Author: bhikkhu cintita

Postcard from Burma

We are finally getting some rain here in Sagaing. This is the Rainy Season, one of three official four-month seasons, the others being the hot season and the cold season. (The Burmese do not recognize, or even seem to know about, our four three-month seasons.) We are also observing Vassa here at Sitagu, and at almost all Theravada monasteries, which means the Rains Retreat. But the fact is, it really does not generally rain very much in Sagaing, and this year has been very dry so far. In Yangon, on the other hand, I hear they been having huge storms. The last couple of weeks it has rained here most days, but not hard or long. I’ve noticed that it seems to make a big difference in the temperature. It’s gotten quite a lot cooler.

Mosquitoes have grown in population, however. And the insect world in general seems to be thriving. I have to be careful or I get zillions of ants in my apartment. I often fortify myself with lemonade in the afternoon; my kappiyas (lay sponsors), U Htay Mint and Ma Doo Doo, bring me lemons or limes every Uposatha  Day, once a week, and keep me supplied with sugar. (Fruit juice is allowed for monks even after noon, according to the Vinaya. Actually, it is supposed to be filtered fruit juice and to be offered by a lay person on each occasion, but people don’t generally seem to know it, and I’m not the monk to teach it to them.) If I don’t clean up right away ants show up in droves.

They have very impressive ants in Myanmar. They show up out of nowhere in masses as soon as an opportunity arises, often completely covering a large surface, then disappear very quickly when the opportunity has been consumed. They seem to have a sixth sense (hmm, I wonder if ants have all the other five senses) about where the eating is good. I observed a long line of ants at Pa Auk Tawya one day marching single file but densely packed. I followed the trail backwards, toward where they were coming from and lost them after a few yards in the underbrush, then followed the trail the other way and discovered that the whole column was simply led by one very confident and determined ant, with the second ant in his immediate rear. There were no scouts or any hint of how the leader knew where he was going. I’ve had gained a new respect for ants since seeing the latest Indiana Jones movie when I was still in the States. The ants here are small, but very aggressive. I’ve been bitten numerous times.

There are some huge butterflies here, like with 8 inch wingspans, and very beautiful. Interestingly there are very few bees or wasps, or anything I’ve seen that looks particularly dangerous. A large wasp happened to fly in the doorway a few minutes ago while I was writing about ants, which is what made me think of how few there are here. Not like Texas. I’ve never seen anything like a scorpion or the famed deadly centipedes. There are six-inch millipedes all over the place, but they don’t seem too threatening.

Flowers seem to be in constant bloom, though I haven’t experienced the Cold Season yet. Cold in Myanmar, by the way, is not very cold. I understand that it is the most comfortable season. Winds bring cold air down from Tibet, on Burma’s northern border.

I’ve been teaching English quite a bit. I have a group that meets in my apartment  to study vocabulary at 1:00 Monday through Friday, generally about five monks and two young women who take classes at Sitagu. (Classes may be attended by lay people, but I think all the lay students live outside of the Sitagu monastery wall.  Some of the monks that attend classes also live in neighboring monasteries.)

On Saturday and Sunday I teach four classes on English pronunciation. I was trying to resurrect the rather modern language lab that was built here some years ago, and actually used it a few times. It is quite substantial, with fifty student stations, each with a computer screen, headphones and a button to call the instructor for personal assistance, and a consol that allows the teacher to listen in an each student separately (for instance, when repeating phrases together) and that allows the piping recorded audio to the students and the use of a computer to display to student screens and the ability to talk to students individually, which comes through the student’s earphones like God. Unfortunately, a lot of it does not work very well. At most half of the student computer screens have power and that number fluctuates as fuses blow out and take days to replace, and a lot of the buttons for one-on-one communication stick in place. Other screens have power but cannot get a video signal, and of course the power for all of Sagaing simply fails at least a couple of times a day, sometimes for hours. People here are in awe of the West, largely because they hear that things actually work the way they are supposed to. I’ve abandoned using the language lab in favor of a regular classroom. An unusual feature of all the classrooms here is a PA system for the teacher. I find this useful,  it enables the students to hear my pronunciation almost as clearly as in the language lab.

