Letter 1.23

…Re your comment on the Kierkegaard quote: you seem to consider creative work as the important aspect of existing, and you say that 'the living part of it comes incidental'. This seems to be putting things backwards, since there can be no creative work without life. At any rate, creative work is not 'working for a living'. A salesman, for example, works for a living, but I don't think he could be said to be 'creating' anything - whatever other function he may have. If one wishes to create there is indeed satisfaction in its completion; but in the matter of getting a living there is no completion at all, for we have always to be getting a living - therefore the work of getting a living becomes a drudgery: something without end cannot have purpose, for the purpose is the end. If there be a purpose to existence it must, of necessity, involve the ending of existence. (This does not mean 'annihilation' - there is, of both logical and evidential necessitv, a state that does not involve existence - but it can only be understood, of course, by one who has attained it. (Just as the flavor of an orange can only be known by one who has tasted it. Though this does not mean that we can't know anything about the state - indeed quite a bit can be said about it, and especially how to attain it - but that is not the same as attaining it. The taste of an orange can also be well-described, but it's not the same as the taste itself.)

Another quote from K: 'The best proof for the wretchedness of existence is the proof that is derived from the contemplation of its glories.' A bit overdrawn, and written in a bitter moment, but the point is well-made. To wit, I haven't quit writing, but I am not close to finishing anything. This, however, does not mean that I am not creating: I'm creating within myself certain mental states and abilities which seem likely to become the most useful thing I have ever created: calmness, mindfulness, and a concentration which is directed and, thus, can be used as a powerful tool… K again: 'If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of the potential.'

Journal 23

Night - this place smells like a huge greenhouse, slightly steamy, slightly moldy: decay is as evident as growth. There is one huge rock, about 50 feet high, and a 100 feet across, with one sheer face. Part of it overhangs, and beneath this overhang has been built a dhammasala - a preaching hill - and temple. The roof, then, and one wall are solid rock, and produce a solid and sonorous bass echo when suttas – discourses - are chanted. It is here that púja is performed. This is a thing - the performance of pújas - not done at Island Hermitage, so this evening I saw, and participated in, my first full-scale púja. The word is derived from the Pali verb pújeti, to worship and consists of the recitation of suttas - which in itself is quite appropriate and salutary when performed for the purpose of reviewing the teachings - but, in a púja, raised - or lowered - to the level of a sideshow, or ritual designed to satisfy the devotional needs of the laity. The dáyakás stay overnight it seems - I can't imagine anyone making the round trip in a day, carrying food, etc. - and this evening, for about two hours, there was this chanting, along with preaching and assorted gimmicks, all designed to make people think that they were actually doing something. What it is that they are doing is to make a mockery of the teachings: to think that in worship, and recitation they are doing enough, when they are, in fact, not doing what is required, which is the development of wisdom and mindfulness for the purpose of escape from the round of rebirths rather than they think, collecting merit for a better rebirth. I didn't recite the gibberish sections of the púja, but my presence is evidently expected, and since there are two pújas a day - at 4:00 AM and 6:00 PM, of two hours each, and perhaps a third one - I don't know yet - during the day - and since there will undoubtedly be a lot of other nonsense expected of me as well, all of which will make the serious and difficult task of meditation impossible - therefore my stay here will not be long. A shame, for the setting is fine, and if it were possible to actually be physically left alone, it would be a good place to practice solitude (which is a mental, not a physical, condition). I have been made very welcome, given a kuti to myself - absolutely necessary, of course – but only at the price of knowing that the two novices are sharing a room. They may not mind this, of course, but I am thus unavoidably imposing upon them, which gives them a right to impose upon me by expecting me to participate in their way of practicing the teachings which, right or wrong, is nevertheless not only not my way, but inimical to my way. Therefore, I can't stay long, and shall, as of now, plan to leave the day after tomorrow: to stay only long enough to see the full extent of their life here throughout one day, and to rest my feet and shoulders (which are sore from carrying my bag: a rucksack would be very easy, for I haven't much; but it seems it's not possible to use a rucksack with robes: it just wouldn't

fit.)

Night sounds: insects and raindrops.

Letter 1.22

…Last full moon day was the anniversary of the birth/enlightenment/parinibbána (i.e. bodily extinction - 'death' is a term not applicable to one who has attained nibbána, since upon the attainment there is no longer any 'self' to die) of the Buddha - the 2,511th according to the reckoning of some schools (though Western orientalists usually consider this as 56 years too early) - and there was, apparently, a lot of festivity on the mainland, judging by the distant noise. Here, though, there was no special group observance - only, for each a 'sane and happy' observance. There is no reason to celebrate the fact that we are getting farther and farther away from the Buddha's Teaching…

Journal 22

The arañña is kept by an elderly monk and two novices. The elderly monk speaks English, which is a great relief (I was assured several times that he didn't), and made me quite welcome. One of the novices fanned me – presumably I was bordering on heat stroke. My robes were torn and soaked as if it had been raining. The other novice prepared a wonderful glass of orange juice. My guide, a villager, who was neither educated nor pseudo, seemed hardly fazed by the trip. The elderly monk has told me there are three elephants and a tiger hereabouts, but they have caused no trouble at all; so far, I assume; so far, this is an addition to the usual hazards. There are, on the other hand, no hazards from car accidents, lung cancer, etc., so it all balances out.

Letter 1.21

…There was a typhoon a few days ago, which was rather spectacular. The coconut palms were bent over at 45° angles, but they amazingly sprung back, none of them blown over, apparently…

Journal 21

But here I am - and this place is real jungle… Bridge on the River Kwai type: on one side a wall of solid green rises almost perpendicularly 60 feet; on the other side thick and impenetrable undergrowth has - if I may so put it - overgrown all, and only other huge jutting hills of solid green can be seen. The place looks like jungle, sounds like M-G-M jungle, and smells like jungle - damp, mosquito-ridden, absolutely uncivilized. The price to reach it is great - damned near fatal in fact - but it is – almost - worth it. Thank god the trip back's downhill…

Letter 1.20

...Miles Davis once said, 'Man, if you don't know what jazz is, then no one can tell you' - meaning that jazz can only be understood as an experience. Not only does this also apply to the Buddha's Teaching, but to just about everything else as well. An experience can only be communicated to one who has had a similar experience - and the closer the experience the more meaningful the communication. Since the experience involved in practicing the Buddha's Teaching (which, by the way, is a very different thing from 'Buddhism') is foreign to the Western experience one shouldn't really expect a book on the subject to say much to one. Perhaps, though, it will give you an idea of what to look for in your own experience to find as analogous a situation to mine as is possible…

Journal 20

I finally reached a turn-off, where I had to take a foot-path to today's goal: Nugagala Arañña. The foot-path is not quite 3 miles: the trip takes – took - over 2 hours. It is the hardest path I have ever walked: up and over huge hills, with jungle closing in, over streams unbridged and leech-infested, higher and higher. I only barely made it - that's no exaggeration. Even when the arañña was, after a long long time, actually in sight, I still only barely found the last reserve of energy to struggle up a water-spill slippery rock and up steep stone steps to reach it - farther still…

