Another Buddhist Temple.

A lovely sunny April afternoon in British suburbia. A motorcycle backfires interrupting the sounds of children playing. The drone of lawnmowers constant. One stops, another one fires up. The monetary lapse in between reveals the sound of a hoover wafting out of next door’s window. Sun-starved pasty white arms catch my eye as the man of the house soaps down his car. His little boy squealing with delight running under the hose spray. I was not used to hearing and seeing so many people busying about their day in much the same way. What is remarkable is that at the very end of this active street is a place of quiet. Taking a walk the other day checking out my surroundings I came face to face with a street sign, ‘Buddhist Temple’, pointing straight ahead. I had no idea that I was going to be housesitting once again so close to a Buddhist Centre. First France and now England. Unbelievable. It has been very strange how Buddhism seems to be following me around, popping up at my places of housesitting…wether a temple or monks strolling by in front of me and most often- ornamental Buddhas strategically placed in the gardens or inside of the various homes. There seems to be a pattern forming. At the homes that have a Buddhist influence there is a healing, sometimes a profound experience that helps me to navigate through the grief and into this new life of mine. Crossing the road to check out this newest Buddhist encounter, the temple, I hear a voice. Two monks with huge smiles were coming towards me. After a friendly greeting they told me about their upcoming celebration on Sunday called Songkran – the Thai New Year. They appeared very excited, ” Why don’t you come tomorrow? Celebrate our New Year with us. This is our first Songkran here at our new temple. It starts with a meditation at 9am.” They seemed so eager to hear me say yes, so feeling honoured, I graciously accepted their invitation.

Entering the building, adding my shoes to the many neatly paired shoes, I stepped through the door into a magnificent room. It spoke of wealth, not what I was expecting, nothing like the Buddhist centre in rural France. The sprawling highly polished floor space was covered with rows and rows of royal blue mats; a cushion and a neatly folded white cloth carefully placed beside each. At the front of the room was an enormous gold Buddha. Beautiful flowers arranged around the altar with a sign, ‘ MONKS ONLY ‘. This gave me an inner chuckle. Standing there trying to take it all in I began to notice stares of curiousity. I became aware how I must stick out: pale, freckled, red hair amongst the rest – darker skinned black-haired. I began feeling uneasy, out of place, wondering if I should leave. A tall saffron robed monk suddenly appeared to my right. Amazing how this happened as I didn’t see him in any of my visual fields. He was just there. What a comforting reassuring feeling it was as he smiled and softly said, ” Welcome.” I noticed his thick socks on his feet and thought that is how he snuck up on me. He asked me if this was my first time here. “Yes”, I nodded smiling back at him. He asked me about my home. He looked very happy as I told him that I was from Canada and had arrived to Knaphill to housesit. He seemed such a kind gentle man. The monk explained that this was a very important day. “It is our day to honour relatives that have died and we send prayers to them.” My heart leapt and raced. Oh no! I thought it was a New Years do. The monk said “Come”, as he gestured with an open arm, leading me over to several tables laden with framed photos of relatives. They were mostly parents that had died. He gently picked up the framed photographs of his father, one when he was young, the other taken just before he had died. Holding them he gently spoke to me about his father and how his father had not wanted his son to be a monk. He reached over to a pile of forms. Passing one to me, all in Thai writing, he pointed to a line saying this is where you write your dead relative’s name and this is where you write your name. Well that was it, I was done…tears started streaming and I heard my shaky voice, “Oh sorry,” as I rummaged through my pockets for tissues, “but my son died. That is how I ended up here.” He just looked at me, didn’t say anything. I don’t think he was expecting that. Actually neither was I. He continued to just look at me; no words. People were now coming over to him lowering themselves, bowing to him, some on their knees, hands in prayer position. He said to me, “Fill this form out and I will take it to the altar for you where blessings will be made.” He passed me a pen. He waited. I wrote Fiona on the line for the living and Jason (son) and Conor (brother) on the lines for deceased. My heart hurt. I heard Jason’s voice, ‘You can do it Mum.’ Jason would have thought that was really cool having monks saying prayers and blessings for him. People were taking their forms up to the altar. I felt very privileged having this monk delivering mine. I sat on a mat. My neighbour showed me to how to place the white cloth over my knees. Lovely smiles and welcomes around me. Prayers and meditation began. Such an amazing feeling in this room with all of these people. I soon caught on to the bowing three times to the Buddha and monks. The bowing done in between prayers. The monks ( all 4 of them) began to chant. It was so beautiful. Although I didn’t have a clue what was being said I just let it wash over me. So calming, filling my heart. I recalled how after Jason died the only thing I could listen to was a CD of Gregorian chants by a group of Cistercian monks. I had forgotten all about that until this moment and how weird that here I was two years later in front of these 4 chanting Buddhist monks. I realized how far I had come and really that is all that matters despite what others say. The very fact that I am up off my bedroom floor and now sitting here is powerful. No idea that six months further on from this Buddhist temple I would find myself sitting in an Irish benedictine monastery, the Glenstal Abbey, looking onto 30 or more monks singing the evening vespers in Latin followed by the mystical sound of the Gregorian chant. No idea at the time of accepting a housesit in Limerick that this was only 20 mins away. Wether chance or design?

