I am now approaching the end of my time as a monk here, after nearly five months in robes. I am not sure how I will cope with the adjust back to lay life, but right now I am trying to appreciate these last few weeks.
To ordain as a novice monk in the Theravada tradition means to shave one’s head and eyebrows, don the monastic robes, take refuge in one’s preceptor and in the Buddha, the teaching, and the community, and vow to follow ten major precepts, 30 minor precepts, and 75 rules of training, as well as many other rules and conventions which organize monastic life and the behavior of monks.
I am now residing at Wat Campuh K’aek, a rural temple close to Phnom Penh, and am now focusing mostly on learning the ancient chants preserved in the tradition there, rather than the meditation I was focusing on when I was a monk in Siem Reap. It was a difficult transition at first, but I growing in appreciation for this community.
Every day I am vividly reminded of how my life is intimately supported by the kindness of other living beings. When I make mistakes, people are forgiving and willing to smile and laugh with me. When I lose something they gather to help me search and expect nothing in return. All day I receive gifts—smiles, greetings, toothbrushes, jackfruit, unexpected visits, unexpected help. I don’t know hoe to repay all this. I am only constantly reminded to be a good person, not only on the outside, but also to transform whatever unwholesome energies are present within me, that so that wisdom and compassion have a chance to grow and blossom. This may be the work of thousands of year, but it is, after all, the purpose of becoming a monk or nun.
The precepts and discipline of the monastic life are invariably illuminating my bad habits, and my hidden greed, hatred and delusion. The precepts themselves are a precious treasure of mindfulness. There have been times when I have struggled to follow them, thinking that they were too detailed and restrictive or desiring to follow my old cherished habits. But when I take time to step back and reflect, I am very grateful for the discipline and the support of the monastic community.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Nissaya, part three
The following is a continuation of the previous two posts.
Many others talked about my nissaya in different ways. A Khmer American, Arn Chorn-Pond, after I given a talk on the funeral chanting I was studying to a group of foreigners at a hill temple near Prum Ut’s village, said to me, “I am not Buddhist. My adoptive father is a Christian minister, and I don’t consider myself religious. But in Khmer we say that maybe you have nissaya, “destiny,” for this place. Maybe you were a monk here in times past, and that coming back here to study Buddhism and these chants is your destiny.” This incident revealed to me that the concept of nissaya is so important to Khmer culture to even non-Buddhists and those who have spent most of their lives abroad still affirm its meaing. Arn’s words also point to the possibility that nissaya can refer to places and landscapes, not only to people and relationships.
Once I actually became a monk, encounters with laypeople proved to be an especially rich ground for learning about nissaya. The delightful older generation of pious Buddhist believers in Cambodian—old men and women dressed simply in black and white who live mostly at the temple—often had strong reactions to seeing me in saffron robes. I can recall many occasions where an elderly stranger would walk up to me when I was in meditation, take me by the hand or grasp my forearms, look deeply into my eyes and say, “Oh, his nissaya is very strong,” not seeming to care whether or not I understood their language or not.
There were, of course, many more people who laughed, cursed, quietly giggled, stared, pointed or did not dare to speak with me. But my memory of those who approached me, with bright eyes and wide smiles, is much stronger. Their faith was not really about me as an individual, but rather for the robes and the religion, and their respect to me was simply part of faith rather than an explanation about my supposed spiritual progress. But in almost every case, these laypeople, and even some monks, brought up nissaya as the only explanation for my presence. I remember that when I went walking in Phnom Penh, even when I was not specifically going out to beg for food, laypeople would approach me and offer requisites, saying "there is nissaya." It was never entirely clear that they were talking about the nissaya they saw in me, or simply that they felt we had nissaya together. In a way, however, the two interpretations are not fundamentally different. To give is to build nissaya with someone we respect, and to give may also be an expression of our previous connection.
This more open interpretation of nissaya was revealed in other instances as well. My other chanting teacher, Keot Ran, was perhaps the most intimate in her treatment of nissaya. She would always call me “Venerable Child” or “Venerable Son,” and would about how my presence inspired her to develop her “bright and clear” heart for the Dharma. She also lamented, due to here blindness, that she could not see me in my robes. And she spoke with such gentleness and fervent respect that I was often moved to tears by her presence. No had ever respected me in such a way before, and even though I never it came from a sense of intimate connection rather than an attempt to put me on a pedestal, it was still very difficult to receive, because it was so sincere and rooted in a common Dharma. In a way, nissaya was the linking concept between my spiritual journey and my research in Cambodia. Yet the Cambodians around me insisted that nissaya was not the linking concept in this case; for them, it was a real and tangible link, one that connected them and their own spiritual paths to my own. Our connections burrow into the past like intertwined roots and stretch into the future like branches, and in the present, I am learning to call this whole tree nissaya, something which is alive and nourishing to all.