As I’ve reported before, I am generally the lone Westerner here at the Sitagu Academy, or anywhere in Sagaing as far as I know.  However, we have had three visits from Westerners since I returned here from Pa Auk Tawya.

First, Dr. Patrick Franke, from USA, a professor of Religious Studies who specializes in Burmese Buddhist texts. He has been associated with Sitagu Sayadaw for about twenty years and speaks fluent Burmese. He stayed a couple of days and gave a talk in English, which relatively few students here were able to actually follow.

Second, about two weeks ago a German woman, Petra, arrived, probably for about a month. She has lived in Burma for twelve years. She came here to study Buddhism and fell in love with Burma. Of course she also speaks fluent Burmese. She seems to have had various occupations. She lived at the Academy for some time, and was ordained as a nun for a couple of years. She taught English here during that time (of course like that of all educated Germans her English is excellent). She was a travel agent for a couple of years. She now works in the relief effort in the Delta and lives in Yangon, but had a chance to come up here to get out of the rain. She likes the peacefulness of Sagaing.

Third, an English-born Swiss nun in a Korean Zen tradition passed through here for a couple of days. Her name is Venerable Mujin and she is involves somehow with Sitagu Sayadaw in the Delta relief effort. I find I easily miss the company of Westerners; it is always a delight to have one visit.

My studies are going quite well. Sitagu Sayadaw has been teaching a class in English on the Great Foundations of Mindfulness Sutta, for foreign students, all four of us. Unfortunately he is away most of time. For instance, he was in the USA for four weeks in July. He returned but then made a trip to Thailand. On Wednesday he is going to the Delta region to dedicate a new school his organization has built there. He is often invited to give Dhamma talks various place, and various countries. And so on. But when he is in town to teach it his class is quite a treat. He is very inspiring, is a very skilled speaker, and provides a good model for me of the Burmese style of understanding and study.  

The standard way to study Buddhism in Burma begins with memorization of original texts, usually suttas, in the Pali language. At the same time, this is how one learns Pali. It is not important to know what the text means in order to memorize it. One then reads the Commentaries, texts that have near canonical status in Theravada, but were generally composed, or compiled also in Pali about 900 years after the Buddha, generally in Sri Lanka. Buddhaghosa is the best known author of commentaries, and Path of Purification is the best known of his many cross-indexed works. These generally attribute a lot of supplementary content to the original text.

I don’t have as much faith in the value of memorization as the Burmese have; it seems to have been largely discredited in the West. Also, I don’t expect to develop the skill of memorization that most Burmese monks have been generally cultivating since they were very young novices; these monks are amazing. However, what seems to be working for me is to take any original Pali text, look up and learn the most important words and then go back to the text and read it aloud repeatedly. This reinforces the Pali vocabulary I am slowly developing and gives me examples of Pali grammar, and of course gives me the Buddha’s teachings in very slow motion. I then read modern commentary on the side. I am also identifying certain Pali texts for memorization, because they are often chanted. I am working on the Metta Sutta, for instance. The Suttas are actually a lot of fun to recite or chant, first, because Pali is a beautiful chanting language, and second, the Suttas are so repetitive, which lends a fluidity to the enterprise.

Burmese do not so much chant as recite individually. When they recite as a group they make little attempt to stay together, some reciting faster than others, but then at the end of a stanza pausing so that everyone can catch up. It is difficult to learn Pali texts through group recitation when people are  not on the same syllable at the same time. However, you often hear monks reciting by themselves, which often has a beautiful pattern of intonation (aka singing). Sitagu Sayadaw has a very good voice for this and like most monks simply recites long suttas from memory. Dhamma talks seem always to stick to a Pali texts, which the speaker intones in sections, discussing in Burmese the meaning of each section.

I have a computer! At least I get to use it in my room for the duration of the stay. Aside from preparing for classes this will allow me to write to my blog more conveniently and therefore more frequently.

Mahayana/Theravada  IV: The Cultural Dimension.

