the one-eyed traveller » monastery

Young Tibetan Monk Eating Egg

John Holman — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 20:09:09 +0000

Protein is often at a premium in the Tibetan monasteries I’ve visited. The Dalai Lama has asked monks to become vegetarian but Tibetans love meat and so many resist. Around Tibetan New Year (Losar) monks receive a variety of food and sweets they don’t get at other times. This young monk was happy eating egg.

Mulagandhakuti Vihara Temple

John Holman — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 06:00:17 +0000

History says, Gautama Buddha travelled from Bodhgaya to Sarnath after his enlightenment to find his five former companions. He found them and the Dhamek stupa commemorates the spot in the Deer Park where Buddha gave his first sermon, the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta, to these five monks.

Buddha spent his first rainy season in Sarnath and the ruins of the old Mulagandhakuti vihara supposedly marks that place.

The modern Mulagandhakuti Vihara Temple was built in the 1930s by the Sri Lankan Mahabodhi Society. Behind it is the Deer Park (still with deer) and alongside it is the impressive Dhamek stupa.

Red Dot on an Old Geezer

John Holman — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 04:20:29 +0000

Inge took this shot a few years back when I travelled to met her in Tibet. She’d been living and working in a town called Ganzi (Karze if you’re Tibetan) teaching English at a free school. I’d arrived the day before — it had taken me 5 days to get there from Sydney.

She took this shot while we were walking back from the main Ganzi monastery after receiving a surprise blessing — hence the red dot. Ganzi is 3,800 meters above sea level and I remember being rather puffed.

As I look at the photo now, I see is a tired, puffy-faced old geezer who’s looking forward to a beer.

The poem is a favourite. I obviously think it applies.

a warning to my readers

by Wendell Berry

Do not think me gentle
because I speak in praise
of gentleness, or elegant
because I honor the grace
that keeps this world. I am
a man crude as any,
gross of speech, intolerant,
stubborn, angry, full
of fits and furies. That I
may have spoken well
at times, is not natural.
A wonder is what it is.

The path to enlightenment begins

John Holman — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 19:23:25 +0000

The monk is six years old and is part of a Losar (Tibetan New Year) ceremony. He joined the monastery a few weeks before I took this photo.

Namdroling Monastery

John Holman — Mon, 07 Jan 2008 20:13:15 +0000

This shot was taken during a Losar (Tibetan New Year) ceremony in 2003. I’d just had a cup of tea with HH Penor Rinpoche and then went for a look at the temple. I took this shot on a film camera and then scanned it on a crappy scanner. Hence the less than pristine quality. There is something I’ve always liked about the shot — probably those horns.

Buddha Sakyamuni

John Holman — Mon, 26 Mar 2007 07:28:57 +0000

This statue of Sakyamuni Buddha — by the way I just found out that Sakyamuni Buddha means sage or wise man of the Shakyas — is in the new Kagyu monastery in Bylakuppe, which is near Mysore, South India.

Sakyamuni Buddha statues are often shown with the Buddha meditating and with his hands in one of three ways: His right hand may touch the earth signifying his realization of spiritual discovery as in my snapshot; both hands may be in his lap, palms turned upward as in meditation; or both hands may be near his chest, symbolic of the delivery of his sermon, ‘The Wheel of Truth.’ Amazing what you can learn on the Internet.

The end of solitude

John Holman — Tue, 16 Jan 2007 21:58:51 +0000

flash fiction by John Holman

His head newly shaven, he walks to the temple with a slow, regal demeanour. Each stride measured, each footfall quiet on the fine gravel path. His hands are soft and warm. His fingers entwined like tender lovers resting in some quiet ritual togetherness.

A misty rain falls. Feather-like droplets touch his ageing face but he is unconcerned with rain. He stops as he sees the temple rooftop appear above the trees — bright terracotta and angular, cutting the grey mist with waves of orange and specks of gold.

He hears the low rhythmic chanting of monks at prayer, a drumbeat and a frog whose call has a sadness that seems to match his own. And in the distance, he hears the faint step of a sandalled monk approach.
March had been cold and April even colder. No snow, just cold wind and a rain that had seeped inside of him, filling his lungs and his heart.

“Welcome home, Master.”

He smiles and bows his head but does not reply, preferring to hold back, to enjoy his silence a moment longer. He waits, listening as the monk’s tread slowly fades.

Again there is chanting, a bell sounds once, twice, three times and as he listens to its vibrations rise and fall like the waves of an endless ocean in an endless universe, he hears the frog call again.

“You know me old frog, but I know you too,” he says. His months of silence and solitude ended. Soon he would follow the monk to the temple and sit — just sit.

Mature and also Immature

John Holman — Mon, 27 Nov 2006 10:08:57 +0000

Monks Playing Cricket

John Holman — Mon, 09 Oct 2006 00:01:51 +0000

One hot afternoon I stood in the shade of a tree (no, it wasn’t a Bodhi tree) watching monks playing cricket. There were about ten of them out back of the monastery — down near the fence and away from the prying eyes of the head monk. Not that he would have minded I bet.

Two Young Monks

John Holman — Sat, 07 Oct 2006 23:02:37 +0000

They begin life at a monastery aged six or seven. I’ve watched them arrive — apprehensive, scared — clinging to the older monk who is charged with looking after them. A few days later they are like most young kids — happy, carefree and resilient.

Ahead, school and lessons, prayers and chanting and lots of chores. The life of a Vajrayana monk seems both tough and sweet.

Some go through the system and on to a monk style university. Some leave as soon as they can — usually in their late teens — the desire to partake of a western lifestyle too enticing. Many do remain monks (and nuns) all their lives but like all religions the young want iPods, to wear cool clothes and to be free.

Pity they don’t understand that freedom is not a fast car and a cool pair of jeans.