Letter 1.19

The rains, as I think I mentioned, occur at sunset, presumably due to the cooling air not being able to hold so much moisture. I'm told there is a 4-month rainy season as well beginning about June when it rains almost all the time. This is, after all, 'tropical rain forest'. Things not used get moldy, but that takes some time. Books, especially, deteriorate rapidly and become worm-eaten as well (wouldn't moth balls work?), and have to be rebound frequently. (The Hermitage has an excellent library.) The worst thing about the damp is that perspiration never evaporates. The best thing is that there is very little temperature change. Always between 65-85 (at the extremes)…

Journal 19

I went on to the village of Hiniduwa, where there was, I learned, a wedding. A number of pseudo-sophisticated government employees spoke to me. Also a man in yellow clothes who was both the ayruvedic (native) medicine pharmacist and the coroner. Well, if the first trade is unsuccessful, never mind; there is always another possibility. He seemed very wealthy and bejeweled. I was asked – it was about 1:00 - if I would like a 'late lunch'. I was told it was the custom here: the place is, it seems, corrupt. There is a large and very well built Catholic church here as well - the first I've seen in Ceylon outside of Colombo - and Catholicism seemed to be thriving. No wonder. I was assured, of course, that there were 'only a few' Catholics: who, then, paid for the fine church? Rome? When the Buddha's Teaching is allowed to fall into corruption not only in its teaching of wisdom, not only in its teaching of mindfulness, but in the simple virtues of keeping a vow which one has voluntarily undertaken, then it is no wonder that another religion thrives. These people were terribly complacent, as well they might be, for they have no understanding of what the Buddha actually taught. They want the Dhamma on easy terms; but it cannot be had easily; so they accept what can be so had.

I refrained from commenting to them, of course: it would be of no use to tell them that they couldn't be Buddhists so easily, and besides, I am not a missionary nor am I fit to be a missionary; it's my general policy not to point out to people how complacent they are about such things…

Letter 1.18

 …The razor blades you sent are excellent (the local ones barely get through a shave before they're dull and corroded). We are required to shave at least once every two months (face and head), and that rule suits me fine. Mundane repetitive tasks have absolutely no interest for me, and never have. That includes shaving daily.
I'm quite certain that no amount of 'Jewish education' would have made a difference in my views. I can recall specifically not believing what little I was taught as I was taught it. I remember as a Safety Boy stationed at Joy and Wildemere, I was involved in an argument with Macey P. about God - I didn't believe then and I never have. Besides, the Buddha's Teaching is not religious – at least as religion is conceived in the West. The Teaching is basically instructions on the examination of the here-now (and arc strongly opposed to any speculation, whereas a religion is in essence a speculation - you can never really be sure, as you can about your own immediate experience - I know I'm writing a letter, here and now). But - I'm not interested in criticizing other beliefs (and have much good to say about much of the Jewish tradition) - besides, you should see how Judaism is practiced in Israel - it might change your own opinions...

Journal 18

About 11:00 AM I reached a little group of buildings, where there was a Maha Bodhi Estate (125 acres of rubber trees). The Maha Bodhi Society is the leading Buddhist missionary group in India and Europe (especially Germany), and was founded by a Ceylon 'hero', in co-operation with Col. Olcott, an American who came to Ceylon 80 years ago and did a lot of rehabilitation of Buddhism in Christian missionary-ized Ceylon. This estate belonged to the society (whose monks, by the way, are not only very worldly, but also very mercenary - at least those I've met). The manager (a layman, of course) had seen me walking when he passed me in a truck of goats, and apparently assumed I was going to his estate for dána; so when I arrived I was led to the bungalow. I, of course, didn't know what was happening, but was more or less decided, after yesterday's mess, to 'follow advice' - and given a seat. The grounds were beautiful and green with very steep jungle hills as backdrop and a rushing jungle river as sound effects: lovely. A huge bowl of rice was brought, along with curry sauces, but since I'd already had enough from alms for the day, I explained that I could not accept more without eating what I had, it would hardly be proper, etc., but took a few ceremonial spoonsful of the manager's offering. I ate my meal, but the manager seemed put off that I had allowed him to go to the trouble of preparing a meal for me and then refusing it. Of course, I had not 'allowed' it, for I had not known of it - but the whole incident seemed very Maha Bodhi—ish. (I had some experience with them both as a layman and a monk in India): very well done, very nicely set up, etc., but very unwanted.

Letter 1.17

From the Wilderness: Peace

Having received your letter (on my birthday: a welcome stiff); having flow- the coop the following day; having tramped along an erratic dotted line (on the edge of a 150 mile-long box of Ritz Crackers); having, after many unrefreshing pauses in as many empty shrines, perched myself atop Karmagala (a shrineless emptiness), the only nameworth hill within a day's walk of here, I can now look down onto the sporadic dull green of the dry jungle, whose leaves lay about like forgotten dandruff, broken by a rare farmhouse and irregular fields where farmers tend scant paddy. Before me, a thin line beneath the sky: the sea, sharp and bright; behind me, a thin line above the land: the Upcountry peaks, vague and dark; both far away. Closer, suddener, birds dart about, catching the incessant wind in arrowed wings, disappearing like sparks; chimpanzees stare moodily, greedily, hoping for the remains of the rice I collect daily at the nearest village, a 40 minute trek away.

I live in a large cave - a gap, actually, formed by the imperfect juncture of two gargantuan boulders one atop the other. The entrance is puckered up, as if to kiss me, or perhaps devour me. The roof (which is 15 feet of solid rock) bears faint traces of an ancient artist: a hand is visible; other lines define nothing at all, for every rock, every tree, every day, every cloud, every thought, frog and accident occurs the same as every other. Repetition is important, and must be understood, Nevertheless, because, atop the peak of Karmagala I can see too the peak of Kataragama, I think this; because it is December 31st, I write this.

Your letter was very poetic, very human, thoughtful, sane, and - essentially - mystical. This is fine for a writer, for a mystic. I must be now as usual mundane and dull enough to point out a mere fact. I hope this will not affect you, or even that you will find some way of transforming it into something better than the base metal of mere factuality.

So loko so attá: thus the Pali says, time and time again: 'This, the world, is this, the self.' And so you, too, write: 'I am the universe.' The difference being as follows: the Pali ascribes the view to the asutvá puthujjana, the untaught commoner, who has not grasped the Dhamma. Then, invariably, the text goes on to record the attitude held by the sutvá ariyasavako, the instructed disciple of the Noble One, which is: 'This is not mine, I am not this, this is not my self.'

This is a fundamental tenet of the Pali teachings (and the experience of the sutvá ariyasavako) and is a phrase which occurs hundreds of times in the texts. You will note that it is the exact opposite of your views, which is the view, by and large, of the Mahayanists. Therefore one cannot-except by a prodigious effort of doublethink - hold to both the Pali and the Mahayana texts. I do not suggest you do so, but rather that you have been either uninformed or misinformed as to the nature of the Pali texts.

Beginning with the basic idea that we are, each of us, individuals, units, one, while our universe is infinite (the end is not to be found). The Mahayanist takes the basic dilemma of the equation 1=∞ (which is the human condition) and tries to resolve it by squaring it, 1²=∞². But this only raises the dilemma to a higher power. The Tantricist tries to multiply both sides by zero - a very illegitimate procedure - to prove, like some Hindus, that nothing really exists.