Many good Theravada Buddhists in Myanmar seem to feel that there is something mistaken in Mahayana Buddhism. There are differences, as I’ve described, including doctrinal differences that can be traced to ancient India and differences in style and garb. I would like to suggest that these differences are not so much divergence of doctrine and discipline as they are the awkward re-encounter of diverse cultures: Indian and Chinese. This is particularly important to consider now that we have thrown a third culture into the mix, the Western culture.

Look at a map of Asia and consider: first, in which countries is Theravada Buddhism practiced; second, in which countries is Mahayana Buddhism practiced; third, in which countries have people traditionally (before European colonial influence) eaten with the hands; and, fourth, in which countries have people traditionally eaten with chopsticks. Hopefully you will notice this correlation: Theravada Buddhism dominates in countries which have traditionally been part of the vast Indian sphere of influence, and Mahayana Buddhism dominates in countries that have traditionally been part of the vast Chinese sphere of influence. Tibet and Mongolia, I think, are exceptions, forming an additional cultural area as well as what many consider an additional school of Buddhsim, Vajrayana.

I speculate that two things are going on here: First, the local culture has selected the form of early Buddhism that has most appeal to that culture. Second, the local culture has exerted influence on the Buddhism that it has adopted.

For instance, it has been suggested that Mahayana Buddhism had great appeal in the Chinese because it was so colorful, and had a rich mythology, in contrast to the indigenous Taoism and Confucianism, as well as to the more austere Theravada school of Buddhism. The conditions to which Buddhism then had to adapt were different from its indigenous India: The weather was colder, the emperors were divine beings, there was no tradition of wandering mendicants, family relations were all-important, Pali or Sanskrit was hard to get the tongue around.

The more conservative Theravada Buddhism had a natural base of appeal in the Indian cultural area, but presumably so did early Mahayana. After all, both grew up there. However, cultural conditions would not have been more of a constant, requiring relatively little adaptation over time. Even if Mahayana had come to dominate, which in fact it did in much of the current Theravada area for a long time, it would have been, one would expect, a much more conservative Mahayana than found in the Chinese cultural area. I suggest that the great divergence in Buddhism began when Buddhism reached China. And something similar is now in the process of happening in the West.

How did Buddhism change in China? This is a mix of my understanding and speculation:

First there was the weather: Monks and nuns needed to wear more layers of clothing and daily alms rounds were more difficult.

Then there was the royal family: The emperor was a god. Monks bow down to gods; gods do not bow down to monks. For instance, kings in India were willing to comply with the Buddha’s requirements in the Vinaya that prohibited monks from bowing to anyone but more senior monks. Also, some of the colors that Indian monks used to dye their robes were reserved for royal use.

Then, there was Confucianism: The Confucian code of ethics was almost universally observed, I understand, whether or not one was a Buddhist. This provided a framework that to some degree made Buddhist ethics redundant, and to some degree contradicted Buddhist ethics. For example, the family had a dominant place in Confucian culture, while leaving home to become a monk or nun was valued in India. Buddhism adapted by making the family a model of the Buddhist sangha, in which lineage was highlighted. Begging for food was denigrated in China, so the monastic sangha turned to other livelihoods, such as farming and land ownership.

Then there was the government: organizations were distrusted and regulated. More hierarchy was imposed on the monastic sangha, and the simplicity of consensus democracy was diminished or lost.

Then there was Taoism: this provided a new language for Buddhism, well known in Zen, and probably a doctrinal bias toward nondualism and mistrust of conceptual thinking, though this was certainly not entirely new to Mahayana thought in India. More generally the Chinese favored a more synthetic and less analytical approach to doctrine.

Buddhism adapted in China, and in the greater Chinese cultural area, including Japan, Korea and Vietnam, but was not defeated there. It thrived there and in its adaptations discovered new forms of teaching and practice. It is significant that much of what for a long time was considered part of the corpus of Indian Mahayana sutras was in fact composed in China or adjoining areas. The great Zen tradition began in China, in spite of the attribution of a mind-to-mind transmission through Kassapa and Bodhidharma in India. Whereas the bhikkhuni tradition (full ordination for nuns) died out centuries ago in all Theravada countries, it has flourished continuously in Mahayana lands since Sri Lankan nuns brought it to China, around 350 AD.

