on a certain level. How do people react to my coming to this temple? Am I always going to be an outsider?

Well, in any event, I really don't know. But I am certainly made more aware of the partularities of my race, my age and my upbringing. My identity does not only affect myself and my own perceptions, but also others and their own perceptions. When I see how each individual life, such as my own, exists only in the context of others, I get a sense of how mutually intertwined our lives really are. I take a breath, and smile.

Religious Dialogue

2005-05-17T20:02:00.000-07:00

As an independent project this year, me and another student have been conducting a comparative study of two religious congregations in San Francisco's Chinatown. As part of our research, we have been interviewing clergy and lay members at both places. Today was our last interview, with the pastor of the church. It was a remarkable interview on many levels, but it struck me deeply for a few reasons.

First of all, the pastor is wise, tender, brilliant, and open-minded-- a remarkable combination of characteristics in a religious person. His life story was quite compelling, and was very different from how I would have imagined that of Christian pastor to have been.

I came to Buddhism after a period of intense skepticism for religion in general. In my early childhood, my parents brought me and my brother to the local Presbyterian Church. My memories of this time are somewhat vague, but I do remember worship, Sunday school, and the music. I have not really repressed these memories, but I never really cherished them either, perhaps out of skepticism for religion. Christianity made no sense to me, and until recently, I have always felt this way.

Our conversations with the pastor today were illuminating. Although I am now familiar with his church and feel welcomed by the congregation, it was very heartwarming to see a man who faced many of the religious and philosophical questions, and probably many more, that I had faced. Like me, he said that he believes that truth is not limited to one particular religion or sect, and that it is indeed this kind of close-mindedness that has been responsible for many wars and an enormous amount of suffering. I am used to talking to fellow Buddhists who share such views, but it was quite inspiring to hear a Christian with such a tolerant and ecumenical attitude. I was very close-minded myself about Christianity, and the opportunity to have a conversation with this man allowed me to his religion from a new perspective.

What I was most impressed with about this man, however, was that I could be honest with him about my own spiritual aspirations and experiences. His living, loving faith encouraged me in my practice of mindfulness, and his commitment and dedication to service and justice inspired me to further my efforts. It seems to me that our greatest teachers are those who allow us to fully encompass and embrace who we are.

What are you doing?

2005-05-15T21:27:00.000-07:00

What am I doing with my life?

When I ask myself this question, it gives me an opportunity to see how closely my interpretation of my life matches up with what I am actually doing. That is, it forces me to make an effort to live honestly, earnestly, truthfully.

I notice that almost any activity can be worthwhile with the right attitude. What is this attitude? For me, it seems that when I am open-minded and not particularly attached to the merits or faults of an activity, I can proceed mindfully and with a spirit of inquiry, a willingness to learn. But I am not so good at keeping an open mind or maintaining mindfulness in all situations-- indeed, in any situation. For instance, writing or typing can be a very thoughtful and meaningful process, one that aids the process of finding meaning in life and peace with the world. But when it is done without care and mindful awareness, I find it to be a waste of time. The moments in which I can step back, relax, breathe, and be thoughful (rather than being controlled by my thoughts) are very precious because they are few and far between. I don't know if it is possible to always live mindfully, but I would like to try, even if I fail every time.

What I am doing with my life? What can I do that is truly worthwhile, of benefit to all? I don't have an answer to this yet, and I may never. It seems that I usually choose to do things that are benificial to me and that may or may not be benificial to others. But I don't think this is a question of morality or of human nature. It's a question of living moment by moment; slowly, but dearly. If I slow down and become attentive to my motivations and actions, I more often do things that help others, or at the very least do not hurt them.

What I am doing with my life? What are we doing with our life? The only way I can respond to these questions is to slow down and become aware and settled in the present.

Watermelon Meditation

2005-05-13T21:39:00.000-07:00

I often notice that my life unfolds in cyclical patterns. My ability to concentrate, the attention I pay to the present moment, the sense of appreciation I have for being alive-- all these come and go, ebbing and flowing in cycles. Sometimes I am swept up in a current of energy and lose control of life. Sometimes I find myself mired in thoughts of longing and discontent. Sometimes I wake up and my breath is right there at the tip of nose, my mind is clear, colors are vivid but my eyes are soft, my shoulders are relaxed, and a smile comes to my face-- this is how I want to live. When I wake up like this I wish that all people could be happy, healthy, and at peace.

Most of my thoughts are pretty useless. More than useless, even-- the way I react to them causes suffering. But I find when I remember to come back to the breath, during class, walking on the sidewalk, standing on a crowded bus, typing at the computer or any other moment of the day, I realize the futility of thinking in endless circles, mulling over the same few stories. Then I laugh at myself, or perhaps with myself, and smile. (breath)

From time to time, it can be useful to step back and take a look at what thoughts float around in my brain. I often think about what I'm going to do next. Or what I'm going to write next. This sort of thinking doesn't really create more suffering for me; in fact, it seems to a natural and necessary part of the beauty of human lucidity. But when I get annoyed at my own thinking, the annoyance is extra. Or when I get attached to particular thought, that cycle of thinking does not foster happiness. Thoughts by themselves come and go. I find that if a thought is really important, it will translate into action quickly. Thoughts that I tend to dwell produce a tangled web of thoughts from which it is easy for me to lose a sense of well-being. Whoa! That was confusing to write about! (breath) Maybe I don't understand my mind at all.

Now, I appreciate being able to think; I appreciate my thoughts. But I do find it wonderful to be able to step back from my own thinking and return to what it actually happening. (breath)

Perhaps what I'm writing makes no sense. But the real point is that I feel that I have been away for a long time, maybe since August, maybe for my whole life, maybe for a very, very long time. I've certainly been going to school, enjoying the people around me, laughing, playing music, singing, and other things, but I do not feel like I have been here, in touch my the inklings in my heart, with my deepest intention. I want to come back. I want to return, to be alive, awake in each moment.

I don't really have any regrets about how I have been living, however. My teachers--humans, animals, plants-- always inspire me to live more truly to what the heart says. I endeavor to spend more time with trees and flowers, more time breathing with the wind, walking with the sky. When I say "more time," I don't mean more actual time, as the clock tells it, but more "real" time, time spent in touch with reality. (breath)

But my life so often seems to go in cycles. For a while, I feel in touch with the world, in touch with the miracle of life. But then I forget, and I suffer, not on the outside, where I am almost always enjoying myself and other people, but on the inside, where I notice my spiritual energy waning, where I notice my attention fading. This kind of suffering is not really a big deal-- it is not physical suffering, it is not emotional suffering. But it seems it might be at the root of both. This suffering is like a vague sense of discontent, of loneliness, of restlessness. When I become aware of this deep level of suffering, I feel motivated to return to its source and discover the cause. I don't know what the cause is. But I wake up from my thinking and tune into this suffering.

If it is such a gift to be alive, why are we not happy all the time?

Watermelon!
Watermelon!
(To feel better, visualize a watermelon. Watermelons are really big!)

Maybe happy is not the right word. Why are we not at peace?

(breath)