The Buddha does not alter either the 'one' or the 'infinity': His discovery was that the fault of the equation is not amenable to tinkering: it is the equal sign itself that is the mistake; it's the relationship which is false. Tantric merely denies our humanity (which all too obviously does exist); Mahayana tries to raise it to a higher power; the Pali shows us how to give up this too-cherished delusion. The aims are different; the means are different; the conceptions are different: the deception is the same: 1=00, The equal sign means 'is', part of 'to be', and so the Pali defines nibbána, the 3rd Noble Truth, as bhavanirodha, cessation of being (being that delusion). Is that the same as what you tell me Nirvana is?

The following is from Kafka (a dialogue between two of his various selves`:
'I've had some experience and I don't mean it as a joke when I tell you it like being seasick on dry land. It is a condition in which you can't remember the real names of things and so in a great hurry you fling temporary names at them. A poplar tree in the field, which you called 'the tower of Babel', since you either didn't know or wouldn't know, that it was a poplar, stands wavering anonymously, again, and so you have to call it 'Noah in his cups'.'

Neither pain nor joy in themselves, can produce anything beyond themselves; but the two combined form the teaching experience; and the intensity of the pain (in a jungular vein), combined with the vast minuteness of the individual moments when a ray of light bounced right have taught me much - too much for the remaining sixth of this page, not enough for even a sentence. It is, I have learned from Jerry in The Zoo Story, necessary to go a long distance out of your way in order to come back a short distance correctly. There is an inherent honesty in the jungle - an honesty which is much more sudden than that of the desert - which is the only justification for its occasional luxuriance. Concommitant with our refusal to recognize this honesty is the attempt to relate ourselves to it. This is what is meant by the Parable of the Raft.

Tomorrow I shall leave here-traveling to a place two dozen miles off to the East, and shall post this on my way. Shall, surely, return to the island soon enough. I find that now I can live there: I can live anywhere.

Like the light shining through a hurricane lamp, we have to escape from within the structure: we have to get rid of what we think of as freedom in order to see the deception and to see that, for every existing individual, there is a way out…

Journal 17

December 7, 5:00 PM - I left Udugama this morning, feeling much refreshed after a good night's rest, at about 7:00. My robes were almost dry, and quite a few shades lighter as well. (I prefer wearing the heavier robes while traveling, for they wear better and, being older, are both more dispensable and more comfortable, like shoes.) Actually the temple I stayed at rated another star - I was excellently received: the whole difficulty was my lousy attitude towards being 'wet, cold, and alone', but had I been more inclined to listen to advice (I was warned it would rain hard), it would not have happened. That, however, is past. Today it was a 9 mile walk from Udugama to Hiniduwa village along a road which gradually deteriorated as there came to be fewer estates, more hills, less people. A forest officer helped me greatly. Alms consisted largely of cakes, sweet rolls, and bananas; the sky consisted of fragments of sunshine mixed with fragments of

misty rain: almost fine. The whole day can be described as fragmentary and almost

Letter 1.16

…Essentially the Buddhist Order is supported just like any church, shul, etc. - by donations from the laity. Since monks don’t (or, at least, ought not to) handle money there are a few differences. But the Hermitage is supported by a committee (in Colombo) which makes all the arrangements needed. They fix dates on which supporters (called dáyaká - a=plural) can bring us a prepared meal – there is apparently something of a waiting list - and in addition provides salary for the servants, pays taxes, provides whatever else is needed – i.e. postage, fuel, books, etc. When a dána (offered meal) is given - which tends to be an elaborate affair and, curiously, always includes a dish of curds and honey - often some small item will be given each monk - as, for example, a towel, a bar of soap, a spool of thread (pillows are an unexpectedly popular item), simple medicines, etc. (There are numerous restrictions on giving robes to individuals but none on giving to the Order so robes, along with other items, are given to the Order and when a monk needs something of this sort it is given to him from 'stock').
In addition to this if a layman wishes he may offer to support a monk individually - if a monk wishes to live in seclusion other than at a hermitage or meditation center he almost certainly needs this - as does Ñánasumána, the other American monk, who lives alone in the jungle - and those monks who cater to the Laity - i.e., who function as priests rather than as monks - often have such dáyaká, after some years. (I have two dáyaká myself - one in Calcutta and one in Ceylon - but that’s only because of status involved in supporting a Western monk – native monks have a more difficult time of it.) Since monks are not allowed to ask for anything until they have been invited to do so (with the immediate family excepted) this system is necessary. So my simple needs are more than satisfied (if I sunk all the soap I've stored up into the lagoon the suds would clean out San Francisco bay) - with the exception of a few products not available here or many of inferior quality…

Journal 16

Set off North. Udugama the day's goal. Alms fairly decent: rice cakes, stringhoppers (a kind of fried patty of rice spaghetti; tastey), bananas, a few curries, some bread, all topped off, at the very end, by a great gob each of honey and coconut oil poured liberally everywhere. Ate in comfort. The route was mostly uphill, past many rubber-tree estates, fewer tea-estates. Slight drizzle. Fifteen miles to Udugama village. The height of the hills was most unprepossessing and unimpressive until I'd climbed half a dozen of them, by which time they looked awe - inspiring indeed. It began raining at 11:00 in earnest, and I took shelter a number of times for the next few hours beneath friendly roofs, where I was stoked with endless cups of tea. Finally only a mile and a half to go, I tried to make it, got absolutely soaked, and arrived at Udugama with a trail of dye dripping behind me. Hard day; great strain, tension; am staying the night in a small temple where one of the two resident monks is absent, none speak English, everyone is very friendly, and I am exhausted, sore, etc. Very nice building, but I don't feel up to going into details now. Mosquitos a nuisance.

Letter 1.15

…Yes, the moon grows for 10 days. It waxes (and wanes) in 14 day periods - a full cycle is 28.5 days. In Ceylon rest-days (called poya days) are based on the moon - each full and new moon and the intervening quarter moons are as Sunday in the West. Pre-poya day ('Saturday') is a half day. Thus poya days are usually 7 days apart, but sometimes 8 (since the moon takes an extra half day per revolution). Since on full and new moons there are special observances, I always know the date in relation to the moon, but since I have no contact with the outside world (no newspapers, etc., or other distractions) I am not sure of the date. It's early April, I believe. I've left the Hermitage once since arriving. That was several evenings ago. There is a temple in the village and an old monk died, so we went to pay our respects. The cremation is in a few days and I'm curious how it will differ (not in effect) from what I witnessed at the burning ghats of Banares. (He was 80 - some years old - monks seem to have long life-spans.)

Journal 15

December 6 night - Left this morning beneath an uncertain sky. Ven. Saranatissa gave me a towel and some foil-wrapped aspirins (greatly prized here) and an invitation to return: very nice. I regretted not being able to give him anything; but all I could have given him was my old towel, which would hardly do. If and when I return I shall give him a tin of Nestomalt, which would always find a warm reception anywhere except at Island Hermitage's overstocked storeroom.

