Birthday

Birthday

After I returned home from the Goenka workshop on Tuesday, April 10th, Dan and I curled up and watched a great college bowl game on the computer. The lead shifted back and forth several times and the game ran into overtime. I relished becoming absorbed into the frivolous entertainment of my culture. Dan made me popcorn to munch on during the game and afterwards I ate a big lunch, but the thought of eating in the evening completely repulsed me. The first night back I slept well out of exhaustion, but then my mania resurfaced and for the next two nights I did not feel sleepy and was unable to fall asleep until after midnight and woke up without an alarm at 6 AM the following mornings. “This is really weird,” I told Dan on the second night, “I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I don’t even feel tired during the day, it’s sort of scary.”
“I’ve never seen you like this,” Dan agreed with concern.

On the fourth night, Friday the 13th, I fell into a restless, dream-filled sleep on the Sri Lankan New Years Eve. People shot off bottle rockets at auspicious times throughout the night and the Festivities continued on the nights of the 14th and 15th. Kandy ground to a halt, our three-wheeler drivers were on vacation, and Dan gave his research assistant a vacation to visit his family for the holiday. “It’s so weird to be held hostage by this holiday that is totally meaningless to me,” I commented to Dan as we read and surfed on the internet sitting side by side in uncomfortable wicker chairs on the back porch. “It’s probably like growing up Jewish in the States only you can’t even go to the movies on Christmas,” I continued.
“Yeah, it is a drag,” Dan agreed without looking up from his computer.
“It sucks that there isn’t any sort of interesting parade or fair or anything,” I continued.
“It’s a very family-oriented holiday,” Dan explained, looking up from the computer screen. “People make cookies and take them around to see their friends and extended families. This is when a lot of people get a chance to go back to their villages if they live and work in Colombo,” he continued.
“Right, I can see that” I conceded, “But we don’t have anyone to visit; Delia can’t even get over here for lunch because none of her three-wheeler drivers are working. We can’t go to the Botanical Gardens for the same reason,” I complained as another round of bottle-rockets erupted throughout Kandy. “These bottle-rockets are just loud,” I continued my lament, “They aren’t even pretty,” I pouted.
“Just wait until Vesak,” Dan replied, “There’ll be more going on with all of the lanterns and stuff.”
“What’s Vesak?” I asked.
“It’s Buddha Day,” Dan replied. “It’s Sri Lankan Christmas, the biggest holiday of the year. It’s the Buddha’s birth, enlightenment, and death. They all happened on the same poya day, the same full moon day. It’s the Taurus full moon I think.”
“That’s handy,” I commented. “What do people do?” I asked.
“People go to the temple, listen to sermons, and take the eight precepts for the day,” he began. “It is supposed to be a time for Buddhists to renew their commitment to lead noble lives. People make offerings of flowers, incense, and lights, and donate to charities. The lanterns are a part of the light offering.”
“I see what you mean about the difficulties of trying to be a convert,” I admitted. “making offerings of flowers, incense, and lights just don’t make cultural sense to me. And I’d never even heard of Vesak.”
“Those are all really South Asian things that find their roots in the over all culture of the region,” Dan explained.
“It’s weird,” I replied thoughtfully, “Being removed from the Western holidays and seasons gives the passage of time a really weird feeling, like we’ve been here forever. I don’t do anything for Easter, but it is somehow comforting to see the marshmallow chicks come and go at the drugstore. That’s a part of spring for me somehow, like the mailman breaking out his shorts,” I finished.
“On the Sri Lankan calendars, Good Friday is marked,” Dan replied, “But not Easter. It’s like they are saying ‘OK, he’s dead and he’s not coming back.’”
“That’s funny,” I laughed. “I guess of all the challenges of living here, having to go without seeing the Cadbury Egg after-Easter sale at Walgreens is pretty minor, but you know, it’s the little things.”
“Yes I know,” Dan answered, reaching out to run his hand along my hair from the crown of my head down my ponytail, “It’s time to go home.”
“Actually,” I replied with a glimmer in my eye, “I believe that it’s time to go to the Galle Face for a few days.”

On my birthday, April 17th, we took to train to Colombo to stay at the Galle Face for a few days. Tourism had dipped drastically since the recent LTTE bombing of the air force installment at the international airport on March 26, 2007. In the maiden voyage of the “Air Tigers,” two small, Czech, single-engine planes had flown over the airport, dropped bombs killing three airmen, and flown off unscathed. They had timed their attack to synchronize with an important Sri Lankan match in the cricket World Cup. As a result of the low season, prices for the newly renovated South wing of the Galle Face called the Regency were affordable.

