MORNING PRAYER from the Office of the Dead by Brother Bernard Seif, SMC, EdD, DNM - HTML preview

Chapter 15

The few days in Bangkok on their return trip to the States were somewhat anticlimactic.  The places the group saw were in much better shape materially than most of the places they had seen thus far.  Everyone in the group agreed that the most impressive experience in Thailand was their visit to the famous Temple of the Golden Buddha.  They sat on a large porch in front of the temple while an old monk told them the following story:

“In the late 1950s, a group of monks wanted to move a clay Buddha, about fifteen feet tall, to a nicer location.  Chains and winch lifted the Buddha up, and then it began to rain.  There was a crack forming at the base of the Buddha.  Operations were suspended and the Buddha was reverently covered with a tarp.  In the dark of night, the Abbot of the monastery returned to the Buddha with a flashlight and a few small tools.  He peered into the crack at the base, and just as he remembered it, something glinted back at him.  He prodded with the tools.  The upshot of the venture was the discovery that a solid gold five and one-half ton Buddha was encased within a think layer of clay centuries before in order to protect it from enemies.”

Francis went into the temple and saw for himself that very Buddha.  He knew that gold was considered precious but that never really impressed him.  Today, however, he saw this Buddha of gold.  It seemed to be alive, and it certainly appeared to shimmer under the track lighting in the relatively unadorned temple.

His clinical psyche produced thoughts about the tragedy of confusing what is clay and what is golden within us.  Francis long believed that everyone is golden at the core, created “in the image and likeness of God,” but that life puts mud and clay on our exterior.  So do some of our own life choices.  If we can center back into the gold through prayer, meditation, and simplicity, all will ultimately be well.

After an inspiring and prayerful morning, the group had a light lunch and proceeded to a famous Thai massage school.  They moved through the school and watched people being pummeled, stretched, and kneaded in every possible manner.  The people had comfortable clothing on, sometimes shorts, and the massage therapists were dressed in simple street dress.  Aromas from the massage oil filled the building, and an atmosphere of peace and healing permeated even more profoundly.

The travelers were permitted to sign up for a Thai massage--and the therapists would come to their hotel.  They went home and about an hour later a young man and woman knocked on Krishna and Francis’ door.  This was followed by two hours of Thai massage, which was deeply relaxing, sending those receiving it into a peaceful stupor.  The only little ripple in the experience was that, about an hour into the massage, each therapist took a brief break.

The trip back to the States was a blur.  The travelers felt somewhat like Tar-chin at her worst, drifting in and out of consciousness.  After claiming their bags in Los Angeles, the group broke up and each person went off to his or her flight back home. 

Flo smiled through her tears and joked that for an old rock and roller, “Breaking up is hard to do.”

Back at the Salesian Monastery in northeast Pennsylvania, Brother Francis found all of his mail slit open and on his desk.  His answering machine message light flashed furiously and hundreds of e-mails awaited his response as well.

As was his custom, the Abbot met with the community prior to Evening Prayer and shared a few of his experiences, assuring his sisters and brothers that much more would be shared with them when the rest of him felt like it was back from his trip.  He left a shopping bag containing various books, papers, and objects from his journey for the community members to look at and make their own if they so wished.

After Morning Prayer and breakfast the next day, Francis began looking at some of his mail.  He read a letter from an old friend whom he had not seen in some years, an airline pilot who spent much of his life flying around the world:

“Dear Francis, It would be wonderful for us to get together soon.  I am sometimes concerned that your life is a bit too predictable and boring.  If there is anything I can do to help just let me know.  Perhaps I can get you some airline tickets.  I’ll be in touch to liven up your life.”

Francis smiled at the irony, and then said a prayer of gratitude that nothing broke while he was away.  The community members, water heater, cars, and the other major appliances were all intact.

Sister Scholastica knocked and then entered the Hermitage office of the Abbot.  Guess something did break, or some crisis erupted after all.