Many others talked about my nissaya in different ways. A Khmer American, Arn Chorn-Pond, after I given a talk on the funeral chanting I was studying to a group of foreigners at a hill temple near Prum Ut’s village, said to me, “I am not Buddhist. My adoptive father is a Christian minister, and I don’t consider myself religious. But in Khmer we say that maybe you have nissaya, “destiny,” for this place. Maybe you were a monk here in times past, and that coming back here to study Buddhism and these chants is your destiny.” This incident revealed to me that the concept of nissaya is so important to Khmer culture to even non-Buddhists and those who have spent most of their lives abroad still affirm its meaing. Arn’s words also point to the possibility that nissaya can refer to places and landscapes, not only to people and relationships.
Once I actually became a monk, encounters with laypeople proved to be an especially rich ground for learning about nissaya. The delightful older generation of pious Buddhist believers in Cambodian—old men and women dressed simply in black and white who live mostly at the temple—often had strong reactions to seeing me in saffron robes. I can recall many occasions where an elderly stranger would walk up to me when I was in meditation, take me by the hand or grasp my forearms, look deeply into my eyes and say, “Oh, his nissaya is very strong,” not seeming to care whether or not I understood their language or not.
There were, of course, many more people who laughed, cursed, quietly giggled, stared, pointed or did not dare to speak with me. But my memory of those who approached me, with bright eyes and wide smiles, is much stronger. Their faith was not really about me as an individual, but rather for the robes and the religion, and their respect to me was simply part of faith rather than an explanation about my supposed spiritual progress. But in almost every case, these laypeople, and even some monks, brought up nissaya as the only explanation for my presence. I remember that when I went walking in Phnom Penh, even when I was not specifically going out to beg for food, laypeople would approach me and offer requisites, saying "there is nissaya." It was never entirely clear that they were talking about the nissaya they saw in me, or simply that they felt we had nissaya together. In a way, however, the two interpretations are not fundamentally different. To give is to build nissaya with someone we respect, and to give may also be an expression of our previous connection.
This more open interpretation of nissaya was revealed in other instances as well. My other chanting teacher, Keot Ran, was perhaps the most intimate in her treatment of nissaya. She would always call me “Venerable Child” or “Venerable Son,” and would about how my presence inspired her to develop her “bright and clear” heart for the Dharma. She also lamented, due to here blindness, that she could not see me in my robes. And she spoke with such gentleness and fervent respect that I was often moved to tears by her presence. No had ever respected me in such a way before, and even though I never it came from a sense of intimate connection rather than an attempt to put me on a pedestal, it was still very difficult to receive, because it was so sincere and rooted in a common Dharma. In a way, nissaya was the linking concept between my spiritual journey and my research in Cambodia. Yet the Cambodians around me insisted that nissaya was not the linking concept in this case; for them, it was a real and tangible link, one that connected them and their own spiritual paths to my own. Our connections burrow into the past like intertwined roots and stretch into the future like branches, and in the present, I am learning to call this whole tree nissaya, something which is alive and nourishing to all.
Nissaya, part two
The following is a continuation of the previous post, "Nissaya, part one."
A month later, I began to live full-time with Master Prum Ut and his family. He always seemed especially proud of the fact that I was going to become a monk, and would mention occasionally to relatives and visitors that I had nissaya. From my point of view, it was hard to tell where he got this idea from, whether it was a quality in my personality or simply that I was young, a foreigner and captivated by Buddhism. But he sensed it nonetheless, and seemed to be moved by it. None of his six sons had ever ordained as a monk, and the addition of me to the family seemed to provide another opportunity. He taught me the rudimentary Pali chants, required for monastic ordination, with vigor and enthusiasm. I felt like I had a hard time learning them because they were difficult to pronounce and had no meaning for me as I had never studied Pali. But he said I learned them faster than anyone he had ever known, and rather than attributing this to a simple gift of memory, he pointed to my supposed nissaya. I tried hard not to believe, but his insistence on this point still had an effect on me. I was worried that it would foster false pride and vanity, but it certain ways it began to effect a moral transformation. I knew, from a spiritual perspective, that if in this life I had good roots, was a human being and had a chance to meet the Buddha’s teaching and become a monk, then I should be very careful not to waste this life.
