74 In the Monastery
Slowly we walk in single file
keeping our eyes and minds guarded.
Monks, like soldiers, want everything
done in an orderly fashion.
In the hall we are greeted by
a banquet, but nobody smiles;
together we reflect on the
offering so kindly prepared:
“No pleasure or joy will we find
in what we must do at this time,
we eat only so as to gain
release from this body of pain.”
When finished we leave in single file,
our eyes and minds still guarded.
It seems in this place that
celebration is out of the question.
After days of rainfall the skies are clear again. The leaves of the trees are now washed clean and glisten with the varied greens that contrast so sharply with the dark shadows cast by the noonday sun. In the jungle a tree is seen, stark and bare, but now on the tips of its branches new leaves are appearing and these small red flames stand out against the more mature vegetation around. Nearby a young boy starts chanting ancient verses in melodious tones, and I am brought to a halt by this moment of unexpected beauty, and there is a joy and a calmness that envelopes this small world.
We waited while long weeks went past
but now it’s here, it’s here at last,
it’s African Dhamma day.
Now here’s my friend, he’s in the hall,
he’s different since he heard the call;
left wife behind, and children too,
and sensual things that are not true.
They take him out, dress him in white,
they shave his head – it’s quite a sight!
He comes back in and bows to ground,
and gets back up and looks around.
Then, ’scuse me Sir, please give me cloth,
I’ll leave off lust and watch my wrath.”
“The cloth I’ll give, but first young sir,
three things there are to remember:
wear only rags, by tree go sleep,
if food is short, still do not weep.
Now furthermore, yourself to train,
from these ten things do you refrain;
Don’t hurt a thing, or take a life;
don’t take unbidd’n; nor take a wife;
don’t tell a lie; and what d’you think?
you must abstain from taking drink.
Now to me hark, ’twill be a boon,
to take no food in the afternoon;
shows they are out; and perfume too;
high beds you’ll find will not suit you;
now listen close while I make bold,
please don’t accept silver or gold.”
‘So poor I’ll be,’ he thinks in heart,
‘With all I crave, with that I’ll part.’
“There’s one more thing that needs be said,
who y’ were before: that person’s dead;
one name you had in Africa,
but now be known as Sunanda.”
The robes he takes with this in mind,
in one short life freedom to find;
he puts them on and comes back in,
they’re falling down, it’s quite a thing!
They wrap him up, and wrap him tight,
whate’er they do it’s not quite right.
He stands and laughs, doing his best,
they won’t stay on – but let’s not jest
on this African Dhamma day.
After the show, it’s off we go,
my friend is there, he wants to know,
“What did you think? I did my best,
did I do well and passed the test?”
“My friend, look here, I’ll say what’s true,
the day was great, and so were you.”
With these few words my verse I’ll end:
“May peace be yours” this thought I send,
as home we wend,
towards the end
of African Dhamma day.