“I replied, ‘Yellow is a cheerful, lovely color. Yellow is associated with happiness and is known as the color of the intellect; therefore, yellow represents a sense of mindfulness. The color yellow symbolizes maturity—a ripe mango has a saffron hue. Yellow is also the color of the rising sun, which shines equally on everything on this planet. It does not discriminate when it brightens the world. In the same manner, a monk who wears a yellow robe should treat all equally.1 I’m neither a follower of self-mortification, nor do I lead an indulgent life.2 I follow a path called the Middle Path, which is represented by yellow, one of the three primary colors, located on the spectrum between red and blue.”
“What do you mean ‘Middle Path’?” asked Bill, genuinely wanting to know.
“Well, the Middle Path avoids extremes. One is the way of extreme indulgence in or attachment to sense pleasures. In this way one looks for happiness through the gratification of the senses. In the other way, the way of self-mortification, one rejects the senses. One way depends on attachment to the senses, while the other way denies them. Yellow is in between, presenting the idea of the Middle Path. A person who practices the Middle Path can gain vision and knowledge, which leads to a tranquil, balanced personality.
“Bill thanked me. His wife was signaling him to return to their RV, which was parked under a tree on the other side of the rest area. We parted company with a smile.”
Sunanda had been listening to my story in amazement. Again he urged me to tell him more.
“In 1977, while at Northwestern University, I went on the El and got off at State Street. I was waiting for a bus that would take me to the Thai Buddhist Temple. Two young women and three young men came up to me, threatened me with foul language, and forced me to go with them. They kept calling me a Hari Krishna. They even accused me of being involved with some recent news headlines regarding the Hari Krishnas, one of which involved the kidnapping of a girl. They said they were going to kill me. Finally I got them to calm down somewhat, and I showed them my Northwestern ID card. They looked back and forth at one another, completely baffled, and I explained that I was a Buddhist monk.
“One girl asked, ‘Then why do you wear Hari Krishna clothes?’
“I explained to them that it was a traditional Buddhist monk’s robe. Eventually they apologized, saying they were convinced I was not a Hari Krishna. I told them that Hari Krishnas always have a ponytail, and I do not have a ponytail. I showed them my clean-shaven head. They finally got the message and let me go.
“Another incident occurred about a year after my arrival in Los Angeles. This time a Thai family had invited me for dana at their apartment in the Mid-Wilshire district. Kamal, a layman residing in the temple, drove me there. We got to the lobby of the apartment complex about forty-five minutes early. So, while Kamal went looking for a place to park the car, I waited for him in the lobby, where a woman was seated on a couch in the corner.
“As I waited, I decided to make sure that my robe was worn according to Theravada customs. Donning the robe is a reflection of the philosophy of dhamma, and an art in itself. Every crease and every fold has a meaning and a purpose. Carefully, I rolled one corner of the outer fold of the cloth and shaped it into a robe. While doing so, I spread the other fold of the cloth over my head, which completely covered my face. Then I wrapped the rolled fold of the robe around my neck before bringing the fold covering my head and face down over my shoulders. While my face was still covered, I saw the shadow of the woman on the couch rush past me to the elevator.
“No sooner had I finished arranging my robe than I heard the fire sirens approaching around the corner. Within seconds, police cruisers and an ambulance pulled up in front of the lobby. The policemen and paramedics came running, and as they approached I could see looks of utter astonishment on their faces. One officer stepped forward and asked me brusquely what I was trying to do. I was totally confused by then, and I asked the group of would-be rescuers if someone would please explain what was going on.
“The first police officer said, ‘A woman called nine-oneone and reported an attempted suicide in the lobby. She told the dispatcher that an Indian guru was trying to suffocate himself with his long dress!’
“By now Kamal was just coming into the lobby. He, too, asked what was happening. Quickly, an officer took him aside and began questioning him.
“After realizing the mistake made by the caller, I explained to the officers what must have happened. I demonstrated the folding of the robe to the delight of the officers and paramedics. They promptly apologized for the inconvenience the whole episode had caused.