“What’s happening, Sister?”

“Brother Francis, I chose that beautiful drawstring pouch from among the ‘goodie bag’ items you left for us from your trip.  Thanks very much.  Anyway, it crinkled when I touched it so I investigated and found these sheets of thin paper between the outer bag and the inner lining.  The writing on the papers looks Asian, perhaps it’s in Tibetan.”

“Thank you for your keen observation and for bringing these to me.  Yes, Sister Scholastica, it is Tibetan.  That’s about all I know.  I will follow up on the matter.”

Sister Scholastica left, happy to have a very colorful bag for her odds and ends.  She would never realize the crucial role she had played in an international human rights effort that relied more on prayer and ignorance than on exact planning this time around.

“Hello Judd, this is Brother Francis,” he said into the phone.  “Two things if I may.  I understand that you were in Tibet recently.  We have a mutual friend in Tar-chin.  Secondly, I have in my hands some papers written in Tibetan that were found in a pouch I brought back from the East.  Can I give them to you for translation the next time I visit you at the Tibetan Buddhist Learning Center?”

“No need to, Brother.  I know the content of those papers.  Let’s just call the papers a report from someone who spent twenty-two years in prison over there.  I feel badly that Ani Lhak-pa, the Tibetan Buddhist nun activist, and I could not have been more open with you about what we were up to.

“I am so relieved that the report got here without incident.  We thought that the less you knew about our efforts the better.  We also believed that in your role as doctor, the immigration authorities on both ends would be less suspicious of you than me.  Can I ask you to have Detective David Gold get those papers to the proper authorities in Washington, DC?  The report will give those authorities a first hand glimpse at what can happen in a Tibetan prison. Then it’s up to them.”

Francis felt a bit confused and used.  He also knew deep down, that there was a great deal of wisdom in the way the report was “delivered.”

“Was Tar-chin really sick, or was that also a part of the scheme to smuggle information into the States through me as well?” the monk asked.

“That part was real.  I’m glad that you were able to help her, sorry that we needed to keep you in the dark, and grateful for your friendship.” 

The men concluded their phone conversation with Francis agreeing to get the prison report to David Gold, who had also been left in the dark along with the rest of the mystery team.

The monk / doctor reflected on the old-fashioned words of an oath he had taken some years before, especially the words of paragraph three.

Naturopathic Physician’s Oath

I swear before God and those assembled witnesses, that I will keep this oath and stipulations as a Naturopathic Physician; to esteem those who taught me this natural healing art; to follow the method of treatment which according to my ability and judgment I consider for the benefit of my patients; to abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous.

With purity I will pass my life and practice my art.  I will at all times consider the patients under my care as of supreme importance.  I will not spare myself in rendering them the help which I have been taught to give by my alma mater.

Whatever in connection with my professional practice, or not in connection with it, I may see or hear in the lives of men and women which ought not to be spoken abroad, I will not divulge, reckoning that all such should be kept secret.

While I continue to keep this oath unviolated, may it be granted to me to enjoy life and the practice of the natural healing art respected by all people at all times.  So help me God. 

The phone beeped.  “Hello Abbot Francis, this is Diane from the Bishop’s office.  His Excellency would like you to make an appointment with him for a little chat.”

Francis rolled his hazel eyes toward Heaven.  “I really like our Bishop, but cringe when I get these ‘command performance’ calls.  Do you have any idea what it’s about this time, Diane?”

“I suppose I shouldn’t tell you this, Brother,” the administrative assistant responded conspiratorially, “but I think it has something to do with a message the Bishop received about you cavorting with a politically active Buddhist nun.  I’m not sure if he wants to congratulate you or read you the riot act.”

“Like life, Diane, it’s usually a mixture of both when we meet.”

Francis told himself that there would be no more big trips like the one he now needed to recover from-- and then laughed at his own thoughts.

Om Mani Peme Hung