One incident that illuminated this for me occurred during a chanting class in the village one afternoon. I was sitting close to my master as he was writing at the board that was hung at the front of the class. Feeling an unusual sensation, I glanced down at my hand and noticed that a beautiful green hing, a Cambodian amphibian somewhat between a frog and a toad, had wrapped itself around one of my fingers. I felt its warmth and a big smile burst out on my lips. Prum Ut noticed and said, slightly under his breath, “His nissaya must be very strong. Even the animals love him.” I could not help but be moved by such a statement, even though it was inherently unbelievable. My master even took my vegetarian diet as a sign of nissaya, when I mostly understood to be “Mahayana (or Northern Buddhist) cultural baggage.” But I began to take the signs he gave me as a signal that I should really wake up. I knew that if me nissaya was indeed strong, I could have taken the opportunity the amphibian creature gave to me to really wake up and transform my habit energies. But transformation is a slow process, one that in Buddhism is said to take place over many lifetimes.
My ordination stills seems to have been the most important day in my life, even though I knew it to be temporary. Buddhism felt very real and alive that day, and all the liberative taste of the Dharma was present for me. I did not seem like the stale, ritualized, politicized form of Buddhism I was used to seeing in Cambodia. During the ceremony, the Ven. Pin Sem, my teacher and preceptor, gave a short speech, which may have been translated into English for the benefit of the foreigners present at the event, though I do not remember clearly. I do, however, remember the gentleness of his words, and his “warm hand to warm hand” welcome into the Buddha’s family. Though I admit I do not recall this point, Prum Ut recalled that the Ven. Pin Sem had said that my karma, my nissaya, was that of the leader of all nations, and that this day is very important for Buddhism, one that is unprecedented in our (Khmer) history.” I only heard from my master Prum Ut several months after my ordination, and promptly considered it to be one of the largest exaggerations I had ever heard. After all, it was not something I ever could live up to. But I knew Prum Ut was not lying, and that he clearly believed. All this made me feel as if I had a enormous debt to pay to my parents, teachers, friends and all beings.
However, my master’s words about nissaya were much more revealing about his personality than my own, and through him I developed a much clearer sense of the important place of nissaya in Khmer culture.
A month later, I began to live full-time with Master Prum Ut and his family. He always seemed especially proud of the fact that I was going to become a monk, and would mention occasionally to relatives and visitors that I had nissaya. From my point of view, it was hard to tell where he got this idea from, whether it was a quality in my personality or simply that I was young, a foreigner and captivated by Buddhism. But he sensed it nonetheless, and seemed to be moved by it. None of his six sons had ever ordained as a monk, and the addition of me to the family seemed to provide another opportunity. He taught me the rudimentary Pali chants, required for monastic ordination, with vigor and enthusiasm. I felt like I had a hard time learning them because they were difficult to pronounce and had no meaning for me as I had never studied Pali. But he said I learned them faster than anyone he had ever known, and rather than attributing this to a simple gift of memory, he pointed to my supposed nissaya. I tried hard not to believe, but his insistence on this point still had an effect on me. I was worried that it would foster false pride and vanity, but it certain ways it began to effect a moral transformation. I knew, from a spiritual perspective, that if in this life I had good roots, was a human being and had a chance to meet the Buddha’s teaching and become a monk, then I should be very careful not to waste this life.
One incident that illuminated this for me occurred during a chanting class in the village one afternoon. I was sitting close to my master as he was writing at the board that was hung at the front of the class. Feeling an unusual sensation, I glanced down at my hand and noticed that a beautiful green hing, a Cambodian amphibian somewhat between a frog and a toad, had wrapped itself around one of my fingers. I felt its warmth and a big smile burst out on my lips. Prum Ut noticed and said, slightly under his breath, “His nissaya must be very strong. Even the animals love him.” I could not help but be moved by such a statement, even though it was inherently unbelievable. My master even took my vegetarian diet as a sign of nissaya, when I mostly understood to be “Mahayana (or Northern Buddhist) cultural baggage.” But I began to take the signs he gave me as a signal that I should really wake up. I knew that if me nissaya was indeed strong, I could have taken the opportunity the amphibian creature gave to me to really wake up and transform my habit energies. But transformation is a slow process, one that in Buddhism is said to take place over many lifetimes.
