Chapter 3
The two monks enjoyed another round of tea as they continued bonding; this time it was red tea that they drank. The flavor was a bit more pungent than the green tea and produced a more invigorating feeling. Francis sighed with intense appreciation for the wonderful adventure that he was having with someone he had just met and whom he seemed to have known forever. After more Chinese medicine talk, and the wondrous sharing of some ancient secrets by Si, the two prepared to depart from the hermitage. Francis called his new friend “Si,” which is short for Sifu, meaning teacher. This title is much like the term “Rabbi” as it relates to the concept of teacher. Jesus was often called by both titles, teacher and Rabbi.
I was grateful that “huts” in the woods had clean bathrooms. Too much tea! Si placed the tea set in the tiny kitchen and as I folded the blanket that had been placed on my legs by my gracious and unusual host.
It is a delight to be walking with this gray-clad man. There is something very peaceful yet very alive about him. It must be from the qi that he seems to be bursting with. We passed several other little houses buried deep in the heart of the woods and almost invisible. One very ancient and tiny dwelling seemed to call to me. I knew in my heart that it was the one where the older lady hermit had died the day before. Before I could ask, Si simply nodded in response after reading my spirit. We were both quiet for a few moments, each praying in his own way, yet praying together.
Because of my Catholic Christian belief in the Mystical Body, that we are all one in Christ, I often pray to and for the souls of those who have died. I wondered about the soul of this recently deceased hermit, and what the transition from this life to the next is like. My mind went off on a brief tangent to the possibility of haunted houses and the spirit world.
Before very long Si and I reached a huge precipice hanging out over a vast canyon, the edges of which could not be seen by the naked eye. It was beautifully terrifying and I felt like it was too much for me to take in all at once. Before I could absorb what I was experiencing, Si tiptoed out onto, in my estimation, the edge of the earth. His movements made him appear to be lighter than the air that was swirling around us like a funnel, the windy phenomenon probably a result of the vastness of the canyon and the open space above and below us. Surrender Dorothy!
My Buddhist friend started to move effortlessly through various timeless qigong forms. Some of these were new to me, and others I recognized as very ancient forms that are a part of my own qigong repertoire. At times he looked like a bird in flight, then like a tree bending in the breeze, or a cloud changing form in the sky. Next Si went through a series of moves whereby he took on the appearance of flowing water and then emerald willows waving at a lakeside.
“Come out here my American brother and absorb the qi from nature. Take it in from the trees and the sky. Become one with it. Let it heal you so that you may continue to heal others. Let Jesus work through you. He is your only healer.”
Humbled and impressed by this master’s insight into my own Christian spirituality, but still intimidated by the scene, I shouted back “Can’t I just watch from land? All I need is enough qi to get me back to the monastery. Maybe he is going to murder me after all! Do I hear helicopters?
What terrifying exhilaration I experienced as I gingerly moved out a smidgen on to the precipice. I was not going too far, of that much I was certain. I did a little qigong, looking more like the tin man from The Wizard of Oz than a graceful master who had just been initiated as such by the dancing spirit-man who was my guide during this time spent between two worlds. Anyone who had previously thought I was graceful in doing qigong would not think so now. The tin man definitely needed to be oiled; calling AAA might be an even more helpful idea!
“That’s just great Si; I’ll go back now.” Please let me go back now. He was lost in his mystical movements as I began to make my escape to terra firma. Huge birds, reminding me of the mythical and powerful Asian bird, the Roc, circled overhead. Maybe they were just buzzards waiting for lunch.
I slid to safety on my posterior; my host floated in after me a few moments later, clearly wanting to stay on the edge for the rest of the day. Heights are okay as long as there is a flight attendant around. If someone had offered me a bag of those little pretzels—or a bowl of noodles like on China Air—I would have been fine. No problem!
When Si started saying something about the foxes turning into humans I thought it was probably time to return to the monastery. Being a trained scientist at heart, even I have my limits. I must have missed that lesson in my years of Traditional Chinese Medicine training. We passed several other hermitages and before I knew it I was at the foot of a path that led to the monastery where my journey into forest had begun. The master joined his hands in front of his heart and bowed to me as he whispered a passage from the classic Daoist text, the Dao De Jing.2
“Thirty spokes converge upon a single hub;
It is on the hole in the center that the use of the cart hinges.
We make a vessel from a lump of clay;
It is the empty space within the vessel that makes it useful.
We make doors and windows for a room;
But it is these empty spaces that make the room livable.
Thus, while the tangible has advantages,
It is the intangible that makes it useful.”
He slipped away just as silently as he had appeared much earlier that day. “Thank you,” I whispered, knowing that he hears more with his heart than with his ears.
