Petals from the Sky

by Mingmei Yip

  Another half hour had passed. With a lacquer tray in hand, a very young nun timidly peeped through the half-closed door. I beckoned her to enter. She smiled carefully, so as not to reveal her teeth. Soundlessly, she set the tray on the table and placed the objects one by one onto its shiny surface: two lidded teacups, a teapot with steam escaping from the lid, a small, pale blue ceramic plate filled with an assortment of nuts and a larger one with fresh fruits.

  I watched this young novice with pleasure.

  While every personal relationship now seemed impermanent and fragile to me, youth suggested a contrasting picture of life as simple and everlasting.

  She possessed a native grace; things bloomed in natural order and charm under her slender, pale fingers. I was quite sure she was also conscious of her poise and took pride in doing things in adagio, so that she, as well as her guest, could watch her delicate fingers’ choreography.

  Why hurry? There is no time limit in a temple, just living in the bare moment, the here and now.

  The table now displayed a lush spread of food. Concluding her delicate ritual, the young nun took a white handkerchief from her loose gray robe and dabbed her well-shaped bald head.

  She addressed me respectfully. “Yi Kong Shifu said she would be with you in a minute and apologized for the long wait.”

  I smiled. “Oh! Not at all. Tell Shifu to take her time.”

  Still standing, she smoothed her long robe with elongated fingers. “Shifu is in a meeting to discuss the art work of the temple.”

  “Ah, that’s a huge project.”

  “Yes, she’s also organizing her painting and photography exhibition, a Buddhist art festival, a Zen play, and a retreat.”

  I widened my eyes to show amazement.

  The young nun gushed with pride. “But don’t worry, Shifu is always full of energy.” She bowed to me before she left. “Please have some tea and fruit.”

  “Thank you. What’s your name?” Seeing that she was so young, the word Shifu, teacher, just refused to come out of my mouth.

  “Wu Kong.” Enlightened to Emptiness.

  “Just like the Monkey King in Journey to the West?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  We both laughed. Like her mistress, she had perfect, white teeth.

  I made a slight bow to her. “Thank you very much, Wu Kong Shifu.” I hoped she was too innocent to notice that this time the word finally slipped out from my mouth with a bantering tone.

  Still smiling, Enlightened to Emptiness closed the door with a crisp click and disappeared.

  How wonderful to be so young, even as a nun.

  Then I saw Yi Kong saunter toward the office building, face flushed, gray robe swaying in the summer breeze and shaved head gleaming under the sun. My heart kept knocking hard. Was my true karma to be a nun in her temple? Or was I just confused about the world?

  You could have become a nun years ago, but you didn’t. Michael’s words rang loud in my ears.

  Yi Kong looked tired yet cheerful. Unexpectedly, her presence filled my body with the happiness of the Dharma, as it had so many times before in my long years of visits to her temple. But the last five years had affected her perhaps as much as they had me. I was sad to notice that her skin looked weathered and her gait was slower. I hated to recognize that my mentor was, like us all, yielding to the passage of time.

  Yi Kong, Depending on Emptiness.

  A woman.

  A nun.

  A celebrity nun.

  A celebrity nun running the biggest Buddhist temple in the last British colony.

  Had she been content living behind the heavy temple gate for twenty-nine years? But wasn’t her beaming countenance the proof of a positive answer? Besides, if everything in this world is but an illusion, what is real happiness after all?

  She entered the room, saw me, and smiled. “Meng Ning, sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “Yi Kong Shifu, don’t worry. I’ve been enjoying your exquisite art objects.”

  “The temple’s art objects,” Yi Kong corrected me as she seated herself behind the enormous black wood desk adorned with curios. Gingerly, I sat facing her-and the Guan Yin posed in royal ease.

  “I’m glad you like them. I’ll show you more later. Now let’s have tea.” She picked up the teapot with three of her tapered fingers and poured us both full cups. “How’s everything?” she asked, then set the teapot down with a delicate sound.