My ordination stills seems to have been the most important day in my life, even though I knew it to be temporary. Buddhism felt very real and alive that day, and all the liberative taste of the Dharma was present for me. I did not seem like the stale, ritualized, politicized form of Buddhism I was used to seeing in Cambodia. During the ceremony, the Ven. Pin Sem, my teacher and preceptor, gave a short speech, which may have been translated into English for the benefit of the foreigners present at the event, though I do not remember clearly. I do, however, remember the gentleness of his words, and his “warm hand to warm hand” welcome into the Buddha’s family. Though I admit I do not recall this point, Prum Ut recalled that the Ven. Pin Sem had said that my karma, my nissaya, was that of the leader of all nations, and that this day is very important for Buddhism, one that is unprecedented in our (Khmer) history.” I only heard from my master Prum Ut several months after my ordination, and promptly considered it to be one of the largest exaggerations I had ever heard. After all, it was not something I ever could live up to. But I knew Prum Ut was not lying, and that he clearly believed. All this made me feel as if I had a enormous debt to pay to my parents, teachers, friends and all beings.
However, my master’s words about nissaya were much more revealing about his personality than my own, and through him I developed a much clearer sense of the important place of nissaya in Khmer culture.
Nissaya, part one
The following is a draft, or rather a collection of musings pretending to be a draft, of an personal/academic essay I'm working on about the concept of nissaya in Cambodian religion and culture.
A word that has come up again and again in my journeys through Buddhism in Cambodia, is nissaya, a Pali word that has entered the Khmer language, most often translated as "destiny" or "fate." Most people I talked with tended to stick to this translation, which connects the term to a whole mess of Western concepts and superstitions, which may not be entirely relevant to Cambodian cultureFrom a strictly Buddhist perspective, however, I would tend towards translating the word as "affinity," especially as a karmic affinity for the teachings of the Buddha, or the Dharma.
In Buddhist scriptures, the simile of a lotus pond appears: some plants are still deep in the mud, some have emerged from the mud but lie deep below the surface of the water, others are close to the surface but their flowers have not yet opened, and others have burst forth into the sunlight, unstained by mud or water. This is a simile for our journey on the path to enlightenment, or how far our nissaya, or karmic affinities, in past lives have taken us along this path. If we are close to the surface, we can see the Dharma clearly, and it is easy to practice. Thus our nissaya is said to be strong; through cultivation of the heart over many lifetimes, we have developed far along the path. If we are still buried deep in the mud of our defilement, then it will be very difficult for the light of the Dharma to reach us. Thus our nissaya is said to be weak, and we have not yet had the chance to cultivate our heart to its fullest potential.
From some perspectives, the crux of Buddhism is the teaching of cause and effect; According to the Buddhist teaching of karma (which means "action," specifically volitional action), our position in this life is the result of our deeds in the past. If the dominant effect is wholesome, then may be born such that we can see the Dharma clearly and without obstructions. If the dominant effect is unwholesome, then we will likely go further into the mud. In this simile, the position of the lotus plant in the pond refers to our spiritual potential, or how clear our vision of the Dharma is.
But in traditional Cambodian Buddhist society, it can also mean our worldly rank, prestige, beauty or intelligence. However, the word nissaya encompasses still broader meanings. It can also mean "fate" in the sense that who we meet in this life corresponds to events or previous relationships in past lives. This fate can be in a worldly sense, as in the fate of lovers or even friends, or in a spiritual sense, as in the connection between spiritual teachers and their disciples, or even to a sacred place, temple or landscape. Furthermore, the Buddhist monastic code treats nissaya as "dependence" or "reliance," referring to the commitment a disciple makes to depend upon his mentor. In the ordination ceremony for Theravada Buddhist monks in Cambodia, newly-ordained monks ask for nissaya from their teacher after receiving the precepts to complete the ceremony.
In any event, nissaya falls beyond our normal perception. It is a special quantity, one that we may not immediately consider or recognize. In Cambodia, it is almost always used in the positive, meaning our good roots, rather than the effects of karmic retribution. Thus is person is said to "have nissaya" if she exhibits a natural gift for spiritual things. In this essay, I will explore some of the ways in which this key concept has pervaded my experience of Buddhism in Cambodia, and how my experiences reveal the nature of nissaya in Cambodian society.
When I first went to Master Prum Ut’s smot class in Kompong Speu Province during late September, 2005, I had a feeling of welcome and familiarity that is hard to describe. My Khmer was very limited at that time, and I remember my friend Sambor, who was translating for me at that time, kept goading me on to speech the language with the master and his students—I could barely speak two words before having to stop and ask Sambor for help again. But Prum Ut’s stateliness and serene smile immediately brought my heart to ease and the motherly and intimate welcome of his assistant master, Keot Ran, shook me to my senses. I felt complete confidence in a journey I really knew nothing about, a journey that soon brought me to move to the countryside to live with Prum Ut and my master’s family, to study esoteric chanting in a language I had only studied for a few months. In my mind, I did not consider that karmic connection as factor; I only knew that the chanting had interested me, which in Khmer would be translated as “it had captured my consciousness.” But in truth, I did trust the Dharma on that occasion and I knew that this journey was in the realm of Buddhism, and that if I practiced and studied sincerely, I would not need to worry about where I would end up.
