Master Prum Ut

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

More on life as a monk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.