What are the lessons here for those who traditionally eat with forks? The first is that Buddhism will make many many adaptations to Western culture, making it unlike what we understand now as Theravada or as Mahayana. The culture of  West is distinct from both that of India and that of China, though perhaps sharing elements of each. The second is that Buddhism does not thereby have to lose its integrity if we do not lose sight of what Buddhism is all about and if we do not let our very persuasive consumer culture overwhelm Buddhism.

In America, Western Buddhism first sprouted from the Mahayana tradition. A danger in importing Chinese Buddhim is that we thereby accrete adaptations. For instance, Chinese Buddhism has adapted family lineage into Buddhism, but the recitation of the Zen lineage in Western temples I think fails to instill the intended faith in a land where family is probably of less importance that in India or China. I think it is important as Buddhism comes to the West to take stock and understand the history of the tradition. It is particularly important at this juncture to understand as best we can the roots of Buddhism, the teachings of the Buddha as intended for the cultural context in which he lived. But we should not stop there. The Mahayana innovations are partly a result of creative and productive practice, partly a result of cultural necessity, and we should try to understand which is which.

Ultimately the differences between the Theravada and the Mahayana may not really matter so much in the land of the fork, any more that the differences between eating with one’s hands and eating with chopsticks. We will develop a Buddhism that is appropriate to our culture, distinct from Indian and Chinese cultural influences, but hopefully retaining what is valuable in both of these ancient traditions.

Sitagu International Buddhist Academy is square, with a 620-foot wall running along each of the four sides. I live in the Guest House, which runs the entire length of the South wall, just on the outside of the monastery proper. The Guest House has 32 rooms, all in a long row, used mostly for lay guests. For instance, a very old and eminent sayadaw died in Sagaing recently and people from out of town came and stayed in the Guest House. Two monks are situated long-term in the Guest House: me and U Issariya, at opposite ends. Most monks live in 'hostles," a few people to a room, within the monastery walls. I was accorded a room in the Guest House, maybe because I am a Westerner, the only one at SIBA at this time, and maybe because I am older than most of the other monks. Living here is a consideration, because it has a modern flush toilet. I've used squat toilets, but not easily. I do, however, share my quarters with a family of gekkos and sometimes a dog.

My appartment is three rooms, including a bathroom. I use one room to meet with students and one to sleep  in. The latter originally had two beds, but U Issariya, I and a woman staff member, disassembled one and stored it in the corner of the meeting room to give me sitting space in the bedroom. The meeting room has two doors to the outside, one in the front to a 620-foot balcony, and one in the back. I can get a breeze through this room by opening both doors, at which point "my" dog Wigglet often comes in and lies on the fllor. If it gets too hot I can close up and flick on an A/C in the bedroom, if there happens to be electricity.

I use a seven-foot two-by-two, part of the dissassembled bed, to prop open the rear door. The Guest House is built on piers, rather high at my end, and outside the back door is a narrow conrete staircase leading down to shrub and grass and often cows. Often I throw mango rinds out the back, left over from what my kappiyas bring every week, and seem to have encouraged a gopher to take residence right below my door, or some kind of rodent. I have to take care when I set the two-by-two prop to the side lest it fall through the door. One day this is exactly what happened. It summersaulted down the stairs with an awful clatter and came to rest at the bottom, so I climbed down and dragged it back up.

Also outside the main monastery wall, along the West side, is housing for lay staff, and the kitchen. The children of staff play on both sides of the monastery wall. Actually there are many people about, only a small fraction of which seem to be employed by SIBA. There are often strange people lounging about, or engaged in various forms of work. I see older women collecting large wide branches that fall, or are about to fall, from trees, bundle them up and carry them off, balanced on their heads. The children and some monks are continuously involved in gathering mangoes and coconuts from the trees for the kitchen. People often burn rubbish. Often someone will be tending cattle, often mooing right outside my appartment. Dogs are always yapping and geese and chickens run around.