A word that has come up again and again in my journeys through Buddhism in Cambodia, is nissaya, a Pali word that has entered the Khmer language, most often translated as "destiny" or "fate." Most people I talked with tended to stick to this translation, which connects the term to a whole mess of Western concepts and superstitions, which may not be entirely relevant to Cambodian cultureFrom a strictly Buddhist perspective, however, I would tend towards translating the word as "affinity," especially as a karmic affinity for the teachings of the Buddha, or the Dharma.
In Buddhist scriptures, the simile of a lotus pond appears: some plants are still deep in the mud, some have emerged from the mud but lie deep below the surface of the water, others are close to the surface but their flowers have not yet opened, and others have burst forth into the sunlight, unstained by mud or water. This is a simile for our journey on the path to enlightenment, or how far our nissaya, or karmic affinities, in past lives have taken us along this path. If we are close to the surface, we can see the Dharma clearly, and it is easy to practice. Thus our nissaya is said to be strong; through cultivation of the heart over many lifetimes, we have developed far along the path. If we are still buried deep in the mud of our defilement, then it will be very difficult for the light of the Dharma to reach us. Thus our nissaya is said to be weak, and we have not yet had the chance to cultivate our heart to its fullest potential.
From some perspectives, the crux of Buddhism is the teaching of cause and effect; According to the Buddhist teaching of karma (which means "action," specifically volitional action), our position in this life is the result of our deeds in the past. If the dominant effect is wholesome, then may be born such that we can see the Dharma clearly and without obstructions. If the dominant effect is unwholesome, then we will likely go further into the mud. In this simile, the position of the lotus plant in the pond refers to our spiritual potential, or how clear our vision of the Dharma is.
But in traditional Cambodian Buddhist society, it can also mean our worldly rank, prestige, beauty or intelligence. However, the word nissaya encompasses still broader meanings. It can also mean "fate" in the sense that who we meet in this life corresponds to events or previous relationships in past lives. This fate can be in a worldly sense, as in the fate of lovers or even friends, or in a spiritual sense, as in the connection between spiritual teachers and their disciples, or even to a sacred place, temple or landscape. Furthermore, the Buddhist monastic code treats nissaya as "dependence" or "reliance," referring to the commitment a disciple makes to depend upon his mentor. In the ordination ceremony for Theravada Buddhist monks in Cambodia, newly-ordained monks ask for nissaya from their teacher after receiving the precepts to complete the ceremony.
In any event, nissaya falls beyond our normal perception. It is a special quantity, one that we may not immediately consider or recognize. In Cambodia, it is almost always used in the positive, meaning our good roots, rather than the effects of karmic retribution. Thus is person is said to "have nissaya" if she exhibits a natural gift for spiritual things. In this essay, I will explore some of the ways in which this key concept has pervaded my experience of Buddhism in Cambodia, and how my experiences reveal the nature of nissaya in Cambodian society.
When I first went to Master Prum Ut’s smot class in Kompong Speu Province during late September, 2005, I had a feeling of welcome and familiarity that is hard to describe. My Khmer was very limited at that time, and I remember my friend Sambor, who was translating for me at that time, kept goading me on to speech the language with the master and his students—I could barely speak two words before having to stop and ask Sambor for help again. But Prum Ut’s stateliness and serene smile immediately brought my heart to ease and the motherly and intimate welcome of his assistant master, Keot Ran, shook me to my senses. I felt complete confidence in a journey I really knew nothing about, a journey that soon brought me to move to the countryside to live with Prum Ut and my master’s family, to study esoteric chanting in a language I had only studied for a few months. In my mind, I did not consider that karmic connection as factor; I only knew that the chanting had interested me, which in Khmer would be translated as “it had captured my consciousness.” But in truth, I did trust the Dharma on that occasion and I knew that this journey was in the realm of Buddhism, and that if I practiced and studied sincerely, I would not need to worry about where I would end up.
Monday, May 29, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, February 10, 2006
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.
May you and all beings be filled with loving-kindness, peace, well-being and happiness.
Monday, January 23, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
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.
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.
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