Yes

Phud, tho, phud, tho…

Phud, breathe in….tho, breathe out….phud, breathe in, tho, breathe out.

Here I am on the floor of Wat Bot, in the lotus position, meditating alongside my new ‘teacher,’ Phra Chanamed.  It’s hot in here, and I’m supposed to be concentrating.  Or is it that I’m supposed to not be concentrating?  I think his brief lesson before we began said to do neither, to be empty, but I can’t remember because I’m thinking too much about squinting the sweat out of my eyes.

Phud in, tho out, phud in, tho out.  I want a cigarette.

He told me he would let me know when our 30 minutes is up, so there is no need to open my eyes and look at the clock.  I want to anyway, but I don’t.  It’s a small success. But then I start thinking, how does he know when the time is up without opening his eyes?

Phud in, tho out, in out in out.  David.  Athens.  Should I have finished my degree?  Phud in, tho out, in out in out in out in out.  Will my students like me?  Will I like them?  In out in out in out.  Am I doing this right?  Is he watching me right now?  Can he see that I keep squirming because this new lotus position thing is incredibly uncomfortable?  Phud in, tho out.  Of course he’s not watching me, nor is he thinking about me.  He’s actually meditating.  Me?  I am sitting, and I am sweating.

“Phud-Tho.”  It means awareness (not a direct translation as “phud” means speak – it’s just what  Phra Chanamed said it means when I asked for the meaning).  I do feel aware.  Aware of the sweat dripping down my back, aware of a noisy bird just outside the window that has overstayed his welcome, aware of the pain in my ankles and my left foot going numb, aware of a million things running through my mind from regret to excitement, fear and loneliness.  I am alone in this new world and I am aware.  And I know this is not the kind of awareness P. Chanamed spoke of about before we began.  I am failing.

I feel his presence move so I open my eyes.  Now begins the walking meditation, something I have never tried before.  I mimic his movement…he is rolling his feet, one in front of another so slowly it almost appears as if he is not moving at all.  Left foot phuuuuuuuud…..right foot thoooooooooo…..left, right.  After 30 minutes in the lotus position, eyes closed, I at least was able to reach that stage where thoughts, good and bad, were somewhat freely flowing through my mind.  But now, this walking, this walking is so slow that all I can think about is not tipping over.  I feel hot and fat.  Three trips up and down the temple floor and I say to him “Phra I can’t free my mind, all I can think about is placing one foot in front of another.”  He smiles, “Yes.”

And we continue.  Phud left, tho right, phud left, tho right. Another 30 minutes.  I have the rhythm down, but my mind is still not free.

We are finished. We kneel, touch our foreheads to the floor three times facing the image of the Buddha as a show of respect and together we leave the temple.

We walk out in to the blistering sun and he asks how I feel. I tell him I feel good, relaxed, like I just slowed down even if just a little.  But I also tell him I don’t think I did a very good job, completing one single hour was so difficult for me I was actually embarrassed.  He asks, “If you feel good and relaxed, then why you say you do a bad job?” I laugh and tell him, “Because I am an American of course, and we are excellent at self-deprecation.”   He doesn’t know the word “deprecation” but he likes my joke anyway, I can tell.

We continue our walk back to the building where he lives behind the temple.  This guy walks slowly, seriously slowly.  He does everything slow….smiles slowly and talks slowly, he reaches for things slowly and drinks his water slowly.  Each time he asks me a question and I answer he thinks, slowly, before speaking again.  I like it, and it makes me nervous.  It makes me feel like he knows me.

He asks if I want to be a monk.  I laugh and tell him I don’t know what I want to be.  He asks if that is why I am here.  I tell him I am here because Marissa said I should come, that she told me about this place.  He pauses for a really long time and then says, “But maybe that’s not why you are here.”  We both smile again.  Him slowly, me nervously.  This guy is intense as hell, but so playful you almost don’t notice.  He is thoughtful and centered and aware, but quick to crack a joke and make sure you see his eyes smile while you talk.  I like him.  I love him.  Marissa told me this would happen.  But she did not tell me we would end up in the temple meditating for an hour, and she did not tell me we would end up spending the entire morning and part of the afternoon discussing life and love and needs and the “world outside” and desire and anxiety.  She did not tell me I would meet this person and have a new friend, and maybe even a new teacher, on hello.

As I say goodbye he says quietly “I hope I see you again.”  I say, “You will.” Then he laughs (which he does often) and says “With you student you teach soon, you will need meditate a lot.” I laugh too and tell him he’s very funny.

I begin the 15 kilometer drive on my moto back to my home in Singburi, the next town over.  A short trip, but just long enough to think….Did that shit really just happen?  Did I seriously just end up in a temple meditating with this amazing monk?  Did I really just melt in to those people and pour my heart out and beg them to tell me how to stop wanting?  Was I really just asked to return to study the teachings, to meditate more, to meet the Abbot?

Yes.

I got back to my apartment, cranked up my aircon, and layed down on my bed (of which the interior is made of coconut husks, mind you….seriously WHERE ARE THE SPRING MATRESSES?).  I fell asleep and dreamed I was with David and his family in Laos.  But I wasn’t happy.  I was very, very tired, and very hungry.  And then I dreamed of pork fried in curry paste over rice with a fried egg on top.  And then I woke up, got back on my moto, and came here to my favorite little eatery where I am eating pork fried in curry paste over rice with a fried egg on top.  And everyone is looking at me funny wondering why I am here with my laptop, sweating and typing away.  And I don’t mind, because I’m letting go.

It’s the lesson of the day.