Letter 1.14

…In order to develop proper meditation it's necessary to also develop síla, a word loosely translated as virtue. It involves establishing a mental state of non-opposition, an accord, a state in which it is no longer possible for conflicts to arise which could hinder meditation. Both meditation and síla are developed - one gets more and more proficient, one's activities and perceptions more and more refined. The use of money is, inevitably, a disrupting action, and this is why monks are not permitted to use it…

Journal 14

2:30 PM - I shall probably go North. I have just learned, by the way that leeches, though perhaps rare, are to be found here; for I just removed one from my left calf. There is no pain involved in a leech bite at all: just disgust. Also the tiny wound bleeds for a long and messy time. Big dána today, and the farce of 2 days ago repeated, with a few variations on its central theme. There are monkeys in the trees outside - I've seen three: two adults and one baby clinging to one of the adults, presumably female. Other monkeys are indicated by crashes, flashes, leaps, vague figures dark between dappled leafy shadows, barely seen or not seen at all. The strange thing, though, is that the presumptive female monkey is, or at least, seems as if, perhaps – well - to be wearing short trousers. Most peculiar.

Letter 1.13

…I've been told now by several people that I reminded them of a character in a novel: Maugham's Razor's Edge. I don't know, as I haven't read it, but even if I had it would probably take me a book-length reply to qualify it, and even then it would be nothing more than a justification, which I don't need. To paraphrase T.S. Eliot, I must do what I must do and there's no doing anything about it…

Journal 13

December 5 - Rain most of the morning: if it’s clear tomorrow I shall leave. It’s too bad I came here first, for I rather suspect that this will turn out to be the best arañña of the trip, If it had been the last, I could stay on as I liked; but with the trip just begun, and with a definite goal and eventual purpose, lingering at this point seems slightly absurd I may never arrive. At any rate, I can return here whenever I wish, for it will not be far from Island Hermitage. I shall go either North or South - I must get details from Ven. Saranatissa before deciding.

Letter 1.12

…Your black and red letter arrived, delivered by our steward here (who looks like a stumble-bum anarchist), from a very foreign port, indeed. It has taken me some days to read it, as it takes me, of late, some days to do anything. Action involves anticipation (in three directions), removing presence from the present by means of the root addiction: to being (and, in the same sense, not-being). I'm still a junky - every drop of blood contains, in its very fluidity, addiction to change (which demands a background of sameness); every vein, in its solidity, contains addiction to sameness (which requires a background of change). Infinite hierarchies lurk everywhere: the world contains an infinite number of them, hierarchically structured. The world is an infinite number of structures of infinite structure. One learns to live every moment as arises, endures, and fades - each event an impossible surprise - which, as you well-put it, is a very simple, often tedious, moral exercise. When it’s accomplished, it is accomplished alone, no matter how many (or few) other people are about; no matter how closely. Solitude cannot be shared. Immediacy is here-now, where there is only room for one, at most, and infinity, at least; not ten. Communion afterwards is shelter on a cold dark bough.

I have been very slowly dyeing my robes russet (the color of the vinaya with bark-dye, which has very weak adhesive powers. It gets on everything, and I sit on Sinhalese newspapers. Some arbitrary gust of wind - perhaps a passing poltergeist - dusted my empty bookshelf free of your letter, which took residence upon the news of the day, hiding, possibly as a legal notice, upon which I sat. Your letter is, consequently, black, red, and russet, and all crinkled up, and a bit more difficult to read than before. (The lines themselves are clear as Burl Ives - single spacing suits your style - but there is so little space between the lines that I can hardly make out what’s going on there.) Your blessing is clear, however, and so that you need not retain dross (and lest I forget or run out [#35] of paper before another chance arises), you have my blessings - right now.

It is now six days since I have begun this letter. I stopped last tire unable to decide upon the appropriate blessings, or on anything else, for that matter. Having nothing original and striking, I give you, simply: Blessings: of virtue, of vision, of wisdom of the Way. Of pleasure, joy in understanding of serenity in equanimity; of anticipation of the unsurpassable final extinction of delusion: of having done what is to be done, with no further task in sight.

Mahayana has it beauty. I don't deny it has its value. I don't deny it its truth. What I do deny is that it has the same truth, the same value, as that which is in the Pali Vinaya and Sutta pitakas (note that I make no reference to Theravadins, about whom most charges are valid). By putting Ven. Ñánatiloka Mahathera into a tomb modeled after Lenin's tomb, one has not in any way created a dead red bhikkhu (though the effect, I admit, is rather disconcerting to the few who know). The Pali is not, of course, an authoritative collection (but who is the authority?), but the Kanjur-Tanjur, in its all-inclusiveness, however authoritative, and historical it may be, is also: comic, in Kierkegaard's sense, and precisely absurd in Camus'. It may also be useful. If they have the Pali canon and the Mahayana; how do they reconcile them? They don't? Because mysticism (which they is) allows such incomprehensibilities? And even though the Pali texts don't, there is still only a higher mystery? Fine – but where does it get you? I know where the absurdity lies for exactly the same reason as you know the absurdity of someone trying to unite say your novels with mine, or as Shostakovitch would if someone tried to unite his music with Ives (Charles not Burl): the public, the 'they', the observers who are not intimately involved with their being in and as their subject - those whose existence is considered as an objective object - the scientists and scholars, the hobbyists - can combine, mix, jumble, until they have a fantastic salad with an unbelievable dressing; but the concerned individual, who cares about his occupation with an infinite concern can never allow himself the sensuality of doing so, must always eat his carrots whole, raw, and unpeeled, and must rigorously discriminate and discard simply because it is concerned in and for his own immediate and subjective being. In a word: apply your experience with your novels to my position. You will immediately understand how it is both possible and necessary for you to appreciate and use each bit of Buddhism you discover that fits into the non-Buddhist 'thing' you are building; how it is both possible and necessary that I do likewise with all the non-Buddhist 'things' for the 'thing' I am building, but how we both must differentiate carefully, closely, and always to prevent our 'thing' from becoming, through osmosis, generalities, and no longer ours. 'Nuff.

I'm sorry/happy to hear that your/my rucksack has been lost by Qantas: may it long continue on its journeys, an itinerate container to the world.

I myself shall continue on my journey very shortly. After 9 months on the island, leaving it only under compulsion or need, I find that the foetus has grown nicely, but expect that birth will be easier outside, and therefore propose to leave, in a few weeks, for a few months, wandering on foot in jungles and finding, hopefully, a solitude without the many breaks required here. Perhaps it will be a stillbirth, or a monster. I suspect, however, that it will merely be a female receptacle which must also be impregnated and cared for nine months or so until… another hierarchy is born. Anyway, we shall see; we shall see…

By now a number more days have passed - I'm not even sure how many (but the moon was waxing when I began this letter, and now is waning) - and so unless I become inspired between now (evening) and tomorrow (when mail is posted), shall say no more.

Inspiration! Metta (loving-kindness) is the popular way of signing letters, pretending to meditate on such, etc., and is very appealing to the slovenly positivistic commonsense common mind. The Buddha, however, has said that, of the four Brahma-viharas (Divine Abidings - of which metta is the first), the last upekkha (equanamity, onlooking) is the best. I agree, therefore, fully aware that most people would be grossly insulted at the idea, unable to comprehend the beauty and necessity of negative thinking, I shall limit application of this beautiful and necessary attribute, without which one can only half exist - I shall limit my use of it to those who fully exist.