One day a man, about fortyish, was sitting on a log directly under my appartment; who he was and for what reason he was there I have no idea, but this is common. Suddenly he was startled by the loud noise of wood against concrete, not fiteeen feet away. Someone had thrown a heavy piece of wood out the back door of the Guest House. Apparently the intent was not to discard it, because steps followed the piece of wood down the stairs. The  lower burgundy hem of a monk's robe appeared from above. Monks usually do not throw heavy objects down stairs. But this was not an ordinary monk; this was a giant! And pale as a goose! As I picked up the door prop I happened to glance up and see the kind of expression only Steve McCurry or someone like that can capture on camera: eyes like dinner plates, a jaw wide open, and a body ready to bolt.

I no longer look like that guy with the cat.

Here I am sitting under a bohdi tree.

Mahayana/Theravada III: The Great Schism.

The Buddha was very concerned with schism in the sangha. He defined schism very clearly, warned about its arising in no uncertain terms, and put many policies and procedure in place to avoid. The sangha here is understood as the community of monks and nuns, and the Buddha is reported to have averted a serious attempt at schism on the part of his cousin Devadatta, who had ambitions for leadership of the sangha.

Many accounts of the Mahayana trace its origins to a schism in the sangha reported to have occurred around 100 years after the death of the Buddha. The assumption is common that Theravada and Mahayana therefore have had irreconcilable differences ever since. I would like to show here that there probably never was an historic schism that separated Mahayana from Theravada or any of the other “Hinayana” schools, and to caution that assuming that there was might effectively induce one.

The great schism of about 350 BC reportedly resulted in a group of monks called the Mahasanghika walking out of the Second Buddhist Council and forming their own order, by some reports for reasons of doctrine and by others for reasons of discipline. Doctrine here means Dharma/Dhamma and discipline means Vinaya, principles of conduct for the monastic community. In fact, from the period 350 BC to 100 BC (I’m looking at a book here by Nalinaksha Dutt, Buddhist Sects in India), there seems to have been three principle factions of Buddhism, a forerunner of Theravada, the Sarvastivadins and the Mahasanghika, along with many minor ones. These three sects seemed to have doctrinal differences, but also influenced each other. For instance, the Theravadins and the Sarvastivadins composed competing Abhidharmas during this period. Dutt reports that the idea of the Bodhisattva first arose in the Sarvastivadin school during this period, as something that had particular appeal lay practitioners, then spread to the other two schools. Apparently most of the Jataka stories found in the Pali Canon were in fact composed by Sarvastivadin authors to illustrate the ideal of the Bodhisattva, then incorporated by the Theravadins into the Pali scriptures. The Mahasanghika advocated a higher status for the Buddha than that of a mere omniscient, psychically powerful human. However, Dutt considers all of these schools to be Hinayana.

Mahayana apparently developed centuries later in India and its exact connection to any of these schools is obscure. The bodhisattva ideal (Sarvastivadin) became a central feature of the Mahayana, but at the same time the equally important emphasis of the Mahayana on emptiness and the perils of conceptual thinking is considered by some scholars to have developed in direct opposition to the radical Sarvastivadin idea that gave the school its name, the idea that things in fact exist. The Mahayana produced, or later claimed for itself, a line of  brilliant and creative thinkers, and a very rich mythology, populated by such figures as Avalokiteshvara (Guan Yin), Manjushri and Samantabhadra.

When considering doctrinal variation in Buddhism, we can ask, “Is it true?” or “Did the Buddha say (something like) that?” But before we do that, we might ask, “Does it matter?” I’m not convinced, for instance, that belief in a transcendental Buddha either brings one closer or brings one further away from liberation. However, the question here is, “Are the doctrinal differences between the Mahayana and non-Mahayana schools great enough to cause a schism?”

Apparently not: Chinese pilgrims traveled to India in the Fourth to Sixth Centuries AD. These were Mahayana monks who knew that they might encounter “Hinayana” Buddhists in their travels. To their great surprise they found Mahayana monks living in the same monasteries, eating the same food, with Theravada monks, sacrificing no harmony over doctrinal matters. They lived like modern roommates one of whom reads mysteries and one of whom reads science fiction. It is not something one fights over.

