Meditation as Metaphor

AH! So sorry I haven’t been able to post—the end of the monastery program left us without access to computers, and since arriving to the PRC on the 17th of July, personal blogs (and facebook and youtube!) have all been blocked!! As you can see, I’ve found a way around that, though! Here is the post I wrote about the meditation retreat; I will post my other blog entries about Taiwan later this week. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one! Best wishes from Beijing.SJL



Meditation as Metaphor

The week-long silent meditation retreat was the highlight of the Woodenfish Program for me. We filed in on a Monday morning, picked our bunks, attended a brief meeting to explain protocol in the meditation hall, and then we put on the “noble silence” (禁语, jinyu) badges that served to notify the rest of the monastery community that we were not to be distracted from our practice.

picture of Meditation Hall

After reflecting on the retreat and the various dharma talks from venerable monks and nuns (dharma talks are similar to the sermon in the Catholic tradition; incorporating the teachings of the Buddha, the monk or nun delivering the dharma talk often shares stories and anecdotes to discuss morality and strategies for dealing with emotional or personal discontent), I now realize that the structure, form, and content of the seven-day retreat was designed to mirror our daily lives, albeit on a higher, more profound (and removed) level.

picture of dharma instruments used to notified us when sessions were over, when to stop moving, etc

First, a little background information about FoGuang Shan Buddhism and the structure of the retreat. Chan Buddhism was brought to China from India by Bodhidharma in the 4th – 5th century BCE. After the sixth patriarch in China, Hui Neng, passed away, the Chan School broke into several traditions, of which Linji (临济) is one. FoGuang Shan is part of the Linji tradition, which is known for banghe (棒诃, meaning “stick and shouting”). We were told that the venerable nuns in charge of our retreat went easier on us because this was the first meditation experience for most of us; in a normal retreat for the Linji tradition, so much as looking to the left or right would warrant a smack from the “compassion stick.” At all times, the venerable nuns were holding the compassion stick like a sword, resting on the shoulder right beneath the head.

picture of a "compassion" stick

Each morning we woke up at 5am, completed Tai Chi exercises and an initial early morning meditation session by 6:15 before breakfast at 6:30. All directions and instructions were shouted at us by the head nun: BE MINDFUL, DON’T BE DISTRACTED, BACK TO YOUR SEAT, CROSS YOUR LEGS, TAKE A BREAK. Each meditation session began with her sudden shout, SAH!!!!! And then two nuns would walk quickly up and down the aisle wielding the compassion stick. After breakfast, half of our group completed chores (I was in the afternoon chores group, so I graciously used that time for a nap), followed by our morning meditation session. We would meditate sitting down for approximately 30 – 40 minutes, followed by a 15ish minute walking meditation session; we would usually have three or so sessions back to back. Lunch was followed by the afternoon meditation sessions, chores, dinner, and then evening meditation sessions before we went to bed around 10 or 1030.

picture of the seats in meditation hall for daily meditation


dorm room/bunks adjacent to meditation hall

Meditation was painful. Sitting with a straight back and with legs in lotus position (the feet on top of the opposite thigh; I am still unable to sit in this posture so I just sit in half lotus with one foot up), I felt pains in other parts of my body—my arms would ache, my neck would become stiff, my legs regularly lost circulation. There were a couple sessions at the beginning of the retreat when I literally felt like I wouldn’t be able to walk after the seated meditation sessions. Thus, the purpose of walking meditation immediately following was to shake out one’s legs and arms.

There were three tracks for walking meditation, all proceeding clockwise and circumambulating the Buddha image in the center of the hall. The smallest track (and closest to the Buddha image) required the fastest pace; sometimes students on this track had to run at full speed if head nun required it. After about 15 minutes of walking in circles, a nun would smack her compassion stick against a stone, and we would freeze in our places before taking a 5 minute bathroom break.

pic of Buddha image in center of Meditation hall

picture from bunkbed in dorm

One of the most interesting concepts that was continually emphasized in the dharma talks is Buddhanature (佛性). Chan Buddhism teaches that every sentient being (even animals, hungry ghosts, and hell demons) has Buddhanature, meaning that each being has the potential to realize enlightenment and activate the Buddha inside him- or her-self. It also means that we need to see the world as the Buddha would see it; we must treat others with compassion, love, and forgiveness, and we must strive realize the truths that the Buddha realized—impermanence, emptiness, non-duality (to name a few).

