Sometimes I can see trees for what they really are. I can't say much more about it than that. I just look at them, and I know. There are two trees at the North West corner of Central Park that have revealed themselves to me; there is a tree in Sarnath, who has done the same, covered in dead vines. Stopped dead in my tracks on the rooftop of the Jain Guest House, I stared at the aging bark, bright leaves, and shrivelling vines that protruded.
Much of my time in Sarnath, the holy place of the Buddha's first sermon, was spent racked with undeniable fear. The small dusty roads of the town converge on a circle where a small statue of a British soldier still stands. The streets are lined with various whallas, selling juice, souvenirs, vegetables, and Ice Cream. They depend on tourism, on Pilgrims coming to this holy site, and in the off season they are relentless toward the few westerners who pass through. This only added to my already shaken condition which I procured in Varanasi. My evenings were spent in my sweltering room with no electricity for fans or lights, i stared into the blackness of night wide awake, while unbelievably exhausted. In the prison cell of Sarnath, I felt every second tick by.
My resistance was in my own heart. Fears which were easily deniable at home were thrust into plain view and I was made to experience them in all of their fury. So I wandered the hot midday streets of Sarnath in a daze caused by my own fear and anxiety, waiting for the loneliness of night where a small candle would cast a dim light on my existence.
I was fortunate to be staying with such a lovely family though. The food I ate there nursed my body back to health, and made me feel comfortable about eating again. While the flatulence of the old grandfather provided for some comical entertainment, although it came at all hours of the day, including meal time. I spoke at length with the head of the family about a free school he was running for children in neighboring villages, to provide basic Hindi, English, and mathematics education. So that they may have the knowledge necessary to succeed in life while still preserving the North Indian culture. I was honored to have met them, their hugs when I left were warm and tender.
Seeing reality through a tree, even for a second, can do wonderful things. Afterward comes a moment of clarity, a simple reminder of how to nurture the heart. I called home, several times. I think that before the tree, I felt that my trip was a way for me to rip myself from my family ties, to experience things on my own, for a while. This, I know now, was a form of asceticism, the antithesis of the middle-way path which the Buddha expounded upon this very spot 2,500 years ago, in the Dhamma Chakka Pavattanna sutta*. How can we be separate if we are all interconnected? My healing had begun.
Dear mother
If you were dead and gone
would I call upon you any less?
nay
I am a process
As are you
there is no division between our breath
Last night, my final evening in Sarnath, began as many others had. I ate dinner, speaking with the family and the two other guests staying there, waiting with fearful anticipation to be locked away in my room, in the darkness. When the time came I walked up the old concrete stairs, who's ceiling was made up of the stars and the moon, unlocked my door and slid the bolt behind me. I showered by candlelight, and dried myself lightly hoping that some remaining water would evaporate in to the arid climate. Fully prepared for battle, I sat down upon the floor, with a small lit candle in front of me. I brought my attention to my breath, at the rising and falling of my abdomen, the location of the hara, the energy center of the body. Suddenly it happened. In my directed attention I saw the systematic nature of existence, that I had nothing to fear because I was one with everything. At that moment every emotion; fear, pain, anxiety, anger, hatred, melted from my body and I became as impermeable as stone to the attempts my mind made to falter my solace. I had found a state of peace in my pain. Afterward as I chanted the Four Great Vows of a Bodhisattva, my voice boomed throughout the universe.
Special Thanks To: Mom & Dad, Uncony & Aunt Dana, Meagan Rory, and Timmy for talking and providing support, sometimes at unmentionable hours.
*If you really wan't to know, the translation from Pali to English is: Setting the Wheel of Dharma in Motion. If you don't want to know, please disregard