After a pleasant ride on the Kandy-Colombo Express, we found a three-wheeler outside and Dan proudly told the driver to take us to the Galle Face on the Regency side. When the doorman opened the heavy golden teak door to the lobby, I could see straight through the lobby and through a set of glass doors at the opposite end directly out to the glittering sea. The doorman smiled as I entered and I felt safe to smile back. I knew that I could return to doorman’s smile and he wouldn’t then think that he could ask us where we were from or pinch my ass or anything. I felt comforted as I stepped into my safe place for human interaction.
“I know these people are being paid to be nice to me,” I remarked to Dan as we walked across the highly polished cream-colored marble floor toward the reception desk, “But at this point, I’ll take it.”
“That’s why I’ll never speak Sinhala here,” he replied. “That would ruin it, it would destroy this buffer of comfort we have here. Remember that one time I accidentally spoke Sinhala to the guy at the omelet station?” I nodded. “That guy was asking me for my cell phone number and going on about I don’t know what and all I could think was ‘please shut up before I have to get you fired,’” he finished.
“I haven’t seen that guy around since,” I remarked as we approached the reception desk and the woman behind the desk greeted us with a wide smile. “He probably messed up some other way,” I finished.

Our room was smaller than the rooms on the Classic side, but the renovations more than compensated for the lack of square-footage. The bathroom featured a green marble countertop with a free-standing glass bowl functioning as the basin with the faucet mounted into the marble backsplash. A large window mounted into the wall of the shower allowed the bather to look out through the bedroom area and out the bedroom window directly to the sea. The sound of the waves permeated the room. The 150 year old Burmese teak floors had been refinished and the writing desk even concealed its own wireless internet router. After the porter had situated our bag on the luggage rack we sat down on the bed to savor the view.

My next action was to go and investigate the new spa, Jal, that had opened on the ground floor as a part of the March 19th Grand Opening of the Regency side. From an article in the paper I learned that “Jal” meant water in Sanskrit. The new spa area was breath-taking, new teak floors flanked by small, up-lit, channels of water ran down the sides of the hallways. Frangipani flowers floated in a large glass bowl in the reception area and also in the illuminated channels of water. I made an appointment for a Shiatsu massage in the afternoon for my birthday.

After a light lunch at a hotel across the street and an afternoon floating in the pool, I arrived for my massage. The Sinhala woman who gave the massage was obviously very well-trained and professional. The body-work room was filled with afternoon light and I could hear the waves of the Indian Ocean throughout my massage.

After resting in the room for the afternoon, it was time to get ready for dinner at The 1864. I quickly draped one of my white sarees from Kerala, getting each fold and pinning right the first time. Dan was still in his underwear watching a show on Kangaroos on TV when I proclaimed myself ready for dinner. “Already?” he asked, surprised.
“Don’t I look ready?” I countered, feigning insult.
“Yes, yes,” Dan replied turning off the TV, standing up, and changing his belt from his jeans to his slacks, “You’re getting quick with that saree,” he grumbled as he got dressed.

“My next project is going to be totally different,” Dan commented once we were settled at our table at The 1864. “I’m going to write on the teachings of that one monk, the one who claims he was born a stream-enterer and everyone called a heretic. He’s dead, but I have recordings of his sermons on minidisk,” Dan explained. “Thilak and I have already translated the sermons. I also have interviews I conducted with his primary students back when I was a Fulbrighter, before I knew Thilak. We’re working on translating those now. But really, I’m not going to need a research assistant on this project because I already have all of the contacts for the project from my undergrad professor who inspired me to study Sri Lanka in the first place,” Dan furthered.

“By the phrase ‘totally different,’ does that mean that we can live in Colombo?” I asked hopefully after ordering the same bottle of white wine as we had enjoyed on our anniversary along with the same soup and lobster dishes.
“Yes,” Dan replied definitively. “My primary research site would be 30 minutes out in the Colombo suburbs, at the temple of one of one of the monk’s students. He teaches a meditation course that I would participate in, interview other participants, and get more background data on his teacher as well. I already have some of his publications in Sinhala that I could translate. And of course, I would need to live in Colombo to use the National Archives and the Library,” Dan assured me. “The research for this topic would be quicker and easier,” he continued. “I would do the interviews on my own and then I would just need to hire transcription help. We would probably just have to live in Colombo for a few months.”
“Ok, so this monk says that he was born a stream-enterer, what does he mean by that” I asked.
“A stream-enterer has entered the stream leading towards release,” Dan explained. “Contemporary tradition interprets it as a very advanced state,” he continued, “But this monk argued that becoming a stream enterer was like entering into the Buddhist paradigm. Once someone accepts the paradigm, they will naturally move towards enlightenment. The first step is the elimination of doubt in the path of Buddhism. A stream enterer has complete confidence in Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha. The second thing is that you have a glimpse of the truth of no-self. This monk says that a stream-enterer still has a sense of self, but the process of realization has begun. The third thing is that you no longer have attachment to rites and rituals,”
“That’s funny,” I interjected, “I have no attachment to rites and rituals, but I wish I did,” I remarked.
“Well, that’s one down,” Dan joked.