These teachings and philosophies are embodied in the metaphor of the seven-day retreat. When I felt such pain in my legs during meditation, I was instructed to concentrate very closely on the origin of the pain, to penetrate the pain and find its root; the same instruction was given to address feelings of itchiness or coldness or hotness—we were told to find where the sensation was coming from. After intently searching for the origin of these sensations, I found that there was no origin—there was nothing causing the pain, there was nothing causing itchiness, there was nothing causing hotness or coldness. I also realized that all of these feelings were impermanent, because they would come and go, intensify and disappear. It was all in my mind (xin 心); it was my mind that created the pain, the sensations, the attachment to my form/body part that then ached or felt itchy.

Buddhism posits that there is no inherent self; we are nothing more than the 5 aggregates (色受想识行: form, sensation, perception, consciousness, volition). All of these aggregates in reality are illusory, products of our xin. The meditation retreat provided me the space and time to contemplate the ways my mind/xin works, the ways I attach to my form, sensations, perceptions, consciousness, and volitions. By contemplating these aggregates, the goal was to free myself from them, to detach from myself and achieve stillness of mind, free from everything.

There were sessions when I felt I had achieved correct posture and concentration that allowed me to move beyond my form. The feeling is hard to describe, but in a way it was as if there was a centripetal force spinning inside me, but in complete stillness. The force was pulling every part of my body in toward itself. I could feel every breath, every heartbeat, through my entire body and pulsing through my fingers and up through my arms and down my abdomen and to my toes. And it was as if I had achieved a hollowness inside the frame of my body.

But then, as soon as I was aware of it, my consciousness and perception went crazy and I wanted so badly to hang onto that physical feeling—and then I thought, Oh no! I’ve now become attached to this feeling—it’s just another hurdle I have to jump!

My meditation did not progress beyond that stage, but we were told not to make judgments about meditation sessions (there is no unsuccessful/bad meditation). I did notice, though, that my ability to concentrate/focus on my breath/practice was directly related to my experience with pain. Toward the end of the week, I was able to sit for the entire session, sometimes even skipping walking meditation to continue sitting, and afterward stand up and walk around without any hindrance.

Thus, the metaphor exposes itself. Buddhists believe that life is full of pain. Physical, mental, emotional, and day-to-day, pain in all its forms arises because of our inability to see that our physical form and sensations, our mental perceptions and consciousness, and our daily volitions are mere products of a turbulent mind/xin. If we can learn to control our mind, we will realize that all objects and feelings are impermanent, and therefore empty of inherent value, and should thus not be attached to or craved for. We cause ourselves so much pain because we fail to realize the way our minds work. The retreat was an intense experience in which I was inflicting pain upon myself by attempting to sit in stillness with legs crossed and back straight. I had to take responsibility for the fact that I was causing myself pain through meditation, and detach from that pain by controlling my mind. I had to still my turbulent mind. And in that moment of stillness, there was promise of clarity.

At the end of the seven days, when we were instructed in small groups of 10 to remove our badge of noble silence, we still just sat with eyes downcast, breathing deeply. Because at that moment I realized, even the seven-day retreat—that opportunity to understand myself and to concentrate on my body and my thoughts and my feelings—was, after seven days, gone; impermanent.

quick pics

tomorrow begins our 7 day intensive meditation retreat, but before then I just wanted to make a quick post with some pictures for ya! We will not be able to speak, make eye contact, use electronics, read, or listen to music during the meditation week, and falling asleep during meditation can elicit a smack from the "compassion stick" !









the first picture is the main gate of Fo Guang Shan.


the second and third pictures are from "Big Buddha World", a large area of the monastery compound and final destination for our pilgrimage at the end of the week. we have to make a prostration every three steps from the meditation hall to this area.

the last picture is my bed and daily garb!