I lingered at that crossroad for some time, I know not how long. Time and space remained suspended. Eventually I walked at a snail's pace along the path which took me back to the front of the monastery buildings and the place were I was quietly meditating when Si first magically appeared in the stillness of the early morning. My mind was racing at that time. Ironically, even after my once in a lifetime adventure with my new friend, my mind was now tranquil and crystal clear. I was one with the universe. Past and future no longer clouded the present moment, no longer tugged me in one direction or the other.
My mystical travels with Si went so much better than the experience I had when I first got here to the monastery, when I was solemnly ushered into large a reception hall to meet the grandmaster. Here I was in Asia, in a Buddhist monastery, and about to meet the master of the many men and women masters who live here. Here he comes now, the master of masters.
The guestmaster and I, along with several of the monastics from the community who were also with us, stood up when he entered. An older monk, swathed with yellow robes so loose and flowing that his hands were not visible, silently and serenely entered the hall, escorted by yet another monk, taller and of middle-years, with the classic shaven head of the Chan monks and nuns. The wisdom of the ages radiated from his peaceful face. His persona was serious, but underneath it I sensed a bottomless compassion, and a strength honed by a life of prayer, study, and leadership.
A translator introduced us, using both English and Chinese. The grandmaster extended his robed arm, a bolt of yellow fabric floating through the air. I shook his hand. We stood there silently for a moment. He extended his covered hand once again. I shook it again. We went through the same moves once more. Maybe they do things like the Orthodox Christians—three times each. Once more, then I really have to go! The guestmaster rescued me from my confused analysis of what might be happening by whispering to me that the grandmaster wanted me to sit in a chair. The grandmaster was simply pointing to a chair. I didn’t need to shake his hand even one time, let alone three times! I can do this. We sat down. Everyone was quiet. Now what? I think that I am supposed to ask the grandmaster some question so he can teach me something. Let’s keep it simple.
“What is the meaning of enlightenment?” I blurted out. So much for simplicity.
The rhythmic alteration between the Chinese and English languages was as beautiful as the content of the words the grandmaster conveyed through the interpreter. “Living in the present moment and doing the duties of our state in life is enlightenment,” said the ageless older man. This teaching is identical to the teachings of Saint Francis de Sales and Saint Jane de Chantal. When one is in the presence of Truth, no matter what the language or cultural context it is packaged in, it is so very obvious. What joy. It was worth the three unnecessary handshakes through the yards of fabric making up the yellow robe.
We next left the reception hall and went next door to the meditation hall. I was asked to climb a small ladder and look down into a reliquary in front of a larger than life Buddha. This went much better. In the golden cup-like bowl was what looked like a small opaque gem of some type. It was explained to me that when bodies are cremated, they sometimes leave bits and pieces behind in the ashes. Now there’s a picture. Anyway, the remaining “gems” vary in color and size and are looked upon as precious relics of the person who passed over. This orange gem was a relic of a venerable member of the community who had moved on.
The grandmaster asked me what color I saw as I observed the relic. I had to ask the translator to repeat the question, like on a TV quiz show, because the answer seemed so obvious to me. It was clearly orange and I told them all as much. Final answer. That seemed to get me lots of points for some reason. There was a great deal of head nodding and positive-sounding Chinese words. I later learned that, depending on where one is on his or her spiritual journey, one will see different colors suggestive of that place when looking at a relic. Orange is good. It appeared that I had been redeemed from my earlier hand-shaking blunder.
As I walked back to my monastic cell pondering the events of the last few days, an older nun walked up to me. Her silver hair was shorn close to her head and her baggy gray robe flapped around her. She smiled warmly at me and handed me a traditional red envelope with some money in it. We did not speak the earthly language of one another but I understood her message. If I do not see you again in this life, we will meet in the next. When the guestmaster came by to bid me farewell I asked him what I could do to repay the nun who gave me the going away present. “Just live the Tao,” was his wise response. That was the second red envelope given to me since I got here. The other one was at my place in the dining hall, next to my bowl and chopsticks. Maybe I’ll stick around. The envelopes at home usually contain bills.
Not wanting to leave, but wanting to see my friend Ignatius again so as to share my adventures with my wise and wonderful soul-brother, I walked to the path leading through the woods in a somewhat conflicted state of mind. It would take me about half an hour to walk to the “Big Buddha” in the clearing outside the forest I was in, where I would visit for a while on my trek back to Cheung Chau Island and the Jesuit retreat center where I was staying. Armed with a large black umbrella Ignatius gave me to use to ward off wild dogs, I walked through the woods. Inwardly I transitioned from the tin man to the scarecrow. Toto better not give me any grief; I have an umbrella.