The pilgrims returned to China, Buddhism eventually died out in India, Theravada Buddhism came to dominate the South of Asia, Mahayana thrived in the North, and for many centuries there was little opportunity for contact. However, this geographical dispersal of the schools of Buddhism was never, as far as I can see, the result of a schism in the sangha. It is more like a family separated for many generations through immigration, now divided even by language, but now reunited. Or maybe like a family reunited, but now with a lingering rumor of an ancient family feud. What will its future be?

We have not one, but two strong traditions each of which preserves essence of the Buddha's tradition (sometimes in its own way). That's great: we have someone we can swap leisure-time reading with.

Theravada/Mahayana II: The Pa Auk Tawya Encounter

This Spring I spent almost two months at the Pa Auk Tawya meditation center in Mon State, with about four hundred other monks. This is, of course, a Theravada monastery, and it has a very famous Burmese abbot, who teaches a particular and very systematic method of Vipassana meditation based on the commentaries of Buddagossa, The Path of Purification. It was a good opportunity for me to consider the differences between this style and the radically unsystematic (Mahayana) Soto Zen style of meditation I grew up on. Also significant was the great number of monks from Mahayana traditions, probably about forty or fifty, who had traveled to Myanmar to practice meditation at this Theravada center.

The first thing that struck me about the Mahayana monks is that they looked just like me in a previous life, about two weeks earlier. Well, not just like me: They were primarily from Korea, with some from China and Taiwan. Interestingly there were also ordained Theravada monks from traditionally Mahayana countries, like Korea and Taiwan, and also one from Japan. But it was interesting to discover in me a kind of identification with Mahayana that I did not know was there. What reminded me of “my kind of people” is the deportment and attire of the Mahayana monks.

Mahayana clothing evolved in China as layers of clothing were added underneath the traditional Indian clothing, and then the traditional robe on top as abbreviated. Theravada represents something closer to the Buddha’s tradition, consisting of the triangular lower and upper robes, and generally nothing else. Different Theravada countries now wear robes of the same size, but differing color, and seem to have only one style in common of the many ways the upper robe may be worn. I understand that scholars really are not entirely certain how the upper robe was worn in the Buddha’s day, nor how big it was. Apparently, though, it was smaller than it is now, so maybe the Mahayana upper robe is not so great an abberation.

The Mahayana monks, on the other hand, enjoy the many benefits of sleeves! The most commonly worn Mahayana robe is like a large bathrobe. In the early days of Austin Zen Center Flint Sparks was the first to begin wearing a robe to early morning zazen; I thought that because of the early hour he had become to lazy to get properly dressed in the morning. None of the Mahayana monks at PAT had the voluminous sleeves that the Japanese seem to prefer however.

Most of the Mahayana monks had some smaller version of the Theravada upper robe, worn over the left shoulder and under the right, but hanging very smoothly and evenly with little overlap and no slippage. (Japanese Soto has managed to put the slippage back into robe wearing.) Most Mahayana monks generally dispensed with this robe altogether except on formal occasions and some did not seem to possess such a garment at all. Many were also wore monastic work clothing, something like the Japanese samu-e, or like a karate outfit, and some even wore t-shirts, into the meditation hall. I am sure that this seemed quite inappropriate to the Theravada monks (who uphold the tradition in their own very casual way, wearing their robes only in a technical sense as the weather became very hot), and even to me with my Zen training which included Dogen’s instructions always to wear Buddha’s robe into the zendo.

The Mahayana monks, I notice, uniformly sit with a very deliberate posture in the meditation hall, just as the Zennies in the States learn: They sit with their butts on raised cushions, very erect, generally in full or half lotus. Their erect posture also carries them outside of the meditation hall with a certain kind of dignity. The Theravadins, on the other hand, tend to sit any way they want, on very thin mats. Many of the older Theravada monks seem to have habituated a lopsided posture, that the younger monks are just in the early stages of developing. In Zen, of course, posture is everything.