With upekkha,

Vinayadhara

Journal 12

December 4 - No crowd of dáyakas today. Took dána at 10:30 from the building at the arañña entrance, where it's presented, and went to the mossy rock by the stream; sat beneath a low and shady branch - it is, however, a cloudy day and the branch was, therefore, no more than decorative - and, with my feet in the water, I ate my rice with a few not-too-highly-spiced vegetables. I suppose I was meant to go to the dining hall and eat with the others, where I would have been given fruits, curds, and the other necessities of the village monk’s life - but I gladly exchanged them for the stream. So far no complaints.

Letter 1.11

Kierkegaard is a fascinating writer. One statement which I found very relevant is: 'Whatever is great in the sphere of the universally human must not be communicated as a subject for admiration, but as an ethical requirement.' Elsewhere he says: 'Precisely because the negative is present in existence and present everywhere (for existence is a constant process of becoming) it is necessary to become aware of its presence continuously, as the only safeguard against it. In relying upon a positive security the subject is merely deceived.' As far as I've gone in his Concluding Unscientific Postscript it seems, taking due account of his Christian background, to apply full face to Buddhism…

Journal 11

There are - at least - three mongooses here, and I must admit they are even cuter than those at Island Hermitage, though not at all tame. Other animals here: chipmonks (not at Island Hermitage) and king iguanas (lizards 6-8 feet long, with a long thin blue forked tongue that flicks out regularly like an automatic suspender - also found at Island Hermitage). Also an odd sort of gecko (small lizards about 6 inches full grown), puffy in parts, and skeletal in others – not at all like the sleek variety we enjoy at Island Hermitage - and seeming to be parodies of something, though I'm not sure of what.

Letter 1.10

…While it's true the snake doesn't ever win, it's not true that the mongoose never loses - sometimes they kill each other, in which case they both lose…

Journal 10

In the afternoon I went up to the cetiya on the hilltop and watched the clouds slowly gather in the east, until, forces mustered, they marched westward toward me and the sun, blurring distant details, and finally, victoriously, forced me to retreat back to the kuti at 5:00 in the face of a light rain, which continues even yet.

Before I went to the hill, while at the kuti, after dána, I watched some men come with a very large box of little clay lamps which, it seems, they distributed at intervals along all the paths of the arañña, up to the cetiya itself. Behind them came a man with a 2-gallon tin of coconut oil; then a man with an infinite number of cloth wicks; then two fellows with matches, trying to light the lamps. It was a bright day. One of the last of the fellows, with matches, wore trousers rather than the native sarong, which means that he can speak English: anyone who could not speak English and yet put on airs by wearing trousers would be ridiculed. So I asked him if he spoke English. 'Yyyyyyyesss!' he replied, with a terrible nervous stutter, which I noticed was not present when he spoke to his companions in Sinhalese - and I asked what the purpose of the lamps might be. They were lighting them, he informed me, because his brother wanted to have a baby. Oh? And did they believe that by lighting coconut oil in a hermitage they would be helping his brother to give birth? Yyyyyesss! Indeed, native beliefs and customs do take some peculiar turns! But, it turned out, the lamps were not for the brother, but for the brother's wife who, it seem, has already just had a baby. This was a celebration. I gathered too, from other signs, that they wanted to thank Lord Buddha for having granted them – her - a son. This is, of course, completely contrary to the whole concept of the Buddha's Teaching: it is almost undisguised god-worship. Such things may well be expected from a generally uninformed laity, but it is not unreasonable to expect a Buddhist arañña to refrain from encouraging such mistaken ideas by the simple expedient of not participating in them, if, as it seems, preachings from 10:30-11:00 AM don't manage to get the message across.

Letter 1.9

...Yes, there is, it seems, a present you could send: some permanent dye. The bark dye is simply terrible. If I perspire - as one must in the tropics – the dye gets on me, runs into splotches on the robes, etc., looks bad and ruins the cloth as well. It washes half out in plain water, let alone soapy water. I'm enclosing a few threads. These are approximately the right co1or - even darker would not hurt. If you could send - using your experience as an artist - the right combination of dyes to match this color (approximately) it would be very welcome…

Journal 9

7:30 PM - sitting on the cement meditation seat outside the kuti (very nice with a pillow), listening to the cicada concerts, and writing by the light of a candle balanced delicately inside a partly - burnt red paper lantern, while a faint drizzle taps on the corrugated iron roof so rapidly it is almost steady drone (a sort of audio version of a newspaper photo, which is comprised of individual dots). I record the following events of the day: dána (food offering) was presented today by a very large group of villagers. I assume news of my presence has spread and was the immediate cause of the dána, for everyone stared but none asked questions. They must have known a white monk - an American yet - was there, and just wanted to see for themselves. A pilgrimage, perhaps, to the zoo? (Do you have The Zoo Story, by Edward Albee, there?) At any rate, at 10:00 I went to the building by the entrance to the hermitage, covered in both shoulders, my bowl was taken from me and I was shown a seat. I sat and waited until 10:25, when two old monks came, whom I had seen before engaged in devotional flower arrangements and gossip – betel-nut mouth, teeth red and rotted and widely spaced - the sort of old men the village makes into monks and supports because they have a certain faith and are good for nothing else, yet must be supported anyway, using the Order as an old-age home. (It's also used as a reformatory, on the other end of the age scale.) Anyway, the three of us sat down, our bowls were returned filled with food, and one of the men, the one who seemed the brighter of the two, took a large alarm clock, placed it next to him, and waited until it was exactly 10:30, then he gave the Five Precepts to the villagers. Then he began to give a sermon interspersed with ritual chants, when the other old monk joined him. Absent from all of this was both Ven. Saranatissa and the young monk, whom I've only seen once. About 10:4O the handsome old rooster strutted in, picking up and setting down his legs in a military fashion even when standing still. He seemed to look over the crowd, found them uninteresting, pecked slightly without any real enthusiasm at the floor, and finally turned to face the three monks, myself included, sat down and listened. Very slight power of concentration. He quickly discovered that a vagrant flea had illegally taken residence in his feathers, and tried for some time to evict the wee fellow. Finally succeeded or gave up, sat down and closed his eyes. I too was unimpressed with the sermon. A fly was having a very intimate affair with my left eyeball, and simply would not be discouraged. At precisely 11:00 the sermon ended, we rose, took our bowls and left, the rooster close behind us…

I know, of course, that when people hear that the Dhamma has spread so far and been accepted to the extent that an American should appear here in robes, it’s good for increasing the faith, the devotion, their respect, and their donations to the arañña. And besides Ven, Saranatissa - who is a very good person - has probably not had an American here since 1950, when Dr. Hopkins was visiting (as a layman), 17 years back. I know, not only that the monks here don't often get as fine a meal as they did today (it approached Island Hermitage standards, though I'm perfectly content with the standards of yesterday's meal), but also that the people don't often have the occasion available to give it, and can therefore well appreciate the motives in using me for this purpose, even though I don't particularly like it, even find it detrimental to my efforts to practice the Buddha's Teaching-well, it is detrimental, so I don't like it. Still, it must be tolerated. Nothing else seems to be expected of me.

