Thailand + India/Nepal Pilgrimage January 2019 Dhamma Reflections

When I get back to the UK, understandably everyone will be asking me - how was my trip to India, Nepaland Thailand? I'm uncertain of how to express my exact thoughts and emotions at this moment in time. There have been a few key events during the trip that has taught me a lot and given me a deeper insight into life.

 It was our third day in Bodhgaya, India when the first incident unfolded. There were 4 of us holding on for our dear life in a rickshaw as it whizzed through the streets, heading for the Maha Bodhi Temple. My line of vision was against the flow of traffic, as I took in the sights and sounds of chaotic Bodhgaya. It was a surreal moment as I watched a local Indian lady being hurled out of the rickshaw and landing with a thud in the middle of the busy road. She looked like a rag doll being thrown out of her seat. My heart skipped a beat as she lay lifeless on the ground. “Oh dear God!” I exclaimed. There was a deep sense of relief when she slowly got up with the help of her fellow companions as she held her head in her hands, presumably in pain. If there is to be a lesson on the fragility of life, this was it. She could have easily been fatally injured and not have survived the fall. None of us have any inkling of what's to happen to us in the next second, minutes, hours, days or weeks ahead. And yet, we live life as though we are invincible.

I remember once reading a comment made by a man who had spent some time observing autopsies carried out by the police. How peculiar it is that the teenage boy had no inkling that morning as he put on his pair of sneakers or that T-Shirt that it was going to be the last time he dressed himself. He had no idea that he was not to see through the end of the day.

As we travelled through Uttar Pradesh and Bihar on the tour bus, poverty was clearly to be seen all around us. I watched as mothers held the hands of their young daughters as they made their way through the streets. ‘That could be me’, I thought to myself. Perhaps that could have been me in a past life, or if I’m not careful, that could be me in a future life? Why have they got the lives they have; and me, the blessed life I have? Why is it that I was fortunate enough to be born in a respectable family, with parents who instilled in me good moral values and gave me numerous opportunities to seek a better life? At nearly every stop we made, there were hordes of children waiting and hopeful for handouts. Begging and pleading us for money. Day after day, we came face to face with the poverty, the filthy environment and smelly toilets. A tremendous sense of gratitude arose in me as I thought of my life in the UK and the opportunities I had been given.

I have a body that I call mine. I spend a great deal of time and money nurturing it - cleaning it, feeding it and taking care of it. I'm very careful to keep it healthy and free from injuries or harm. The next significant lesson I was about to receive took place back in Thailand.

Sunday 20th January 2019 - it was our third day back from India. I had set my alarm clock and got ready for pindapat (1) early that morning. My first pindapat during this Thailand trip. We made our way out of the monastery main entrance and turned right. We walked in silence in single file towards Phuwiang as Tan Bernard led the group of monks followed by Jeremy and me. We stood by the road patiently as we waited for one of the residents from the house we had walked pass to get her dana (2) offerings together. There were the usual exchange of pleasantries and before long we were on our way.

Just as we set off, two dogs came charging out of the neighbouring house and started barking aggressively at our feet. The thought arose in my mind, “Right, what should I do? Walk calmly and quietly away? Or do something else?”. Having discussed this with Mick the night before when he recalled a recent incident when he had walked calmly away unscathed, I decided to do the same. As I took my second step away from the dogs, I felt the dog's canines digging into my right calf. A male voice shouted out. Too late. My trousers were not torn but I could feel and see the sticky stains of blood. “I've been bitten by the dog”, I whispered to Jeremy as he protectively took the last position in the queue to widen the gap between me and the now retreating dogs. “Are you ok?”, he asked. “I'm ok, just in shock, I think”, I replied as I felt the blood slightly drain from my head.

As we continued with the pindapat, I could feel my calf muscles tightening and getting slightly sore. I'll probably be fine, I thought to myself. But if I do catch rabies and die in a few weeks, then so be it. Life will unfold as it's meant to be and I'll accept whatever it has in store for me. It was rather handy that preparations were underway at Wat Pah Kanjanabhisek for Phra Ajahn Maha Rung Reung's funeral. “If I were to die, you can just cremate me with Ajahn (3) Rung”, I joked with Peter. “I'm sure that will be very auspicious”, he quipped in reply.

During my retreat with Ajahn Amaro at Amaravati Monastery a few months ago, I had an insight into how my body is a part of nature. I have limited control over it. Just like how the parasites and tumour like growths attach to the trees in the forest, so too is my body subject to the forces of nature. My body is subject to tumours, cysts and infections of all sorts - it happens on its own accord as a normal process of nature and life. This body doesn't really belong to me. It belongs to nature. The dog bite was a reminder to me of that teaching. To wild predators (and possibly some doggy pets), my body is just a big piece of walking meat and bones. I too am part of the food chain.

The lesson that I found most profound came just 2 days later. The big crowd that attended Phra Ajahn Maha Rung Reung's funeral had left. It was the morning after the funeral. Most of the clearing, packing and dismantling of the marquees had been completed. A small crowd of monks and remaining visitors, including the ‘farangs’ (4), gathered around the ‘oven’ as it was dismantled to reveal the remnants of Ajahn Rung's cremation. We stood around in anticipation, trying to catch the first glimpse of the ashes as each panel of the oven was unscrewed and lifted. Before long, all the walls had been removed. It struck me how little was left of Ajahn Rung's cremation remains. The only clear visible signs to indicate that there had ever been a human body in there were a few fragmented pieces of skull, pelvic bone, vertebral column and the femur head.

I tried to bring to mind the frail body of Ajahn Rung from when we had met him just 2 weeks ago, prior to leaving for India. How he had bravely struggled with his breath and endured the obvious discomfort and pain of his physical body. He was only 47 years old. This is all that remains of his physical body. A pile of ashes that if carried by the wind or strewn on the ground, would return to the earth, stripped of any indication of the person or human body it once was. For someone with a deep-seated fear of death, ghost, cemeteries and dead bodies, it was a stark realisation of how unsubstantiated my fear of death is. The cremation process merely hastens the process of deconstruction/decomposition of the human form to its main elements of earth, fire, water and air. The human form is just a temporary structure, the temporary coming together of the elements. It is like a hologram - with no solidity, stability, permanence or ’thing-ness’.

What have I been afraid of all this while? I'm not saying that I've been ’cured’ of my fear of ghost and dead bodies, but I dare say that a huge chip of it has fallen away. When I left the UK just 3 weeks ago, I was full of anticipation and hope for powerful experiences in India - the land of the birth, life and death of the Buddha. A hope that it would totally shift my outlook of life and greatly increase my faith and inspire my practice. I had hit rock bottom and needed something to change my perspective of life. Unfortunately, I can't say that India has filled me with the inspiration I had hoped for. I didn't feel the supernatural energies of those holy sites. However, I do feel that as I'm making my way back to the UK, having said goodbye to fellow Sangha (5) members from the pilgrimage, that I take home with me some profound lessons and experiences that has a humble outlook but deep impact in my life. The three characteristics of existence – dukkha (6), anicca (7) and anatta (8) – were so obvious throughout the pilgrimage.

The night sky is not lit up in magnificent colours and the smokey scent of fireworks, but instead, the sparkle of the twinkling stars is clearly visible each night as the sun sets. Always reliably present, always there - as is the Dhamma (9).

(1) alms round
(2) giving of alms
(3) Thai word for teacher
(4) Thai word for Westerners
(5) Community
(6) Suffering
(7) Impermanence
(8) Non-self
(9) Law of nature or teachings of the Buddha