The Concept

The Concept

After six intense, jam-packed days of trainings, classes, meditation and chanting practice, on the seventh day we finally have a day of rest (haha). I thought I would take a moment to explain the concept behind our specific program, and, in some ways, behind Chinese monastic life in general.

First, there are rules for everything. There is a proper way to hold the meditation book, a proper way to wear a sidebag, a proper way to pull out chairs before sitting down, a proper way to fold a blanket, a proper way for arms to dangle by my side, etc.

Before we leave our place of residence (a hotel-like building for pilgrims and lay-practitioners) each day, we line-up from shortest to tallest, men facing women (and with about two yards separating us). When the venerable of discipline approves of our posture, he tells us to 合掌 (hezhang, put palms together in front of the sternum), and then to 问讯 (wenxun, to bow and then rise, lifting the hands, with the pointer fingers together, up to the eyebrows before coming back down to the sternum). The first couple days (and even yesterday), we apparently were not in unison, so we had to continue to wenxun until all 61 of us bowed and rose together. Then the two lines of men and women file out and we walk in silence to wherever we are going.

The 61 participants come from 17 different countries and over 45 colleges. Just about everyone has some academic background in Buddhism, and a few of us have a background in Chinese language. We are woken up every morning at 5:30am by the drumming of a woodenfish, and then we complete an hour of Tai Chi and seated meditation. We then have a short breakfast before 3 hours of class, taught by venerable monks and nuns who often spend more time answering questions than actually lecturing content.

On some days we help with community service around the monastery, cutting grass, sweeping, or moving boxes. On the first day, my group moved boxes from one side of a storage room to another. I was sure that we would be asked to move them back to their original places, but it hasn’t happened yet, hah.

We are encouraged not to talk, to always keep our eyes down at a 45 degree angle if not closed, and we are told to always be mindful of our body and, to a lesser extent, our surroundings. We are getting into a pattern of meditation, breakfast, class, lunch, walking meditation, seated meditation, community service and/or project work time, dinner, extracurricular classes, dharma talk (question and answer), meditation, and then evening chanting (vespers). Between these events, we may have 10 or so minutes to ourselves, but we are reminded that every moment should be an opportunity to focus on our bodies and our selves (which do not actually exist, hah). Needless to say, the 7 hours of sleep is often not enough for the 17 hours that are crammed with activities and “mindfulness”.

At first, I was a little vexed with all the rules, and got very tired of being scolded for pulling my chair out too far from the table. However, I have begun to understand the concept behind all this structure, all these rules:

We are not supposed to think. The venerable of discipline and the other staff members are trying to train us so that when we embark on our 7 day silent meditation retreat, we will not have to think about how to lay a pillow, or how to pull out a chair, or how to wait in line, or how to do anything. We need to reach the point where we are only thinking about being. Just being. Everything else should just be an action our body moves through.

We are trying to limit the amount of external stimuli that could possibly move our minds. By looking down and never engaging or paying close attention to our surroundings, we can focus on ourselves and our mind and just be. By falling into a pattern that will repeat every day, our bodies will know how to respond when it is time to go to eat or get up from bed.

We have learned a few details about the intensive meditation retreat that will commence next Monday, but for the most part it is shrouded in mystery. The meditation hall has been described as extremely plain and colorless, and so silent that the only thing that you can hear is the ringing of your own ears. This will probably be the only chance in my life to be completely silent (and taken care of) for seven days straight.

I feel a little nervous about the meditation retreat, as I still struggle to meditate for just half an hour during our daily sessions now. However, I have improved and am quite impressed that I can at least keep my lower back straight for 30 minutes now! I’m still working on controlling my mind and focusing on my breath, rather than merely thinking about my life and what I “know.”

One of my favorite aspects of life here at the monastery has been the dining ceremony; today, I was on the other side—I served the food, which was -quite- an experience. I hope to write an entry about that soon. In the meantime, I need to continue to focus as hard as I can, in every moment—I’ve realized that meditation is not something that only happens in a seated, lotus-posture. Meditation is something that monastics aim to engage in during their every move.