As an aside, it has struck me how much Burmese nuns’ attire resembles that of Mahayana monks. Burmese nuns are not fully ordained bhikkhunis, they actually take only eight precepts. This does not seem to entail any less dedication to the Buddha’s Way, but it means that they are free of many obligations described for bhikkhunis in the Vinaya, including what to wear. Modesty is the norm for women in Myanmar, and much more so for nuns. So nuns are always well covered, wear robes with sleeves and wear the upper robe more ornamentally than as functional clothing.

In both Mahayana and Theravada traditions seniority is generally associated with ordination date. The Theravadins are particularly clear about this, as was the Buddha, in seating for ceremonies, in walking with a group on alms rounds and so on. (I am still the baby monk at Sitagu, though my physical age and my exoticness seem generally to give me a degree of undeserved status.) Now, it is very common, I have discovered, for Theravadins to question the validity of the Mahayana ordination. I don’t know what the basis of this is; Mahayana monks never, as far as I know, question the validity of Theravada ordination. In every Mahayana country except Japan, and a bit in Korea, monastics undertake the rules of the Vinaya, like Theravada monks, with varying degrees of success, like Theravada monks. Maybe the Mahayana monks just don’t look like professionals in Theravada eyes for reasons described above. Anyway, it is interesting how Pa Auk Tawya deals with this mixed set of monks for alms rounds: First, they put foreign monks and Burmese monks in separate blocks, and allow the foreign block to precede the domestic. Since there are no domestic Mahayana monks, this seems graciously to honor the Mahayana monks. However, this is a slight of hand: Within the foreign block they order all Theravada bhikkhus first, by ordination date (putting me at the end of this group, for instance), then all Theravada novices (I was actually followed by an elderly Korean Theravada novice; he apparently did not want to take all 227 precepts), and finally by Mahayana monks from the most senior to the most junior.

In the end, at Pa Auk Tawya is a large group of monks, differentiated in various ways but living together and sharing a deep dedication to the practice of liberation.

The following link will take you to some pictures from the Burma pilgrimage. Scott, who took the pictures, may already have posted them to the blog, in which case I apologize for the second posting.

http://picasaweb.google.com/conn.sr/Burma1?feat=email

Notice, that although Scott uses my new name (U Cintita) in the captions, he in fact returned to Texas before I acquired that name. That is why I am not wearing burgundy robes in any of the pictures. However, Scott is a great photographer and has included some wonderful shots that represent Buddhist Myanmar quite well. Enjoy these.

Classes are in full swing at Sitagu International Buddhist Academy (SIBA). The place is full of resident monks, and monks and nuns from the densely monastic environs come to SIBA to attend classes as well.

My schedule is much as it has been, with a heavy emphasis on study. I generally meditate for an hour in my room before the 5:30 breakfast bell. For the two daily meals I sit at the foreigner table. Four of us are actually there to help put the "I" in "SIBA": a Lao, a Cambodian, a Vietnamese and myself. Two of the four speak Thai, two of the four Cambodian, often better than English.

After breakfast I sweep the 630-foot long balcony of the 32-unit Guest House, in which I live at the far West end. I generally connect up with "my dog," Wiglet, at this time, who has totally adopted me, especially since I've started bringing her scraps from meals. Then I have a long gap for study until lunch. I've been meeting with one of the Burmese monks, U Kittimara, most mornings 8-9 for a Burmese lesson. Mostly I study Pali.

Yesterday was Uposatta Day, every week according to the moon. Generally a lot of lay people come to SIBA, and to all monasteries, and it is a holiday from classes. My kappiyas, or sponsors, U Htay Myin and Daw Too Too, a couple from Sagaing, come to visit me on Uposatta Days. A kappiya is someone who tells a monk, or presumably a nun, "If you ever need anything, just let me know." I did not fully understand how this system works before I came here. Most monks have a kappiya; I have two, it turns out, counting Htay Myin and Too Too as one joint kappiya. The other is U Tin Hliang, a bachelor who lives in Yangon. None of these speak a word of English. When I receive a visit from Htay Myin and Too Too I feel like a college freshman whose parents have dropped by: They bring things they think I might need and ask repeatedly and eagerly what else I might need. I never need much (through SIBA of basic needs are taken care of.), but I know I can count on them if something major comes up (I've asked Tin Hliang to provide me with a new suitcase, as the one my daughter Kym lent me before I embarked on this trip is falling apart).  A very helpful monk in many ways, U Issariya, helps interpret, while I try to think of a few phrases in Burmese to interject. It is a very upbeat encounter; they are always happy when they leave.