“When the news that the police were questioning a monk in the lobby filtered up to the seventh-story apartment of my Thai hosts, they came running down to save me. We all enjoyed a good laugh over that one.”
Sunanda couldn’t help but laugh, and I could feel his mood lightening.
I continued. “Another time I had to go to Minneapolis for religious services. I went to O’Hare Airport to catch the plane. I didn’t know what gate to go to or how to find out. I asked many people, but everyone looked at me with disdain. Not one person responded to my pleas for information. Even the woman at one of the counters told me, ‘Go away! You are not supposed to be here.’
“Then I ran up to a police officer. Before I asked him where to go, he said, ‘If you don’t leave this airport, I will arrest you! Get out of here right now!’
“I shouted back at him, ‘I don’t want to go to jail, officer. I want to go to Minneapolis!’ Then I showed the officer my boarding pass. He blushed and very sheepishly told me where the gate was. Relieved, I ran off, wondering why all the people were being so unfriendly toward me.”
“Oh Bhante, you are so brave,” exclaimed Sunanda at this point. “They, too, must have thought you were a Hari Krishna.”
“Not an uncommon mistake,” I replied, watching Sunanda’s reaction.
I continued. “Let me tell you another story. Once, in 1976, I was standing at a bus stop at the corner of Vine Street and Hollywood Boulevard. I was on my way to the bookstore. A couple of other people were also waiting at the bus stop. Suddenly, a gentleman in a Mercedes Benz stopped at the curb, ran up to me, and spit in my face. He screamed at me, ‘You do not belong in this country. Go away!’
“Then I responded politely, ‘Thank you so much for your advice.’
“The other people were both sad and angry. One lady reached into her purse and gave me a tissue so I could wipe off my face. She said, ‘Don’t worry, sir. He must be some kind of crazy fundamentalist. Not all Americans are like that.’
“I said I understood. Then she expressed her opinion that if I could travel in regular clothes, not in my monk’s robes, people probably wouldn’t harass me. I responded, ‘No, I am a Buddhist monk. I choose to wear these robes to teach people about the Buddha.’”
Sunanda said, “I heard that Theravada senior monks in Europe and on the East Coast wear coats over their robes.”
“It could be because of the climate,” I replied. “I’ve never heard of a senior monk wearing one because of prejudice against him. They wear coats over their robes when they go outside the temple in cold weather.”
“Why don’t we introduce this attire here?” he asked.
I told Sunanda that the Buddha designed this robe because it has great symbolic meaning.
“What is that?” asked Sunanda. “Why did the Buddha ask us to wear this robe?”
“As monks, we have to understand completely the teaching about impermanence. In autumn, the leaves are yellow and orange. Do these leaves belong to the tree or to the ground, Sunanda?”
“Bhante, they don’t belong to either. While they are on the tree, they belong to the tree, but at any moment they may fall to the ground and belong to the ground.”
“That’s right, Sunanda. We must understand that everything is subject to change, even as we are. As Bhante Gunaratana says, even as I am talking to you, every molecule and particle in our bodies i
s constantly changing. The neurons in our brains die, and millions of our blood cells die every moment without our realizing it.3 Change is continuously taking place without our even being aware that it is happening. Can we relive our most pleasant feelings exactly as we experienced them the first time? Can we recreate those exact situations and enjoy those same feelings again? No, my friend, we cannot. Similarly, the feelings you are experiencing now may change at any moment. They may even turn to disappointment or to pain.”
“Does this apply to human relationships also, Bhante?”
“Yes, people find that they make mistakes in their associations because they fail to be aware that both parties are constantly changing. One must realize that people and situations are impermanent.”
“Oh yes, Bhante, I recall how disappointed my parents were when I became a monk. They even disinherited me. However, today they are pleased with my decision, and even consult me on important issues. Now they have appointed me as a trustee of my father’s estate.”
“I am glad you have come to understand the impermanence of life and feelings, Sunanda. A person who wears this robe is an embodiment of peace, harmony, and universal love.”
“Why did the Buddha design this robe?” he asked again.
“In ancient times, monks wore a single piece of whatever cloth they could find. Some wore one color; others wore another color. Once, a group of monks went to bathe at the Ganges River. Upon returning to the riverbank they noticed that their robes had been stolen. Then they went to the Buddha to complain. The Buddha used that incident as the opportunity to design new robes for the protection of the monks, as well as to give them their symbolic meaning.
“The Buddha contemplated the rice paddy fields that covered the land. He said to his disciple Ananda, ‘Do you see how the land of Magadha is laid out in squares, strips, borders, and cross lines?’
“‘Yes, Lord,’ replied the faithful disciple.
“‘Then try to arrange robes like that for the monks, Ananda.’4
“The Buddha thought that good monks were like good farmers. Therefore, the robes should be modeled after a paddy field. The paddy field is made up of irrigated segments, an excellent arrangement for developing a good field. Monks cultivate a field of wholesomeness for themselves, as well as for the community in which they live.
“A good farmer protects the paddy field, not allowing cows, pigs, elephants, birds, or wild animals to destroy the field. He prevents the destruction of the field in every way he can. Similarly, monks have to prevent the misuse of their five senses, which helps them to protect themselves from being destroyed.
“As a good farmer removes weeds, rocks, and any materials harmful to his field, likewise a monk removes any defilement, such as anger, hate, ill will, and jealousy, from his mind. When a thought comes to his mind that produces defilement, he removes that anger or ill will and his mind becomes pure again, just as a field becomes ready for cultivation once weeds and rocks have been removed.
“In the same way as a farmer cultivates his field with the best rice seed and plants in the right season at the right time—first fertilizing the soil and making sure the seeds have the best conditions for growth—so monks must cultivate good deeds like love, compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity.
“So you see, Sunanda, the robe has an important meaning that we must keep in mind, and by wearing it, we can use it as a tool to teach those around us.”
I could tell that Sunanda had understood what I was trying to share with him.
I kept a close eye on Sunanda for the next few weeks. I sensed that he was more serene and collected in his behavior. I gave him a copy of a poem written by one of my students, Sama Dede Whiteside. I would like to share it with you here.
The Robe
Ochre and Citron
Yellow and Orange
Flowing Movement Told
Of Sacred Robe’s Presage
Divine Symbol’s Folds
Farmer of Five
Fields of Festivity
Sown Together
Sow,
Fisher of Men
Dhamma Teacher
Farmer
Of Fields
Of Inquiry
Your Tools—
Seeds, Weeds, Wind, Water
Dhamma, Hindrances,
Lovingkindness
Sun’s Soft Touch
Morning’s Warm Caresses
Breathing Dew
From Her Children’s Coats
Precipitating Liquids
Returned as Fire
Seeds, Weeds, Wind, Water
Dhamma, Hindrances, Lovingkindness
Generate, Remove, Harvest
Crop of Freedom Shared
With and For Each Hearing Heart
Rice Fields’ Irrigation
Lifted Beyond
Horizons Bounds
Propelling
Force of Water-Wind
Sequence Overflow
Gating into Transformations
Moving Channels
Opening
Changing
Ever Changing River
Without Bounds?
Within Boundlessness?
Boundlessness of Neither
Within or Without
Endless Seas of No Dimension
Love
I am glad to say that Sunanda is now a very learned monk who regularly practices meditation and serves the community with all his heart.
Whoever is master of his own Nature,
Bright, clear and true,
He may indeed wear the yellow robe.5
TWO
Phoenix Calamity
When I arrived in America on July 4, 1976, I knew hardly anyone. I had made arrangements to land in San Francisco and stay for one week at the Gold Mountain Chinese Monastery. I will never forget my arrival day. When the monks from the monastery picked me up at the airport they took me directly to the big Bicentennial Parade, which was just about to begin. The monastery had entered a “float” in the parade, on top of which rode a large Buddha statue. Without hesitation, the monks ushered me right up onto the top of the float and told me to sit next to the Buddha statue and hold its arm to help steady it. I tell you, riding through the streets of San Francisco on a Buddhist float on the two-hundredth anniversary of America was quite a moment for me indeed!