“Ok, so you are a stream-enterer, then what?” I asked.
“Buddhism teaches that you will become fully enlightened, an arahat, in no more than seven rebirths if not sooner after stream-entry,” he replied. “Stream-enterer is the first step, and then you are a once-returner, then a non-returner, then an arahat. Also, you will not have any unfortunate rebirths like in hell or the animal womb or something,” he finished as the wine arrived and my attention was diverted to inspecting the cork and taking the first, careful sip to see if the wine had gone bad.
“Then what made this monk so controversial?” I asked once we both had full glasses.
“A few things,” Dan started. “First of all, in these parts, you just don’t go around saying you are a stream-enterer. This’s Theravada country. For the Vajrayana practitioners in Tibet, China and Japan with all of their tantric stuff to speed up the process this path doesn’t even apply. The idea of contemporary enlightenment is more accepted by Mahayana Buddhists as well because of their belief in the in-dwelling Buddha nature hidden all beings,” he paused to make sure I was still listening, “But in the Theravada tradition you have to work for it, it’s not just already there inside of you” he continued. “And many schools don’t think that and stage of enlightenment is possible so far away from the time of a living Buddha.”
“I see,” I replied, nodding my head.

“Not only did this monk say that he was a stream-enterer,” Dan continued, “But he preached that it wasn’t as difficult as everyone thought to become a stream-enterer. He preached that lots of people could do it, and they didn’t need meditation it or even the practice of sila, to achieve it .”
“Really!” I interjected, surprised. “I wish someone had told me that before I went to Goenka,” I joked.
“He taught that right-view, Prajña, needed to come first,” Dan explained, “and Prajña could be developed intellectually by the study of scriptures,” he continued. “Then Sila, morality, would naturally develop with Samadhi coming last. That’s backward from what you learned at Goenka and from what is commonly taught. At Goenka you learned that you start with Sila, you make yourself act right. Then you meditate to develop Samadhi to sharpen your mind, then you do Vipassana meditation to realize Prañja, to achieve wisdom.”
“Ok, I remember that,” I replied thoughtfully. “So, he’s saying that you can study the texts and sort of talk yourself into Prajña without meditation.”
“But what’s weird is that both of his main students run meditation schools,” Dan furthered, “So that’s one of the things I’m going to be looking into.”
“Why does he change things around?” I asked.
“Well,” Dan started, leaning back in his chair and preparing a complicated answer as the soups arrived. I immediately tucked into my chilled avocado soup with basil sorbet with relish. “There was an Indian Theravada Buddhist monk and commentator named ‘Buddhagosa’ who lived in the Fifth Century,” he began, picking up his soup spoon.
“Wow, ‘Buddhaghosa,’” I commented. “That sounds like an important name.”
“Yes, it means ‘voice or roar’ of the Buddha,’” Dan replied. “He came down to Sri Lanka from India,” he continued, “And collected the ancient commentaries that had been developed over the past five hundred years on the last century BCE Pali Canon. Tradition has it that everything was written in Sinhala, so he translated the commentaries back to Pali, the international language of Buddhism at that time, and created the first large-scale systemization of the commentaries for the entire Buddhist world to use. While he was in Sri Lanka he stayed up at the Mahavihara, the ‘Great Monastary’ up north in Anuradhapura. During his stay, in addition to translating existing commentaries, he also wrote his own. The ‘Visuddhimagga,’ the ‘Path to Purity’ lays down the path to enlightenment as you learned it at Goenka, Sila, Samadhi, and then Prañja. It’s one of the most influential Theravada texts. It was one of the first texts to really outline Buddhist meditation as it is commonly taught today, as a synthesis of Samadhi and Vipassana. You can see since it basically shaped your own meditation retreat.”
“I can see that,” I commented, “It’s cool that it was written in Sri Lanka,” I paused, taking a break from my soup and allowing Dan to grab a bite. “It really helps me understand what an important place Sri Lanka has in development of the tradition,” I finished.

“The thing about this monk, though,” Dan continued, “is that he doesn’t like that the Visuddhimagga was written by an Indian, the Tamil son of a Brahmin. He preached that Buddhaghosa was on a covert mission to create an ethical structure to prevent the Sinhala from fighting and make them passive so they would be easy to conquer. So that’s part of his motivation for changing around the order. He also taught that monks like to make it seem harder than it really is to become a stream-enterer so that they will keep getting more daña and support from the lay people,” he finished, starting to eat his soup.
“I can see how that would be unpopular,” I remarked, scraping the last remnant of soup out of the groove in the bottom of the soup bowl.
“You have to remember though that all of the biographical info on Buddhaghosa comes from really late Burmese text,” Dan furthered.
“I see,” I replied, “So maybe it was a group of people or something, it does seem like a lot of work for one man.”
“Right,” Dan nodded, “But in my stream-enterer monk’s world view it was one man and he was Tamil. As a matter of fact,” Dan continued, “He says that the decline of Buddhism started when things started getting written down with the recording of the Pali Canon and continues declining through the Commentaries. It’s a radical view and that’s a big part of why he’s so interesting,” Dan added.
“I get it,” I replied, “It’s Buddhist fundamentalism.”
“Exactly,” Dan agreed, finishing his soup as the waiter brought the lobster and saffron rice main courses.