Bhikkhus, of course, depend entirely on the goodwill of people like Htay Myin and Too Too, for the food we receive in the dining room, or more traditionally for alms, for our robes, for our housing. Often we do not see who the contributors are in an organization like SIBA, but seeing who they are and particularly having a familiar relationship with a sponsor reminds us of the immediacy of this dependence. At first I thought that this "adopt a monk" system was a modern Burmese innovation, but in studying the Vinaya I've come to realize it is very ancient indeed. It is one part of the "Economy of Gifts," the basis of the Buddhist community.

So what am I giving in the Economy of Gifts? That is a koan that people like Htay Myin and Too Too remind me to engage. The answer is not simply, "Monks give the greatest gift of all: the Dhamma." Like the best koans it can be turned this way and that and never quite settles. For instance, I can see that just the opportunity to give is an enormous gift to my sponsors. In fact I feel I would serve them better if I could think of something more to ask for!  But also I understand that they have an interest in my meditation practice, my studies and my plans for the future. Yesterday they expressed their hope that I continue to wear the robes when I return to America, which I could happily report is my intention. Even this is a gift.

The lunch bell sounds around 10:30. Often other donors are present for lunch. They bring most of the food, sometimes very fancy indeed, and are involved in serving and offering it to us monks. They are always delighted and continue being so as they wash up dishes after the meal and sit down to enjoy whatever the monks have not finished. Yesterday we seemed to have as many donors as monks and the food would have made even Charles Ball (AZC president) envious (and we each got toothpaste to boot).

We join in a meal chant for the beginning of each meal, which is part of the Pali Reflections on Using the Requisites: "… not for enjoment, nor for intoxication, not out of gluttony, nor to become attractive, but only for the continuation and nourishment of this body, for keeping it unharmed, for helping the brahmacariya life, …"  When we have donors for lunch we generally also recite the Metta Sutta, which I do not yet know in Pali. I must say that not eating after noon has made me very mindful of what and why I eat. It is difficult to eat abundantly, and there is less opportunity to make up later for what you might have failed to give your body earlier. I find that I am very aware of the nutritional value of what I am taking in and whether it will sustain me until the next morning. It is a wonderful practice. I am, by the way, saying quite healthy in this way. I've lost weight but not more than I should.

After lunch I have a lot of free time for studying, washing robes, etc. I also have been teaching English to a group that meets in my room, every day at 1:00. The Lao is the most regular student and has actively recruited most of the other 3-4. At 4:00 Monday through Thursday, Wiglet in tow, I teach fifteen minutes of English pronunciation to a large formerly scheduled class otherwise devoted to English grammar.

There seems to be a difference between vision and reality in the role of English at SIBA. The vision, as I understand it, is that SIBA is "International," both in offering instruction in English, the most international of languages, and in attracting students from many countries. In fact, most students' English is very poor, and there are only four of us internationals (and I'm not a formal student, but a "guest"). As a result, classes begin with a short lecture in English, followed by a long discussion that becomes increasingly Burmese as more people join. From my own attempts at teaching to a large "Intermediate English" class, I've found that most people have little notion of what I am saying unless I speak very slowly, which I had thought was a talent that comes naturally to me.

At 7:00 in the evening the monks gather for chanting (recitation). Afterwards I generally study Vinaya. Recently I have decided to add a little more spice to my routine: a bedtime novel. There are a very few in the English library here. I started with George Orwell's "Burma Days," his first novel, written after having spent five years in Burma. I am currently rereading "A Tale of Two Cities," which as I recall makes little reference to Burma.

At a temple near Mandalay

Hi. I’ve set up a google gallery of some photos from our tour of Myanmar.  This is the site: