Yes Man

by Wallace, Danny

  “I usually make radio shows,” I said. “Maybe I could, you know, come up with a half-hour light-entertainment radio programme about monks and monk-based issues.”

  “Mmm,” said Samten.

  “A programme by monks, for monks.”

  “Maybe.”

  “We could call it Monky Business.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Or … are you any good at cleaning?”

  The interview began minutes later.

  The venerable and very tall Samten Kelsang, I found out, has been a Buddhist since 1983.

  “I first met Buddhism when I was at college,” he told me.

  “What were you studying?”

  “Well … I started out doing maths and statistics. And then I realised that wasn’t quite right for me, so I moved toward zoology.”

  “So you studied zoology?” I said, impressed. It seemed quite a leap from maths.

  “Well, yes, I did. But then I decided that wasn’t quite right for me, so I moved on to psychology.”

  “Psychology? Wow. So, you’re a psychologist?”

  “Well, I didn’t do that for too long. In the end I moved from that as well.”

  “Oh. To what?”

  “Um …” He coughed. “Pottery.”

  I was amazed. “You went from maths to pottery?”

  “Via zoology and psychology.”

  Which, of course, is the classic route.

  “The good thing about this was that after all that, I didn’t get the chance to apply for university, because it was so obvious I just wasn’t going to make it. So I got out of the machine. Usually you’re pushed straight into university, and then you’re pushed straight into a job … but I wasn’t. I had time. I could figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I think everyone should take a year out between school and university. It’s important to have time to figure out what you want to do. Because there are key points in life, times when one decision will affect the next twenty years of your life. And only then will you have the freedom to make another choice, which could affect the next twenty years.”

  The words struck a chord. My decision to take the new BBC job was one such moment. It represented the end of jobs … but the start of a career. A career which could very well affect the next twenty years of my life. Instinctively I thought of Jason and the bitterness that that reality had brought him. I had to make sure I didn’t fall into the same trap.

  “Yes,” said Samten. “You have to be very careful with your decisions in life.”

  “Well … there’s always the next life,” I said, which was quite a good joke about reincarnation.

  My Buddhist friend thought about it. “Yeah. I suppose so.”

  “Okay,” said Jim. “And cut there for a second. Danny … could you ask Samten what usually brings people to a place like this?”

  “Yes,” I said, still quite pleased with myself for the reincarnation joke. Jim started the camera rolling again.

  “Samten, what usually brings people to a place like this?”

  “It can be anything. I often talk to people about what led them here, what milestone in their life it was that brought them to us. Sometimes it’s a feeling. Sometimes it’s pure chance. Sometimes it’s a passing comment made by a stranger. Sometimes an encounter with an inanimate object or animal.”

  My heart leapt for a second.

  “Hang on—go back. What was that about strangers and passing comments?”

  I could sense Jim looking at me oddly from beside the camera, but suddenly I wasn’t doing this for Richard & Judy. I was doing this for me.

  “You’d be surprised,” said Samten. “Sometimes people end up here because of something someone had happened to say. Something that clicked with them or just seemed to make sense. Something that struck a chord. Often the person who said it has no idea of the resonance of their words. But sometimes it can be the work of, well, an enlightened being …”

  I was shocked. What had he just said?

  “An enlightened being?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Like … Maitreya?”

  Samten nodded. “Yes. You know about Maitreya?”

  Did I know about Maitreya? I couldn’t quite believe what was going on here. When you think about it, I was here because of a passing comment made by a stranger. A stranger who some people thought might be … an enlightened being. This couldn’t be possible. My head was spinning.

  “Yeah, I know about Maitreya! I know all about Maitr—”

  “And cut there,” interrupted Jim. “Um … I’ve a feeling that might be a bit obscure for our audience, guys. Let’s ask the same question again, but let’s keep it more general…. And action …”

  I was confused. And frustrated. Suddenly, it seemed Maitreya was everywhere these days. Which is handy, I suppose, when your business is in omnipresence. All I wanted to talk about right now was Maitreya and the stranger on the bus and what all this could mean. All the things that had seemingly been random led me here, to Samten. But Jim was right. There was work to be done, and so Samten and I continued to chat about the courses on offer as we wandered around the grounds of Dobroyd Castle. It was great here, and I was beginning to really like my lanky pal. He showed me round the different rooms, told me a few stories, introduced me to more monks, and it was only when he explained that he needed to change a bandage on his thumb that filming came to a halt.

  “What did you do to your thumb?” I asked.

  “I fell down some stairs the other day. Stupid, really. I’ll be back in a little while….”

  The crew went off to scout for some new locations. I realised I was rather enjoying myself. TV was quite easy. It was just talking to people.

  “Remember, Danny,” said Jim as the crew wandered off. “Try to challenge him soon. Get a reaction out of him. Dig deep into Buddhism. TVs not easy. It’s not just talking to people.”

  Ricky smiled. Clearly he was looking forward to the bit where I tried to annoy the Buddhists. I ruefully nodded at Jim and just stood there, wondering how I was going to achieve my unlikely mission.

  Seconds later I spied Liam coming round the corner.

  “Hey, Liam,” I said.

  “Hello. How are you enjoying things?”

  “It’s great,” I said, and we started to walk through the gardens.

  “Have you ever thought about being a monk, Danny?”

  I smiled. “Well … when I was a kid, I had a few martial-arts videos,” I said. “There were all these Shaolin monks who spent half their time meditating and the other half jumping over tables and smashing bricks over their heads. It looked like brilliant fun. I suppose that’s as close as I ever came to joining up.”

  “That’s not what it’s like in real life,” said Liam, but to be honest, I’d guessed that.

  Liam stooped to look at a flower, and I continued.

  “I had this one video called Shaolin Monks Versus the Ninja,” I said. “In it, all these Shaolin monks took on a mighty warrior ninja.”

  Liam stopped looking at the flower and looked at me. “Really? What happened?”

  I shrugged. “There was some fighting and stuff. Someone jumped over a table and smashed a brick on their head.”

  “Who won?”

  “I don’t remember. Either the ninja or the monks. But I think that by the end of it all, they at least had a newfound respect for one another.”

  Liam looked pleased at this.

  “That’s good. A good moral.”

  I turned to face him. “Liam … have you ever ever fought a ninja?”

  He shook his head with some degree of sadness.

  “No.”

  I was back with Samten and keen to finish the interview, so I could ask him about the vital issues now dominating my mind. We were in the World Peace Café on the grounds of the castle, and we were waiting for the crew to finish setting up for the final interview.

  I wasn’t really saying much. I was nervous. This was my last chance to do what I had
decided in my head the Richard & Judy people wanted me to do. To vex a Buddhist.

  But then Jim said, “Okay, we’re rolling,” and Samten sat up, and I had to get on with it. I had one idea, and now was the time to make it happen.

  “So, Samten … would you say that since you got in Buddhism,” I said, “you’ve become a much calmer person?”

  “Well, yes, I would …”

  “Good, good. Because that’s the thing about Buddhists, right? You’re very calm people, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s true….”

  “So, does anything annoy you?”

  “Well as a Buddhist, one learns to cope with situations and realise that what goes on around us is …”

  And then I did it. I don’t know why I thought this would work, but it was all I had.

  I started poking Samten.

  Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap on his arm …

  He looked slightly startled and stopped midsentence.

  “Er … I mean … does this annoy you?” I said. “If I poke you?”

  Samten looked at me, confused. I didn’t stop poking.

  “Because that is quite annoying, isn’t it?” I said. I’d gone red. I could tell. I was poking a monk.

  “Well,” said Samten, finding his composure somehow, “no, it’s …”

  “It’s quite annoying, isn’t it? How about if I up the pace?”

  Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

  Samten’s eyes widened. I looked up. Jim’s eyes were even wider. Robin’s jaw had dropped.

  I was, indeed, tapping him very quickly now.

  “Are you annoyed? Come on—say you’re annoyed!”

  I was virtually pleading with him. I really, really wanted him to be annoyed, but I couldn’t tell whether it was working. I couldn’t tell whether I was messing with his Zen. I couldn’t tell whether he was getting annoyed or not. All I knew was, I felt dreadful.

  I looked up, hoping Jim would shout “cut.” But he didn’t. He was just staring. Even the cameraman had stopped looking through his lens and was peeking round the side instead, his eyebrows arched. There was perfect silence, save for the sound of a man poking a monk on the arm.

  “Danny,” said Samten eventually. “There’s something I think you should know.”

  My poking slowed.

  He looked me deep in the eye.

  “I am a very violent man, Danny … and I have a very short fuse.”

  I stopped poking him.

  “So,” I said. “Tell me a little more about the centre …”

  “Was that okay for you, Jim?” I said. “I think I got him a bit annoyed.”

  “Well, I suppose so, Danny, but to be honest, what I meant for you to do was challenge him intellectually. You know? Probe him on his beliefs. Not … poke him.”

  “Oh.”

  Samten had been joking, of course, when he’d said that he was a very violent man.

  It was his way of dealing with a very odd situation.

  We’d finished filming for the day, and the crew started packing up the gear. I’d be travelling with Ricky and Robin back down to London, and urgently wanted to talk to Samten about certain things. I found him, facing the pond, and resisted the urge to tap him on the shoulder. I reasoned he’d probably had enough of that.

  “Samten,” I said. “Could I have a word about something? In private?”

  I don’t know why I said that last bit. We were already totally alone. Samten eyed me with some degree of suspicion.

  “You’re not going to start poking me again, are you?”

  “No, the poking is over. And I’m sorry about that. I promise not to poke you or any other monks. I realise now that poking a monk is highly irresponsible behaviour.”

  Samten nodded slowly, and then beckoned me to follow him inside. Eventually we came to a door, and he pushed it open to reveal a room full of sunlight.

  “I’ll put the kettle on,” he said as he hitched up his robes and started to take off his shoes. I was slightly surprised. They were huge hiking boots. But I’m not actually sure if this is unusual or not. Perhaps hiking boots are standard monk issue. I think I’d probably been expecting a couple of flimsy mocassins or a couple of brown sacks, maybe, but no. Hiking boots. Under his robes. It struck me that perhaps Samten was a fan of Extreme Monking. Perhaps he kept a hang glider under there too.

  He flicked the kettle on and opened up the fridge.

  “Do you take your tea white?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Right. Well … oh. You can either have it black or with yoghurt.”

  “Um … what flavour yoghurt?”

  Samten bent down to take another look in the fridge and stood up again.

  “Strawberry.”

  I thought about it. “Black, please.”

  Samten brought the tea and sat down on the chair next to mine. He settled into his seat, fixed me with a friendly grin, and nodded to me, letting me know I should say whatever it was I wanted to say.

  I didn’t really know where to begin. But I began, anyway.

  “Samten, when I was downstairs, we almost started talking about … Maitreya.”

  Samten nodded gently.

  “Well … I mean … who is he? Because I’ve … heard of him.”

  “Maitreya is the buddha of love. He’s the next World Teacher.”

  “Right, well, what I’d like to know is … Is it possible that I could have met him on a bus recently?”

  I cringed. Maybe I’d got to the point a little too quickly, there. But Samten didn’t seem to mind.

  “Well … I suppose it’s possible. Why?”

  “Because in a roundabout way, that’s why I’m here, talking to you. This is the first bit of presenting I’ve ever done. I’m not a TV presenter. But someone offered me an opportunity, and instead of saying, ‘No, I can’t do that’ or ‘No, I’ve never done it before’ … I said yes. And I only had the chance to say yes to that because I’d ended up at a party I probably wouldn’t have gone to six months earlier. I took a chance. Lots of chances. And if some of the people I’ve met along the way are to be believed, it’s because I met Maitreya on a bus.”

  Samten nodded as if he understood. But I listened to the exchange in my head and decided that he probably didn’t.

  And then Samten said, “Fm not sure I fully understand.”

  And so I let it all pour out. I explained everything. I explained about how earlier in the year I’d been living my life in a more negative way. About how I’d been saying no to the little opportunities in everyday life, and how I’d become scared that that was all I’d ever do. About how I’d started to regret not knowing how much I’d missed out on. And about how one night, on a bus in the East End, a stranger uttered a sentence that would change all that. A sentence so stark and simple, and a sentiment so obvious that I’d overlooked it as a viable course of action. Say yes more. And I told him that that’s just what I’d been trying to do—to say yes more. And I’d been learning from it. And having more fan. And … well … living.

  Samten thought about what I’d said. In his presence, the silence felt heavy, but when it was there, it was like it was supposed to be there. And eventually he smiled, and a moment later he spoke.

  “It sounds like you’ve found your path to enlightenment.”

  The crew had finished packing up and were grabbing some food before the long trip home. Ricky was chewing on some celery, and Robin was trying to find the toilets.

  Samten and I walked around the grounds of the castle and talked more about Yes. It was still sunny and, save for the odd monk cycling to or from the town, we were alone.

  “What I think is interesting,” said Samten, “is this idea about giving up control. Letting what you call your Yes moments lead the way. Because actually we don’t even have control in the first place. It’s a myth. In life absolutely anything can happen.”

  “Like you hurting your thumb.”

  “Exactly. I didn’t know that was going to happe
n.”

  “No. Neither did I.”

  I probably didn’t need to say that.

  “But I did hurt my thumb, and I had to accept it and adapt. If we have faith that some higher powers—some enlightened beings—are helping us to develop spiritually, then you begin to relate to life completely differently. And I suppose life starts to become a little more magical. Every opportunity must be seen as a chance to learn. We have to be open to whatever happens, good or bad. Because anything that happens is a chance to increase our wisdom and to walk farther down the path to enlightenment. So, if you miss the bus, that’s an opportunity to learn. If you become ill, that’s an opportunity to learn something new, like compassion, maybe.”

  “What did you learn from hurting your thumb?”

  “Not to trip down the stairs.”

  I laughed.

  “But in reality … hurting my thumb limited what I could physically do, and so it gave me plenty of time for meditation. It presented me with a valuable opportunity.”

  “Nice spin.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You should hurt your thumb more often.”

  “I don’t think that would help.”

  We found a bench and took a seat.

  “I suppose it’s like you discovering you didn’t like maths,” I said, “and ending up doing pottery instead. It may have meant you couldn’t go to university, but that was for the best, wasn’t it? It meant you could do something you really cared about.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And I imagine you can also make your own mugs now, too.”

  “Well … I wasn’t much good at pottery, either.”

  “Oh.”

  A breeze picked up. We both took a moment to listen to it.

  “So, tell me about some of the things that have happened to you, then. As a result of saying yes.”

  I thought about what to tell him. And then it seemed obvious. Something bad that had happened, which was also something good.

  “There was this scratch card, right? And I never normally play scratch cards. But the card told me I should, and so I did. And I won twenty-five thousand pounds.”

  “Wow,” said Samten.

  “But then I lost it again.”

  “Ah,” said Samten.

  “But the thing is, that just proved to me that what I was doing was right. It didn’t matter that I’d lost the money. The important thing was that I’d won it in the first place. I didn’t have twenty-five thousand pounds when I found the card, and I didn’t have twenty-five thousand pounds when I’d finished with it. I hadn’t actually lost anything. But I did feel like I’d gained something.”