New Journey

Greetings all!

Unfortunately we are about to line up for standing meditation / march to dinner, so I cannot make this a long post. I just wanted to make a post more recent than November 2008, though!

This summer I am participating in the Humanistic Buddhist Monastery Life Program in Taiwan. We began the program two days ago, and life has been extremely... interesting... since then! Rules dominate everything-- putting the bag on the right side (as opposed to the left) of the body warrents a scolding, no slouching at any times EVER, and there is even an ettiquette for how to hold a book! But I'm learning a lot and will make another post soon. (However, we only have access to internet for 2 hours each day, but even that is not a given. I have no access to internet in my room or on my blackberry (ahh!), so I apologize if I'm slow to return emails or make posts!)

In late July I will move to Beijing, where I will begin a one-year (two if I like it and they like me!) fellowship at the Natural Resources Defense Council Beijing Office. I will be helping them on various projects, most notably their environmental law booklet, green buildings and sustainability program, as well as contributing to the organization's blog (www.greenlaw.org.cn).



Alright I must put on my rain-hat (think crouching tiger hidden dragon) and go back to the dormitory. Hope all is well and I intend to post again as soon as I have free time.

passing thoughts

Well, unfortunately I've been without reflective thoughts over the past 11 or so weeks since reaching Ha'erbin. Applying to jobs and writing personal statements has forced me to do so, however!

Below are three pieces I wrote recently about my experiences over the summer, recently in Ha'erbin, and during my stay in Malaysia.


I promise to make an actual update on my life sometime... but for the time being, everything is going well! Only 3 more weeks of classes before I go back to Beijing and meet my family members!

Love, and hope you enjoy:

1) article in UVA's Arts and Sciences Magazine Online: http://aands.virginia.edu/x14159.xml

2) I was standing against the wall in the dimly-lit basement of the student center at Harbin Institute of Technology, trying to position myself so that I could see the student performers “dance-off” at the other side of the room. I scratched my head in amazement—when I passed the registration table in the cafeteria the week before, I had no idea there would be meticulously choreographed ten minute performances, audience members toting signs of encouragement for their friends, or a panel of three grumpy-looking judges (strangely similar to So You Think You Can Dance). Maybe all those things were mentioned on the information sheet, but nine semesters of Chinese still wasn’t enough to read it all.
Before I had the opportunity to majorly diulian (“lose face”—basically, embarrass myself horribly), I had a tough time figuring out what those grumpy judges wanted to see. They had so much to choose from: a group of three girls wearing tank tops and army pants dancing to “Genie in a Bottle,” a couple who danced Merengue, an excellent rendition of the robot, three or four traditional Chinese and ethnic-minority dances, to name a few. And of course, the one and only foreigner, yours truly, who wiggled to silly indie-pop for less than a minute before scurrying off the stage.
I look back to that time of intense competition, the anticipation for the result of comparing apples and oranges, and I think it truly underscores my fascination with Chinese culture and society. History books always point to the Cultural Revolution as the time when China wanted to throw off its old culture and make progress for the new, but I see that tension still existing in China today, especially among youth. As a country with nearly three thousand years of written history, China now faces the pressures of modernization and catching up with the world. This pressure manifests itself in interesting ways—the Yi fan-dancer with her elaborate folk-garb clearing the stage for a sexy group of Christina fans made this clash of old and new more than obvious.
Living in China has provided me with a space to learn about the fascinating changes that have marked the past century, and particularly the last thirty years, of China’s development. For the past five months, I have been researching the impact of these changes on the rural family, working closely with marginalized, migration-affected children. Compiling these experiences and observations into a senior thesis will be challenging, but will also offer me an opportunity to achieve a deeper understanding of an important social unit in Chinese society: the family.
The more I learn, the more curious I become. Returning to China for post-graduate work at an NGO, a law firm, or a foreign affairs publication will allow me to use my skills to work closely with Chinese people to achieve common goals. I would be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes crave the comfort and security of speaking English in America, where I blend-in perfectly and, on a day-to-day basis, rarely face overt, tangible discrimination. But the insights I’ve gained from being a laowai (foreigner) in China have been valuable to my understanding of cross-cultural communication, American culture, and myself. I’m willing to risk comfort, willing to embarrass myself a thousand more times, for deeper insight into these topics; moving to the workplace in China is best way to accomplish that goal.