  “Fine, thank you.” The scalding tea tasted slightly bitter, yet pure. I lifted the cup to my nose and inhaled the stimulating fragrance. Floating in the apple green water, the emerald leaves joined and parted to form intricate patterns. Was there a sign of my fate hiding among these pretty shapes? Was it the right choice to forsake the empty gate and plunge into the Ten Thousand Miles of Red Dust? A married life over enlightenment? I closed my eyes to absorb the sensations of the steam moistening my face and warming my heart.

  “Very good tea,” I said.

  “The best,” Yi Kong corrected me again.

  “What kind?”

  “Yunwu, from the Lu Mountain of Jiangxi province.”

  Yunwu, cloud and mist. Didn’t she have any idea that yunwu is a subtle variation of another word, yunyu, cloud and rain, meaning lovemaking?

  Suddenly, I could feel the weight of Michael’s perspiring body, followed by a vision of Lisa’s heavy bosom and her atrophied leg, then Philip’s helplessly handsome face and pained expression… I shuddered.

  “Meng Ning, are you all right?” My mentor cast me a look of concern mixed with suspicion.

  “I’m fine,” I said, feeling the heat on my cheeks. Quickly I changed the subject. “How are you?”

  Now I looked at her composed face, feeling both guilty and sad. Why didn’t she act more affectionately toward me-as she had when she lay on the stretcher after the fire?

  “I’m fine as long as the Fragrant Spirit Temple is fine. I’m relieved that nobody got hurt in the fire.” Yi Kong sighed. “Hai! But the five thousand three hundred twenty volumes of the Tripitaka…anyway, thanks for your help.” Then she changed the subject. “How was Paris?”

  “Good.” I condensed my answer to one word for I knew she was not really interested in anybody’s business in Paris.

  “What’s your plan now?”

  “Nothing special yet.” I really didn’t know how to respond.

  “Good.” She paused, then went on. “Since you’ve gotten your Ph.D. and we are going to add a lot of artwork to our temple after its reconstruction, you can help us as our consultant. Think about it.”

  “Thank you. I definitely will.” Married or not, I needed something to get my career started. Still, I felt disheartened. Why had she given the post of assistant to Dai Nam? Why hadn’t she waited for me? Had she already known that I wouldn’t need it anymore?

  Yi Kong studied me intently. “You look good.”

  Her eyes rested on my cup. I followed her glance to the discovery of a lipstick mark, moist and tender as in the memory of a sensuous kiss. My cheeks felt hot as I remembered how Michael’s lips had pressed on mine, sending ripples all over my body. Yi Kong had never seen me with makeup before. How could I have forgotten to not put it on today?

  “Thank you. You, too. Are you still as busy as ever?” Anxiously, I tried to distract her; she liked to talk about the temple and her projects.

  Her face glowed. “Yes, but as you know, work in the temple never ends. People always tell me to relax and do things slowly, but how can I? So many Buddhist treasures either vanish or are damaged in China every day.

  “That picture of the monks chanting in a temple in Tibet that I photographed six years ago-do you remember? When I went back last year, the temple was all gone, mysteriously burnt, not a trace left behind.

  “As I planned to leave for Shanxi to record the chanting of a ninety-year-old monk-the last one who knew a particular style-I learned that he had just died from choking while taking some Chinese herbal soup for longevity. The news arr
ived two days before I was to leave. So how can I slow down when I see these precious traditions disappearing before my eyes? On the contrary, I have to work faster.”

  Yi Kong stopped. “Oh, I’ve been all immersed in my own talk. Are you hungry? I’ll ask the chef to cook something for you. Today we have very fresh tofu, bamboo shoots, and mushrooms.”

  “Thank you very much, but I had lunch before I came.”

  She squinted at me. “Do you still eat meat?”

  “I’m a part-time vegetarian now,” I said, avoiding her gaze.

  “Ah, part-time!” Yi Kong exclaimed.

  I blurted out, “Shifu, although my mouth is not completely vegetarian, my heart is.”

  Yi Kong smiled, then spoke jokingly. “Ah, that I don’t know, but I’m sure you have a tongue rolled not in vegetable oil, but in pig fat.”

  I felt my ears on fire.