After my week in San Francisco I went down to Los Angeles and lived for a while at the International Buddhist Meditation Center. The abbot and founder of the center was Thich Thien-An, one of the first Vietnamese monks in America. He established many temples in the United States and was the founder of the United Buddhist Churches in America. He was a wise and compassionate monk who helped many refugees. Thich Thien-An was a member of the Mahayana Buddhist order. On the West Coast most people had never heard of Theravada monks.
One Saturday afternoon in July, I decided to take a walk. Since the IBMC was located in one of the most diverse neighborhoods in Los Angeles, I had the intuition that I would meet someone who would be interested in Buddhism.
I had hardly walked two blocks from the center when I saw a little woman approach me expressing a great deal of joy. As I neared her, I noticed that she appeared to be a woman of Asian origin. She was pushing a child in a stroller.
She reached me and kneeled down and bowed before me in the customary manner of Southeast Asian countries. She smiled broadly and told me how happy she was to see a Buddhist monk. She told me that her name was Soondaree, and she said she was from Thailand. We talked for a few moments, and then she got very excited and said, “Ajarn (teacher), you must come to my house for Bindabata tomorrow morning. I will make food for you!” Bindabata is the Thai translation of the Pali term pindopatha, meaning the receiving of alms.
Having spent a great deal of time in Thailand, I knew that every morning all Buddhist monks go with their bowls to receive alms. Even the king, during the period when he himself was a monk at the age of twenty, was not exempted from this rule. No matter wher
e you go in Thailand, you can never forget the image of waking up early in the morning and going out into the city streets or country villages and seeing the solitary, barefooted monks silently passing from door to door, holding out their bowls to the people who stand to the side bowing and reverently offering food. The Buddha advised the monks to go seeking alms to help eradicate their egos. Giving alms to monks also helps the society gain merit.1
The minute Soondaree invited me for alms, I realized that I had not brought an alms bowl from Sri Lanka, as in my home country, this practice is slowly diminishing.
I was in a quandary. I knew I had to make Soondaree happy, because the Buddha taught us that we should always try to make others happy. If an individual believes in us, the Buddha wanted us to manifest this faith for that individual.
I knew I had to somehow find a bowl. I spoke to my friend Kirk and asked him where I could buy an alms bowl. He laughed and told me to carry a clay flowerpot!
I laughed at the notion, too, but Kirk wound up taking me to a nursery nearby, and we bought a round clay pot. The trouble was, it was brown, and I needed the requisite black bowl!
Kirk, still laughing, came to my rescue. He bought a can of spray paint and sprayed the bowl black. Now I was ready for my visit.
The next day, as promised, I went to Soondaree’s house to formally receive alms from her household. As I stood in front of their doorstep, Soondaree and her family, in the traditional way, offered me alms. Their friends from Thailand were also lined up along the path to offer me alms as well. I was quite surprised to see the turnout.
As I stood on the sidewalk, my head humbly bowed, my bowl began to overflow with various kinds of offerings including food, medicine, flowers, and incense. Some of the people also discreetly offered me cash in sealed white envelopes.
In the meantime, this scene began to attract a small crowd of inquisitive observers from the surrounding neighborhood, which was an ethnic mix of Latinos, Caucasians, and other Asians.
I heard the Thais explaining to the non-Buddhists this Buddhist practice of giving alms. Those who had never seen it were very curious. When I was ready to leave, Soondaree asked me to please visit every day; the Thais in the neighborhood wanted to have the opportunity to offer a Buddhist monk alms, as they would do in their native country.
Saffron Days in L.A. Page 2