3)This August I had the opportunity to travel in Thailand, Singapore, and Malaysia before participating in the Harvard Project for Asian and International Relations Academic Conference, which was hosted in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. I was astonished by the diversity of these three Southeast Asian countries, and in particular Malaysia.
While I was walking around the city center in downtown Kuala Lumpur with my Conference roommate, an ethnic Chinese and Malaysian citizen, I was amazed by the different types of people I saw: break-dancing teenagers, Erhu playing Chinese men, Sari-wearing women. Kuala Lumpur is also a popular tourist location for many Arabs, coming from nations like Saudi Arabia and Afghanistan. This was the first time I saw a woman wearing a burqa, or even a niqab covering all but the eyes. Certainly, I had seen reports on television or in the newspaper that included photographs of this clothing, but what surprised me was the extravagance and seeming materialism of the men and children with the burqa-wearing women. The typical man accompanying a burqa-wearing woman was exceptionally well-dressed, sporting designer jeans and a fashionable name-brand shirt. The stark visual contrast between modesty and showiness in dress surprised me.
Coming from my background as an American with a shallow understanding of Muslim clothing and culture, I was challenged at first to understand this phenomenon. My initial, inward thought was, “Wow, those belabored critiques of Muslim culture as being unfair to women are right.” Prior to this experience, perhaps I was unaware that I even harbored these opinions; I knew I needed to explore the topic further.
I explained to my roommate that I would have expected more modesty from the male partner in a relationship that comes from a community in which modesty is “required” of women. My roommate pointed out that I did not see what these women were wearing under the burqa. In reality, he told me, they are most likely dressed in the same name brands and designer clothing, but these clothes are only for the husband to see. “Wearing a burqa doesn’t have anything to do with conservatism, it’s what they believe.”
After thinking more about this observation and conversing with other friends whom I met at the Conference and afterward, I began to understand that an assumption of “being forced” or even coercive passivity on the part of burqa-wearing woman is unfair. Furthermore, I realized that trying to glean meaning and insight solely from outward appearance is an incomplete and flawed approach to understanding culture.
This experience has made clear to me that open-mindedness and a willingness for self-reflection is critical to understanding how I react in new situations. This perspective has motivated me to be more sensitive to my limitations in understanding different cultures without asking others, sharing experiences, and starting dialogue.

pix website

Check out my flickr account--website is to the right!! I put up my pictures from Bangkok a couple days ago, and I'll be adding more pictures as soon as I get better internet

Today is the last day of the Harvard Project for Asia and International Relations (HPAIR) conference. Monday night I'm flying back to Beijing--and I'm so excited to go back "home"

I'll make a post about SINGAPORE soon. Hope everyone is well!

Stories from Bangkok

ahhh even in Singapore I can't add pictures :( So sorry guys. If you can, check out my facebook albums, for now, I'll have to look into creating a photo website for those of you who don't have FB. Hope it's an interesting entry anyway!


I spent last weekend in Bangkok, Thailand, and the greater part of the week at a beach in Krabi Province, Thailand. I’m now in Singapore and will be going back to Malaysia on Monday.

Bangkok was a fascinating experience for me, as it presented a completely different atmosphere, culture, and feel that was distinct from China in many ways. Of course, I shouldn’t have assumed the two nations would be similar, but I was still taken aback by all the differences I noticed. Thailand is the second (first being China) foreign nation/culture that I have been lucky enough to experience, and I’m just blown away by the diversity of life over here in Southeast Asia—Malaysia (for the one night that I experienced it) was also new and unique to me.

The population of Thailand is near 62 million, and the capital is located in central Thailand at Bangkok. Bangkok is a “tourist name” that is only used internationally. Thai people call the city Krung Thep, which is short for the unbelievably long full name: krung thep mahanakhon amon rattanakosin mahinthara yuthaya mahadilok phop noppharat ratchathani burirom udomratchaniwet mahasathan amon piman awatan sathit sakkathattiya witsanukam prasit.