  Sensing my embarrassment, she picked up from her desk a round clay incense burner and changed the subject. “Let me show you my little treasures here. This one is a rare Ming piece from an antique store in Kyoto. See how the lid has several small holes? When you burn incense inside, the smoke coming out through them smells exceptionally good, since it is the essence extracted from all the fragrance inside.

  “Besides, the meandering smoke is such a pleasure to look at, like cursive calligraphy forming in the air. If you meditate on its ever changing lines, you’ll gain more insight into the transience and impermanence of life.”

  Yes, like Professor Fulton’s death, and even the kitten’s. Was the professor now contentedly stroking the kitten in Amida Buddha’s Western Paradise?

  Yi Kong went on. “You’ll also feel calm just by looking at the graceful shape of the burner.”

  She handed me the container. “Feel the smooth and subtle cracks on the surface; it’s very soothing.”

  True. It felt like her creamy skin, which I’d once touched after the fire. I felt embarrassed, but my hands refused to leave its comfortable form.

  Next Yi Kong showed me a small ceramic teapot made to resemble a Buddha’s Hand citron, the shape and deep purple color of which reminded me of eggplant, a favorite dish in the monastery. Two rows of calligraphy on its round belly read:

  FLOWERS CAN LISTEN AND UNDERSTAND,

  AND STONES CAN BE AMIABLE.

  “Very nice-a stone can be likable. I love the idea,” I murmured while peeking at my engagement ring. I’d meant to leave it at home before I left for the nunnery, but had completely forgotten to do so.

  “Stones are indeed charming,” Yi Kong said. “But not just the idea. I would also like to collect stones, you know, like those in a scholar’s study. Besides being appreciated as objects of art, do you know that stones can also be served as food?”

  “Oh, really? No, how?” I was still peeking at my stone.

  “Ah, a modern girl who rarely enters the kitchen.” Yi Kong eyed me disapprovingly. “It’s quite sad, though, since the stone dish is only for the poor. In the past, poor people could rarely afford to eat meat, so sometimes when they wanted it so much or when they had a guest, they’d cook stones. There were different ways to prepare the dish: stir-fry with black bean sauce, quick fry with Chinese scallion, or fry and then stew with wine. Of course, you couldn’t eat the stone. The idea was to pretend, so you’d flip your chopsticks into the dish and pick up the scallion, or the black bean, or mix the sauce with your rice. The whole thing aimed to boost your appetite, so you’d end up finishing the big bowl of rice in a happy mood.”

  Amazed at her account, I thought for a while before I asked, “It’s sad and not very Buddhist, is it? Pretend instead of facing the truth.”

  “But that’s their truth, to be happy and eat one more bowl of rice. Besides, people in poverty usually don’t think much about the truth one way or the other.”

  “It’s sad then, the truth.”

  “If it’s the truth, it’s just a truth, nothing sad nor happy about it, just the plain truth.” Caressing the teapot, Yi Kong remained silent for a while.

  Was this meant for me?

  “When we choose to accept or reject, we do not see the true nature of things.”

  This did seem meant for me. The great Zen teachers always knew what their disciples needed to hear. I’d once thought I saw the true nature of things; now I did not know what to accept or reject.

  Yi Kong looked up at me for a fleeting moment and spoke again, this time staring at my hand. “Our temple welcomes any form of donation, including nice stones.”

  Involuntarily I moved my right hand to cover my ring.

  “Well…” Not knowing how to respond otherwise, I laughed, though harder than I would have liked.

  Yi Kong went on calmly: “All right, enough of stones and truth. Now let’s look at musical instruments.”

  She turned to a wooden fish and a bronze bowl resting on two cushions identically embroidered with red, gold, and blue lotuses. Then, picking up a wooden mallet, she gently struck the bowl’s belly with its cloth-padded head. It vibrated softly yet sonorously, reverberating in the cabinet, expanding into the room, then lingering for a while before departing into silence.

  Pleased by my bemusement, Yi Kong eagerly showed me her other collections. She pulled open a drawer in her desk from which she took out a small wooden box. “Smell…this is a very precious kind of eaglewood incense, which you can only get in China, not in Hong Kong.”

  Yi Kong lowered her head to scoop the incense. I could clearly see the twelve scars on her scalp’s bald surface.

  So round and so bare.