An announcement was made to say that offerings to the monks would now be done outside. I must have had a puzzled look across my face as a Thai woman nestled right up beside me, kneeled down and whispered in my ear, “Do you have your offering?”, her eyes motioning mine over to the rows of red and white gift bags at the side of the room. I had noticed the bags earlier and I thought they must be take home gifts for certain people. She explained that for a donation of £10 I could have a gift bag which held Thai food items. I handed over the money thinking the money was my donation(offering) as I peeked inside the bag oohing and aahing. Jars and packages of Thai goodies for cooking. I was excited thinking I can take these over to France for my friend Lucie, a gourmet cook. I was lifting the bag up and down trying to guess the weight thinking of my luggage allowance when I noticed a few of them looking at me quite strangely. I said, “Oh, I am seeing how heavy the bag is to take this on the airplane.” With horrified faces they tried several times to make me understand this was the offering to the monks..there are 8 items in the bag – 4 monks- you give each monk 2 items. OMG I thought I had bought these. They guided me outside like a child to show me what to do, all the while excitedly chattering away in Thai amongst themselves. Ha how I wished I understood Thai.

The four monks were sitting on their chairs, a large bowl on their lap. A long line of people on either side of them. I found a spot, squeezed in and sat down on the grass clutching my purchased bag of offerings. As each monk approached we were to place two items in their bowl. Once their bowl was full which was very quickly they would empty them into a large hamper. As ‘my’ monk came close to me I reached out to put a nice box of teas and a lovely looking sauce into his bowl. I felt my arm being pulled back. “No! You must give to the senior monk first, then you may give to him (my monk) .” This was the action and voice of the girl in the pink shirt sitting beside me. She was very sweet and filled me in play by play with what was happening. She proceeded to tell me about her Mum and her brother who had died and how previously she had always flown over to Thailand for Songkran to honour them but this year she had made the 3 hour drive to come here; she was glad she did. She showed me pictures of her Mum and brother on her iPhone and showed me a picture of her lighting candles in the temple in Thailand. It was so special that she shared this with me and I told her that. She was curious about me, how did I arrive here? Next thing I am telling her about Jason and how I had left my home in September and am still away. She was so compassionate and gently rubbed my back. I will never forget that exchange. After the monks had collected all of their goods it was announced it was now time to sample the many prepared Thai dishes that a group of eccentric Thai women had prepared. It was such a lovely warm spring day, people sitting on the grass, everyone enjoying the food and one another’s company. Some of the women started dancing which was entertaining. A striking Thai woman with a red headdress was doing the traditional Thai dance and it was mesmerizing to watch her. Then….the bubble burst… she spoke and out came this rough cockney accent, it didn’t fit at all and it took me a few minutes to convince my brain that the voice and the body belonged to each other. Funny really.

I was standing watching young and old building sandcastles beautifully decorated with flowers when I saw the monk (my monk) coming towards me smiling asking me if I was enjoying everything. I told him how wonderful this was and to be here. Not sure how I got to asking this but I asked him how long he had been a monk. He told me that this was his second time being a monk. First time was only for a year in Thailand. Before that, he was a scientist with a degree in Chemistry. He told me how much he loved university, doing the experiments, mixing things, but once he got out into the real world with a job, working, he quickly became bored. He was not fulfilled, something was missing. This is when he joined the monkhood the first time. He is 3rd generation Thai but his family is from a Chinese background which I thought I could see in his facial features. He told me how his parents were very unhappy about their son becoming a monk, they wanted him to be able to have nice things and have a life of opportunities. Subsequently he left the monkhood after a year. This made his parents happy. Now that he was back in the normal stream of life again he thought what will I do? I know, I will be a businessman and that’s what he did and owned his own business but once again this did not fulfill him. Twelve years ago after his father had died he was ordained as a monk for the second time. He said, “For me life is like a coin,” while demonstrating with his hands, “one side is normal life, working life, and I have lived this life. The other side is my life now: my students, the temple, meditation.” He started laughing, “Of course I can’t dress in a sleeveless robe like I wore in Thailand”, as he tugged at his jersey worn under his robe.

It was an amazing experiencing hearing this. I felt very privileged. It was like I was talking with a friend. He then went on to tell me that he came to England to pass on the Buddhist teachings. How East is very different to West. In Thailand, people in villages have school, work, the temple and this is what makes up their community- all living together. When these people immigrate to the UK they have an extremely difficult time adjusting. They find their new British neighbours closed, keeping to themselves, maybe just say hello or goodbye. The monk feels that he must teach the younger people that have been raised here- to teach them the Thai traditions and customs, the language, meditation, Buddhist values. There is a large Thai community in the UK and this temple in Knaphill is now the headquarters. It was previously in London but is now too small with no parking and the noisy surroundings were not conducive to the practice of meditation… I can only imagine!! I was beginning to sense people looking over at me, getting a felling that I had been taking up too much of the monk’s time. One of the temple organisers, the one who was always announcing something, came over to me with his fancy microphone held down by his side, “Are you enjoying yourself?” upon which my friend the monk left. He put the microphone at my mouth as I said, “Yes I am thank you.” I could hear my voice echoing around the grounds. I was live! Then asking if this was my first time here and where was I from, I answered him..still being broadcast..and when he heard Canada he shrieked, “WOW! This lady is from Canada..all the way from Canada. WOW !” and then he was off. I looked around and my monk was gone. I decided that I would head home now…it was close to 2pm.