But I didn’t eat my meal sitting on a mossy rock by the bend of a shady jungle river with my feet in the water. I ate it in the company of the two old monks in a hot, unesthetic, unfunctional building with flies, mosquitos, and discomfort, with farcical ritual in a village - priestly atmosphere. I prefer to be alone, and so to eat alone, but if I must eat with others, then let them be urban and urbane types - to whom I'm accustomed and can therefore ignore – rather than village monks with village manners. They were very nice, of course, and tried to be friendly, bustling about trying to arrange things the way they thought I'd like best, which was, of course, what I liked least, and plagued me with petty favors. Very trying, annoying, but the food, though terribly spicey, was edible, and I survived the experience and, perhaps, even learned from it.

Letter 1.8

…The clouds cast a dim and diffuse light here; the lagoon fills from the torrential rains (the channel to the sea's kept closed until the flood waters are impossibly high), and I rest briefly from the long hours of strenuous effort involved in developing samathabhávana - calm concentration. After six months of hard - very hard - work, a few words of the language of wisdom have been learned - though perhaps the grammar necessary for this mental development may still be a long way off. I have found my solitude: it is totally internal.

Yes, I was aware that Lama Govinda (I assume you were referring to him) was at the Hermitage for a while - and I'm not surprised that he found the horizon for a poet-painter limited. The Buddha left no instructions for success in any of the arts, and if one wishes to practice the arts one may well find the Buddha's Teaching limiting. The Buddha's Teaching is limited: 'Two things only do I teach, Monks. What is dukkha, and the path leading to the cessation of dukkha.'

No, I hope I did not suggest that Tibet, Zen, Ch'an, etc. have nothing to offer. They may have quite a bit to offer; but what they do not offer is the Buddha’s Teaching. That teaching is, of course, not just Vinaya and Sutta. (It's not at all Abhidhamma, which is a scholastic invention having nothing to do with the Buddha's Teaching - or with anything else.) Meditation is an integral and necessary part of the Teaching - and the part which is generally neglected in Theravada - without which attainment is not possible. But (1) There are many types of meditation, only a few of which are suitable for practice of the Buddha‘s Teaching. (2) Meditation, while necessary, is not sufficient, and a grasp of the subject on an intellectual level, to some degree, is also necessary. The teachings of Mahayana and Tantric, whatever be their value, do not lead to an understanding of the Buddha’s Teaching. There are a number of very basic points in which they are totally at variance with the Teaching. The meditations taught by them are, generally, not the meditations which lead to that reflexive view of reality, constant mindfulness, which is needed to realize the Teaching. But, after all, most people, in their heart of hearts, do not want to believe that the Teaching can actually succeed. If they knew that today, in Ceylon, there might be someone still living who had actually attained some part of the Path, they would surely be shocked and outraged. They want their Dhamma on easier terms, and so turn to mysticism to get it. But - 'nuff said.

Except for a rather fruitless month in Colombo when I arrived - a month filled with the despair that can only be known by one who walks the hollow corridors of officialdom - I've been here at the Island Hermitage since arrival, It's far from being the best place for me, but I can say this about it - it's the only place for me, at least, in Ceylon. The only real trouble is it’s so terribly overpopulated. When I first arrived here there were 5 dogs, 4 Sinhalese, 3 Germans, 2 mongooses and an elderly Yugoslavian ex-philosophy professor who has been a samanera for a year and will not take his higher ordination because he doesn't want to have to eat dirty food. There is an ocean filled with fish, a sky filled with birds, a jungle filled with snakes and a well filled with tadpoles. Hardly a day goes by when someone doesn't speak to me. Kierkegaard, for instance, has been saying a lot, all of which I've found well worth listening to, though, it's necessary to dodge the occasional theological snowballs he throws out. But they melt rapidly in this climate.

Climate? The monsoon lasts, apparently, 10 months of the year. The mosquitos last 12. The fireflies are holding out strong also.

The solution is a permanent retreat - my novel, by the way, has the impermanent title of A Foreign Retreat - into samathabhávana (calm concentration), which, in spite of all the nonsense I picked up in Calcutta, really works. That is, it's useful.

Yes, I've found my Guru: the Buddha. But I've also found a present-day Guru. Unfortunately, he's been dead for two years now. He was an English Bhikkhu (Oxford, Intelligence W.W.2, etc.), who lived in the jungles south of here, and attained sotapatti (stream-winner: one who has entered the stream leading to liberation; i.e. limited rebirths before attaining it). He left a manuscript, letters, notes in the margins of books he’d read, scraps of paper, etc. - all of which I've been collecting and compiling and which is proving to be a fantastic document. Without his papers I would still be quite lost, but with them as a guide I’m getting somewhere?

The novel? It's in the States now, being read by various people. I don’t give a damn about it really - publishing that is - and am not making any effort at all. If others want to, that's their account. Since then I've written some pages on the theme of identity-searching, which I gave up as being poorly conceived. Also I've been doing some drawings, which are fun because I don't have any inclination to take them seriously. A few poems revolve in my head. Whatever I do is just for the doing of it now. If something were published it would be as pseudonymous as hell. Whatever solitude I've got (and it's gotten by meditation, not by running away), I'm not about to give up.

Give up? Rather, after having given up everything else, I've found that the vacuum created is peace. It cannot be given up, but only dispersed by not giving up other things – hell - you know all this anyway.

V.

Journal 8

December 3 - At night the insects take over, and have a real jam session - very far out and very real jazz. They have a strong rhythm section, a superb brass section (which blows a strong muted staccato, always in tune); their strings, however, are poor, and, while the woodwinds are good, proper use of them is seldom made. What a gas to listen to them, though, from twilight to dawn! Very few fireflies here - unlike Island Hermitage - which is too bad; of all the insects they are the only ones whom I have a liking for - though I wouldn't want my sister to marry one. It rained again last night, and today is bright, sunny, and, it seems, very native weather.

Letter 1.7

…The Island Hermitage is 65 miles south of Colombo (a 4.5 hour train ride) and is situated on two jungle islands (connected by an earthen embankment) in the middle of a lagoon, about a mile from shore. There are paths encircling both islands, close enough to shore to catch glimpses through the stands of coconut and bamboo, beyond the vines and bushes alive with sounds of birds, small animals, and insects - out into the waters, where bright tropical fish swim past. Along the shore of the 'mainland' lies only jungle growth broken by an occasional thatched-roof house.

On the island are a few German and Sinhalese monks - usually, I'm told, about 10, but 7 at the moment. 3 of them live on this island - the smaller of the two, about half mile around - and the rest on the other island (which is, I think, a bit over a mile around). So there is enough room here so that each monk's kuti or hut can be placed as to be out of sight of all the others, and afford a greater measure of that solitude for which the Hermitage was created. Also living on the island (aside from wildlife) are 3 or 4 dogs, an indeterminate number of cats, and 2 mongooses, neither of whom seems very friendly, (The mongooses, whose job is to control the snake population are tame, but so far they have only hurried past me, seemingly bent upon pursuing their duties, and have paused only long enough to sniff my toes. Just making certain, I suppose, that I'm not a snake in disguise, They are indistinguishable, but it doesn't really matter since both of them have the same name. Meals, by the way, are brought from the mainland for there is no possibility of collecting alms…

Journal 7

Afternoon - Having been exploring, it turns out that relief is possible except for the mid-part of the day, when there is no shade, there's a nice wall near the cetiya on the hill which will leave one shady side, and where there is a brisk. though sporadic, breeze and an extensive view which gives me an impression of vast aloneness and is fine for meditation - I suppose any hilltop of the sort would be. For walking about there is the sandy area of the cetiya itself. There is a flat rock, right next to the river - at the bottom of the hills - where a brook feeds the river as it bends sharply - which should be fine for meals. I'll try tomorrow. That leaves only a few hours at mid-day to deal with the mosquitos. Other natural phenomenon noted; some very fine trees (no coconut trees, though, and therefore no coconut milk), containing the odd monkey or two, and a great variety of colorful birds - parrots, cockatoos, etc., and also a handsome old rooster. The place is very extensive - miles of paths - with some very attractive spots. There must be 15 to 20 kutis, most of them falling apart through disuse.