  A guarantee that no hair can grow again in these spots.

  A proof of faith through the willingness to be marred.

  A symbol of a path of no return.

  What is it like-this path of no return? How much did it hurt when the burning incense scorched this flesh? What had she been thinking when her master did this to her? Did she hesitate even a tiny, tiny bit, upon leaving this mundane world? Now, when she scorched her disciples’ scalps, what would she think about? I wanted to know all but didn’t have the courage to ask. After all these years, Yi Kong still remained an enigma to me.

  I felt a pull inside; I still wanted to learn all the mysteries along this esoteric route.

  Now Yi Kong carefully put the incense into a small silk bag and handed it to me. “Take this and offer it to Buddha every day.” Then changing into a joking tone, she asked, “By the way, are you still very busy with your writing and research? When are you coming to play with us? There’s always lots of fun going on here.”

  As I would never learn the mysteries along the forbidden path of a nun, Yi Kong, similarly, would never taste the pleasure of a man’s warming hand on her breast, his tender eyes eagerly finding their resting place in hers.

  I hoped she didn’t see the hot pink crawling up my cheeks. I’d thought she’d guessed already. How could I face disappointing her, telling her that instead of forsaking the world and striving for Buddhahood, I had fallen in love with a man, flirted dangerously with another one, and even…had sex with a woman? I hesitated, inhaled the piquant incense, and said, also in a half-joking way to cover up my guilt and embarrassment, “I know there’s lots of fun going on here, but I…I…” I paused, then involuntarily blurted out, “Someone…is waiting for me.” Was I so sure of marrying Michael?

  At that moment, I felt like a school girl waiting for the principal to find out I had misbehaved.

  Yi Kong picked up and fondled the incense burner in her hands, head lowered, not speaking. The only audible sound was the restive pounding of my heart against my ribs like the rattling of bars shaken by a prisoner.

  I watched her intently, for the first time with guilt instead of pleasure.

  Minutes passed. Yi Kong still caressed the burner with her elegant fingers, appreciating it from different angles. She grasped the burner firmly, as if fearing it would slip from her hand. Although I couldn’t see her expression, I knew well she would prevent things from b
reaking rather than have to pick up pieces later.

  Finally she looked up, with a smile struggling on her face. “Too bad! I’ve always thought you have the most nicely shaped head, and what a shame to hide it under your three-thousand-threads-of-trouble.”

  She paused, then asked, “Is he the American doctor I saw in the Fragrant Spirit Temple during the fire?”

  “Hmm…I think so.” As at other times in the past, her acute power of observation impressed me. Back then, did it already show that I was in love?

  She started to straighten things up on her desk and said, without looking at me, “Don’t forget to tell him we are impoverished here because he takes you away from us.”

  She turned around to pull a thin book from the shelf and handed it to me. “A gift from our temple.”

  Two characters on the cover shimmered with embossed gold: Heart Sutra.

  I opened the slender volume and my eyes alighted on:

  Guan Yin, the Bodhisattva of Observing Ease, undertook a spiritual practice called prajna paramita. Realizing, from the practice, that the five elements are nothing but emptiness, she enabled all beings to transcend suffering. Form is not different from emptiness nor emptiness from form. Form is emptiness and emptiness is form…

  After I thanked her and took leave, Yi Kong said, “It’s getting late, Meng Ning. So I think you’d better take the shortcut through the bushes behind the Hall of Guan Yin.”

  “Thank you, Yi Kong Shifu.” I bowed to her and gently closed the door behind me.

  27. The Golden Body

  After I’d left Yi Kong’s office, I didn’t go home directly, but headed into the stone garden. As I walked along the bamboo grove leading toward the entrance, I kept thinking about the phrase, “the five elements are nothing but emptiness.” Although I’d read the Heart Sutra more times than I could remember, I still couldn’t completely grasp the meaning of its first paragraph. If all the five elements-form, feelings, perceptions, tendencies, and consciousness are emptiness, then Yi Kong’s compassion and achievements must also be empty, and so was the beauty of art, and the love between Michael and me. But then why, each time I thought of Michael-especially after my betrayals of him-did the tender aching of my heart feel so deep?