Wow.

The language was perhaps one of the most interesting, and for me, most frustrating parts of my experience in Thailand. The script of Thai is beautiful, involving over 40 consonants and over 30 vowels, combined with 5 tones that are marked over consonants to create a pretty complicated language. I would say the majority of people I interacted with had a basic handling of English, but they often would slip back into Thai at random intervals, or their English was very heavily accented so I didn’t quite understand. I remember once when I was trying to bargain for a shirt, I could have sworn the saleswomen was speaking Chinese to me because she kept saying [what I heard as] “ni kan ni kan” (which in Chinese means, “you look you look”). After I heard that I excited replied in Chinese to her, because I just wanted to be able to use my—if I do say so myself—rather good Chinese bargaining skills, but then she just gave me a confused look. Either she was using Thai that sounded similar, or she was saying “can” as in “can you buy it for this price?” I tell ya, not being able to communicate, especially during bargaining/making purchases was very very frustrating, and I felt more like a foreigner than I ever have in China.

Another funny thing about the Thai language was the way Thai people answer their cell phones. They often say “Huhlllloooooooo”, with the first part (“heh”) dipping down and then the “low” part rising up from the bottom pitch. Strange to hear something so familiar but then not quite the same.

My classmate from UVA, Oh, picked me up from the airport and we went to Siam shopping center, which is apparently one of the largest or the largest shopping centers in East Asia. It was an enormous complex with multiple buildings and name brands I’d never heard of and food court after food court after food court. Just paying for parking was interesting, because the service person put her hands together at her chest (as if in Christian prayer, with the fingers straight) and then leaned her head downward, almost touching her nose to her fingers. This is called wai and is a way of showing respect in Thailand. Usually service people/sales people will do a wai and the customer can either wai in response or just nod the head. Also, whenever a younger person is introduced or says hello to someone older, he or she should definitely wai.

After Oh and I had chosen a restaurant in the Siam Shopping center, I encountered another difference that I wasn’t accustomed to. We ordered a curry and a salad, and I was surprised that we were each given a fork and a spoon—no chopsticks and no knife. I started using the spoon as a knife with my left hand, and then used the fork how I would in America. Oh laughed at me and told me I had it the opposite way around—the spoon should go in the right hand and the fork should be used to scoop food onto the spoon before eating it. I suppose it shows my ignorance, but I had no idea people ate with spoons and forks in such a way!

I arrived on Friday, and the following Tuesday was the Queen of Thailand’s birthday, so pictures of her (and the King, and other members of the Royal Family) were all around the city. Neat Fact that Oh told me: the King is said to always have a camera, pencil, and map with him whenever he goes out.

I had read about the seriousness of respecting the royal family in my guidebook, apparently stepping on a dollar bill (which has the king’s face) is a serious offense and punishable. Oh told me that people do take it seriously, but that he has rarely heard of these types of occurrences.

On Friday night, we went to a bar in the gay district in Bangkok. We were lucky to arrive right at the beginning of a Cabaret show, which was quite an amazing sight. The stage had about six or so performers at a time, dancing precisely choreographed numbers behind a diva singing her heart out. Before I had heard about the “ladyboys” of Thailand—men who either cross dress, had a full sex change, or somewhere in between—but wow I was stunned to this performance in real life. Some of the performers were GORGEOUS—I would really never imagine that they once before, or even at the time, were men. Perfectly formed bodies, too! Even thought the club was packed and we only had a half-view, it was really exciting, and also punctuated by some comic relief when an extremely large ladyboy (she was probably near 300 pounds) would come onto the stage and sing very romantic songs in her long, elegant dress. Quite an experience.

As we were weaving in and out of the night market stands (EVERYTHING was being sold at bargain prices—shirts, jeans, DVDs, souvenirs, socks) on the way back to my hostel, we came across an elephant on a leash. Earlier in the day I saw a man riding an elephant on the busy streets of Thailand, and Oh told me that keeping elephants in the city is actually illegal according to Thai law, falling under cruelty to animals. So, I felt bad when I encouraged the whole situation by paying 10 baht to the “owner” so that I could feel the elephant. Well, the elephant must have been starving because it ate the food out of my hand as soon as I took it out of the bag. Hahha, what a tourist moment.