Letter 1.6

With regard to begging, I don't glorify it. I've done some of it before I was ordained, and I know that it's a rather tiresome business. (Though in Asia it's not considered dishonorable in any way.) What I do glorify is the generosity, the devotion, even the faith, if you will, of the people who consistently give me far more than I need or, for that matter, could possibly use. They know I can’t use what they give me, but when someone runs half a block to catch up with me to be able to offer me something without any expectation of even so much as a 'thank-you' (monks observe silence when on their alms-rounds) then that is worth glorifying. If I serve no other purpose here I am worthwhile in simply being an object to whom things may be given. I think, though, that most Westerners would have to see this for themselves to understand the attitude and the way of giving that these people have…

Journal 6

December 2, 1967 - Mosquitos are much worse today: a great distraction to all attempts at meditation (and, of course, that's all there is to do – the books are not 'reading' types but 'consultation' types). It's either do or die: I've removed myself from the distractions which were available to me at Island Hermitage. There are, it seems, 4 monks at this arañña - 3 novices and a Bhikkhu. The head of the place is a novice. He was a bhikkhu, he tells me for 33 years - then chose to become a novice again. He speaks very little English and no one else any at all, so any real conversation - if either of us were so inclined – is impossible. I have learned of him, though, from another source: there is a book at Island Hermitage called Saints, Sages, and Seers, by a California professor P. Hopkins, in which he describes his various experiences in the East; in 1950 be was in Ceylon, and at Island Hermitage, for a short time, and at one other place for a longer time. That place, I learn now, was here. His opinion was that this place was chiefly devotional and meditational, while Island Hermitage was chiefly intellectual, which, in 1950, was probably true. I read the book chiefly for its Island Hermitage references, paid little attention to the Ven. Saranatissa's hermitage at Kottawa, and recalled it only when he came last evening with a lantern and a few questions. (He possesses, it seems, the amazing ability of waiting for some hours after having first met me before enquiring of my nationality – a phenomenon I have not previously encountered from an Asian). Food is, of course, not so good as at Island Hermitage, but healthy and satisfying and sufficient. Meal was taken alone here-a vast improvement - and actually it’s only the mosquitos which will, within a few days, drive me away - that, and of course, the goal of the whole trip, which is to visit Ñánasumána (another American monk) in Bundala. It rained last night, is very hot today. Relief at night from the mosquitos too - they leave at sunset via the western window - if I use no light, and remain in darkness until dawn, which is further meditational incentive.

Letter 1.5

Essentially, the Buddha's Teaching is a meditative system with a rather specific - and attainable - goal, and not the system of priest-preaching-laymen that is practiced here under the name of Buddhism but not in accord with the Teaching of the Buddha. The latter is a practice and the only way to understand if is to practice it. Study alone won't suffice. More than a practice, it's an experience. More than an experience, it’s meditation. More than meditation, it’s an attainment, and for me it is the means for which I’ve been searching for since before I left the US. I can look back on what I was when I became a monk and I can see the difference, and it's a very desirable difference, and since I can see a difference I know that, as opposed to all the other things I’ve tried - with the exception of the kibbutz - for the last 7 years or so, as a Buddhist monk, some progress is being made…

Journal 5

11:10 - huge snake on the road, 7 or 8 feet long, slithering everywhere very quickly, very close to me. I step back quickly as well. Villagers go by curiously looking at me, paying no attention to snake. One man throws a stick at snake, which disappears-harmless, apparently - certainly startling, however. Walk for a while. Rearrange baggage. Becoming tired; feet hurt; pavement is hot - can't wear sandals in villages, which are now scattered but still too frequent to take out sandals or go with one shoulder bare, tired, hot, wet, dissatisfied. Have already gone 10 miles, according to mile posts. Arrive at Kottawa village - am told hermitage is first juncture to the left: walk on and find small foot path with turnstile entrance. Is this the place? Path is on the left; there is a sign-post but only in native script – can’t read it. Enter. It's a beautiful park, with shady jungle paths - altogether pleasant. Is it the place? Uncertain. Walk on. No sign of anyone anywhere. Perhaps there is a dry place? Downhill is a gentle river, a quiet marsh. Mosquitos? Up-hill - too dense to sleep under a tree. Better find hermitage - and not try any ‘by the root of a tree’ sleeping business just yet. Leave park - if that’s what it is - and proceed. Eventually come to real junction precisely 11 miles from Galle, on road to Udugalla, turn left – shortly another left onto a dirt road, walk on another mile across a river, then a sharp left, short walk - and there is the hermitage. There were several attractive places, along the way, but they can’t compare with this: a fine river; hills, beautiful jungle, clean, well-kept, isolated, looks nice; arrive at 1:00. Am shown to a fairly nice kuti (a native hut) - given a cup of tea - welcome, but fortunately not overly-welcome. Then a delicious long bath in the icy stream, where tropical fish of many colors circle my legs or nibble my toes. Wonderful; wash off blood - probably from the leech bites. 0n my right foot I cool a few blisters. Everything is fine again. Return to kuti; straighten it up; make first entry in this record. Night: there is an insect - or perhaps a bird? - which sounds exactly like a power saw being flicked on and off, rapidly speeding up and slowing down; there are several mongooses here as well - perhaps more - but they will not come to me, nor let me get close to them. There are a great many paths, and I have yet to learn my way around. One path leads to a cetiya (shrine) on top of a hill which has a magnificent view for many miles, north and east, My first impression of the place itself is that it is primarily devotional. We'll see how much formal devotion is required of me. (I have no objection to devotion; a great deal to formal devotion.) Mosquitos are bad, and no screens or nets - I think this is the worst time of year in this part of Ceylon - but even so, not nearly so bad as Island Hermitage (where they are worse in number - though not in viciousness - even to Ein Gedi in the Negev)…

Letter 1.4

We start dying the moment we are born. Birth is the cause of death. All circumstances which may bring about actual death are but its occasions. How can one be at one's ease in the interval? The Buddhist point of view will appeal only to those who are completely disillusioned with the world as it is, and with themselves, who are extremely sensitive to pain, suffering, and any kind of turmoil who have an extreme desire for its surcease, and a considerable capacity for renunciation. According to the views elaborated by Scheler, Freud, Heidegger, and Jaspers, there is in the core of our being a basic anxiety, a little empty hole, from which all other forms of anxiety and unease draw their strength. In its pure form this anxiety is experienced only by people with an introspective and philosophical turn of mind, and only then rarely. If one has never felt it oneself no amount of explanation will convince. If one has felt it, one will never forget, however much you may try. It may come upon you when you have been asleep, withdrawn from the world; you wake up in the middle of the night and feel a kind of astonishment at being there, which then gives way to a fear and horror at the mere fact of being there. It is then that you catch yourself by yourself just fo: a moment against the background of a kind of nothingness all around you, and with a gnawing sense of your powerlessness, your utter helplessness in the face of this astonishing fact that you are there at all. Usually we avoid this experience as much as possible because it is so shattering. We try to avoid this by trying to keep busy as much as possible, to always be doing something; thus, do we incessant: run away from this experience of the basic and original anxiety, and rely on something else than this empty center of ourselves to inform our lives. The Buddhist contention, however, is that we will never be at ease before we have overcome this basic anxiety, and that we can do that only by relying on nothing it all. It is in the nature of things that intimate knowledge of the Path is discovered only by those who walk it.