The next day Oh and I went to the Grand Palace, the (very) old home of the King and Queen. As we were walking to get a taxi (Oh was not a fan of the very touristy “tuk-tuks”—motocycle taxis, and in fact I’m glad we didn’t ride them, because I met not a few other westerners like myself who said tuk-tuk drivers “took-took” (hah) them to random places to buy stuff, rather then going to the actual location asked for by the passenger), but so we were walking and all the sudden we heard the screams of several teenage girls. We looked to our right and saw several girls running together—toward the entrance of a hotel. Naturally, Oh and I started running as well, even though we didn’t have the posters in our hands that many of these probably middle-school or high-school aged girls had. We soon saw the fronts of the posters, and it looked like some sort of Korean celebrity… maybe he was staying in the hotel or something. But by the time we got closer, the girls seemed to have given up and then walked back to the shade—waiting, waiting for the next time when he might come down to the first floor. Another funny experience.

It is only used for special ceremonies now though. In the palace compound is Wat Phra Kaew, one of the most beautiful places I’ve been to yet. Pictures do all the talking here.


We also went to another very very old Buddhist temple, Wat Arun. Buddhism is the State Religion in Thailand.

It was particularly interesting seeing these temples to me, because in Thailand and many other South and Southeast Asian countries they practice Theravada Buddhism, which is different from Mahayana Buddhism which is practiced in China, Korea, and Japan (and other regions). (And of course both of these are different than Variyana Buddhism, which is practiced in Tibet.) The main difference, if I’m remembering correctly, is that Theravada Buddhism focuses mainly on the actual teachings of the Buddha himself and thus encourages individual salvation and enlightenment, whereas Mahayana Buddhism posits that there are several Bodhisattvas who are also very influential to believers. A Bodhisattva is an individual who has almost reached Enlightenment but then decided not to fully renounce the world and in fact stay on in the world to help others achieve Enlightenment. Any of my Buddhist friends, or anyone else in-the-know, please feel free to comment to correct/supplement this brief description!

In general, though, I would say that these two temples I saw in Thailand were much more ornate than those I’ve seen in China. The details and amount of ornamentation surpasses many Chinese temples in splendor and, well, shiny-ness.

Saturday evening I went with my other UVa classmate, Napatra, to Siam Shopping Center again just to walk around and buy some street clothes (all of which I’m very proud of because they’re so hip!). We saw a really neat photo exhibit about the importance of environmental protection for a sustainable future. We also came across a very strange event taking place in a public space outside of the shopping mall: a Japanese Anime Dress-up Competition?! Look at some of the crazzzy costumes people were wearing:


The next day Oh took me to the Old Parliament building to see an exhibit about some artisan creations for the King and Queen. On the way to the exhibit, we had to take a detour because there was a protest… perhaps against the Parliament, my friend thought. There are many complaints against corruption and manipulation of rural peoples during election time. The exhibit itself was amazing, some really beautiful pieces of work—unfortunately no cameras were allowed inside, but I took these from the outside. Very interesting to architecture, too, eh?

One thing that left me confused about Thailand was the seemingly contradictory ideas about gender. While one night I was able to see the thriving ladyboy culture, the next day I was witness to the strictly genderized requirements of temples and buildings like the Old Parliament Building. Men had to cover their legs, so they could wear pants or, if they forgot to wear pants (like I did at the Old Parliament building), he could buy a piece of cloth to tie around the waste. However, women had to be wearing skirts at these locations—even if she was wearing pants. Seems kind of gender reinforcing, doesn’t it?

I wish I had had more time to spend in Bangkok—I know I still only scratched the surface of a very unique culture very rooted in history. The stories Oh told me about past Kings of Thailand were pretty amazing, and it was very eye opening for me to see such a large, distinctly different city in another part of the world other than the States or China.