The Buddha's description of (and prescription for) the problem is summed up in the Four Noble Truths: 1) Life is bound up with dukkha (dis-ease, dissatisfaction, suffering, grief, etc.). 2) Dukkha arises from desire. 3) the Way to break the hold of dukkha is to break the hold of desire. 4) to break the hold of desire is to follow the Eight-Fold Path - and the Three Signata: 1) All is impermanent (anicca). 2) All is unsatisfactory (dukkha). 3) All is not-self (anattá) - that is, the ego is a delusion (or a delusional complex)…

Journal 4

8:30 begin collecting alms - finished (bowl full-and it's a big bowl) by 9:30. Sit down on a log in shade on a hill off road and inspect contents. Very different from Colombo alms. No rice at all. Everything is wrapped in newspaper, so there is not really as much - a lot of space between parcels: 8 packages of sugar (useless); 3 packages of tea (even more useless); 4 tiny cupcake type sweets; 3 wrapped pieces of candy; 2 unwrapped candies; 2 flat pastry things and 6 bananas. ABSURD! I discard sugar and tea; eat the rest—still hungry. Am brought tea by one of the people staring at me from the road Set out again; continue on alms. Much better this time: some rice cakes, 2 pieces of fantastically spicey and foul fish with sauce; 1 slice bread and about 1/8 pound butter to go with it; several indescribables. No sugar, tea. By now it is getting late; meals end at midday. I find a quiet shady place and begin eating when: leeches are everywhere! Depart hurriedly; don't sit down on damp, low ground. I'm becoming disheveled and my baggage is mixed up; discomfort; trying to find some place to eat; find a nice tree. Man comes and warns me against leeches; invites me to his home. I go and eat there, most comfortably, finish just after 11:00 and set out again.

Letter 1.3

A New Yorker has been staying at the monastery for some days while making arrangements to return to the States and, apparently, to be drafted, and he, it seems, is my first convert. I gather from him they're drafting everything that moves. Now that I've passed the magic age of 26, I can now even claim a clerical exemption. Imagine them sending me, in my robes, to Viet Nam! What would they say if I tried to join the Army as a clergyman for duty in SVN?...

Journal 3

7:30 - reach turn-off just past Galle; I set out on foot again. “Dentist tells me it is 7 miles; am offered ride/bus fare several times, by various curious people. About 8:00 AM am offered a cup of tea-accepted; am asked if I have had hil dana—morning meal—and say no. It is promptly brought; refused. I do not want it and was not asked if I wanted it. I drink tea, answer questions, start walking again. Villages: no chance to go 'one-shouldered', which is far more comfortable.

Letter 1.2

...When laymen have told me that they lighted candles at the altar to achieve happiness I've always smiled inwardly with the knowledge that this popular superstition was not really part of Buddhism. Several evenings ago I suddenly realized that they were right, and I looked at the candles which I had purposelessly lighted and realized that they would make me happier. This is a very good thing to know, that you will become happier, and this knowledge filled me with joy, and suddenly I was happier, and it worked. So simple, once the method is mastered, I suspect this 'popular superstition' is 3 more essential part of Buddhism than all the scholarly studies made about the state of Nibbana by people who ain’t been there…

Journal 2

7:00 - car stops; it's the car of the dentist in Galle who pulled my tooth. I accept his offer of a ride to Galle. He offers, as well, breakfast and a ride to Kottawa, where there is an arañña (forest hermitage), which is today's goal. I decline both, since it is my custom to take only one meal a day, and since I wish to walk. Ride to Galle accepted only to get beyond this long unbroken unpleasant village area, Today is new moon, when religious laymen observe the eight sílas (or precepts) of abstinence from 1/killing 2/stealing 3/incelibacy 4/lies 5/intoxicants 6/eating after midday 7/use of luxury or vain items 8/attendance on shows, dancing, etc. (This is an extension of the normal 5 precepts-1,2,4,5, plus abstinence from sexual misconduct - but not requiring total celibacy - which laymen are expected to always observe.) There are special early morning religious programs on the radio on these new - and full moon days. Surprising both how many radios are tuned into them and how loudly (though there are other stations available).

Letter 1.1

The ordination went off well. Mostly it just involved my requesting to be given robes, reciting the Ten Precepts (vows), and ritual acceptance in the Order, but they made a bit of a fuss over it, and a lot of people attended. Every evening people came to visit me, which is very funny. They venerate me, since I'm a Venerable (Venerable Vináyadhára·Sámanero, to be exact), which means bowing down before me. The men touch my feet. I'm not supposed to have any contact with women though. All the time they're venerating I'm hoping my robes stay up, because they're pretty tricky things to wear. Done up properly, they look nice, and saffron is a nice color. One fellow thinks he’s being very Western by calling me Reverend instead of Venerable. I know he means merely 'one who's revered', but I can't help smiling and picture Santa Claus and Thanksgiving and Sunday morning sermons to brightly scrubbed young faces… And, of course, they give me everything I could possibly use and many things I could never use: 3 blankets, shawls, a thousand billion sticks of incense, a lifetime supply of candles, all my meals, and what do I give in return? - my blessing. If that sounds like a con job, I'm not surprised, yet if this robe, if not what's in it, makes them feel this way, is it really?...

There is only one rule (out of 227 that monks follow) that gives me any trouble. That is the rule against singing. I'm just used to humming; it's in me blood. I'm getting the better of it, though; now that I've learned a few Pali chants I’ve set them to little melodies and whenever I feel an irrepressible urge to burst out singing I launch into a little chant…

Chapter I: Journal 1

Chapter I

A Contemporary Journal of a Very Minor Journey

December 1, 1967 - 5:00 AM boat leaves Dodanduwa Hermitage, I go to main road and turn south. It's just becoming light, but dawn comes very fast in the tropics and it becomes light quickly. I walk until 7:00 towards Galle. All the way to Galle is an unbroken line of villages, and it's necessary to keep robe done in such a way that both shoulders are covered. With baggage, this is very uncomfortable. Baggage becomes heavy. I am carrying; 1 alms bowl; 1 light outer robe; 1 inner robe (in addition to the ones I wear); 1 upper covering for chest; 1 bathing cloth, 1 towel, and 2 handkerchiefs; a few simple medicines, candles, and a Japanese paper lantern; 3 small books; a thermos flask; sandals, razor, soap, toothbrush and paste, matches, and other assorted minor items. How does it all fit? Very tightly, very tightly.