Letter 1.48

…The practice of mindfulness is cultivating the awareness of the ongoing process of sensations (pleasurable, painful, or indifferent), which give rise, by means of the attention given them, to perceptions, actions, behavior patterns; i.e. one's sense of self.

The practice of mindfulness is the practice of the Buddha's Teaching; meditation is merely a means of perfecting that practice; it should not end when meditation ends.

Only through the practice of mindfulness can the Path be perceived and entered upon…

Journal 48

December 27 - Yesterday I left Tangalla and walked along the coastal road, but did not see the sea - there were rice paddy fields and a few hills in the way. The road does not come within sight of the ocean, as I recall from the trip I took down here last February to Hambantota. Received lots of rice for alms, both yesterday and today and on neither day was I offered any money, which was normal on other days - in fact on some days I almost despaired of getting food for people offered so much money, and then sometimes did not understand when it was refused. (Sometimes they did understand, so they know that money is not allowed for monks, but offer it anyway - and then complain that the monks are corrupted and don't know why that is so.)

I walked 19 miles, as far as Ambalontota, I had not intended to go so far, but there was a stretch of about 5 miles at the end where there were no temples. I wanted to stop at Nanagama, which is marked in large dark letters on the man, and which I assumed, therefore, to be a large dark town, but it turned out to be a few shops and tea stalls. Ambalontota, which is a large dark town beside a large dark river, is in light small letters on the map. The town, though, even has a museum, archeological, for, I am told, the history of the area goes back more than 2000 years. I did not go to the museum, but did spend the night at a large temple with an even larger cetiya which, I was told, was 1500 years old. Cetiyas, by the wav, are stone structures shaped like, but bigger than, wedding cakes (all edges rounded off) and are supposed to house the ashes of Great Monks. There are, though, an enormous number of cetiyas and only a small number of Great Monks, so most of the cetiyas serve more as a marker identifying the place as a temple.

Ambalontota temple housed not only monks but also cows, one of which had recently given birth to a calf over whom the monks showered pride and banana peels. The cows come into the main hall as they wish, and nobody seems to mind. I don't know if they are house-broken. In the evening the police came to see me and warned me not to go the last 3 miles to Madungala arañña alone, that it was through thick jungle, very dangerous, with no people and full of wild animals. I refrained from pointing out that the towns were also full of wild animals and even the temples ware full of tame animals. A busload of pilgrims arrived, who had been to some ancient sites in the area, and spent the night there; noisy - almost as noisy as the monks. Wild animals would be a relief…

Letter 1.47

…I have learned that the president of the Pali Text Society is an old biddy named Miss I.B. Horner, which recalls your limerick, and brings about a new version.

Miss I.B. Horner

Sat in a corner

Translating a Pali text.

While doing a Sutta

She misplaced a neuter

And discovered that she was unsexed…

Journal 47

December 25 - Merry Xmas. (Let's put the X back in Xmas.) Left Kirinda this morning, after declining an extremely pressing invitation from the Maha Thera there to remain for a few months. He says – surprise - that he likes my manners. I think it might be to my advantage to return there some time for a more extended stay. It's rather artificial, of course, but it's like playing Czerny exercises on the piano. Before one can play Bach, one must master Czerny, no matter how artificial and non-musical it may be. So too with the strict regulated life of Kirinda. They spend 3 hours every morning getting their noon meal, and also time for morning meal; they recite suttas at 9, 12, and 6 o'clock daily, sweep twice daily - very different from the freedom of Island Hermitage, where each person is, within the confines of the island, free to do pretty much as he wants, whether to use his time well or to waste it.

Today - went 15 miles to Tangalla, reaching the seacoast road; it is 26 miles to Humbantota; but there is one more arañña, inland, which I will visit first. Alms was rather difficult today; the area being both poor and depopulated, but I finally managed to get a bowl full of bananas and biscuits, which sufficed. Nothing eventful, but hot and tiring; am staying the night at a temple outside Tangalla on the main road. This is the least Xmasy Xmas I've spent, even less Xmasy than last year in Calcutta (not Marienbad), or before that in Eilat or before that in Bin Gedi, Munich, and Iowa. For all I know there is not even a Christian (X-tian?) for miles and miles around.

Nature notes: Monkeys do not eat oranges. A crow's head, seen sideways, looks like a Marine. And I have found today, in addition to red, black, and white ants, that there is also a brown ant, actually sort of brown-grey, longish and looking decrepit, like it was made of old and dusty secondhand parts but together by an unskilled mechanic. Also there is a plant which has bracken-like leaves and a flower of a delicate purple tint looking like purple needles stuck into a tiny pincushion, forming a fine globe. The amazing property of this plant is that if the leaf is touched, it folds up like a pair of arms cowering against attack. The leaves function in pairs, on opposite sides of the stem, and apparently all leaves farther from the branch than the one struck also react to this process, which is very marked - the opposite leaves actually touch each other and give the plant the appearance of having shrivelled up. It takes only 2 or 3 seconds for the plant to react, and about 5 or 10 minutes - related, I suppose, to the hardness with which the leaf is struck (a very light tap will only partly 'close' it) - for it to 'relax' again and assume its normal posture. Great fun to attack these plants and see all the leaves cower under the onslaught, and know that it's all a game. Then one glances over one's shoulder and wonders…d There are many flowers in the jungle but most are very inconspicuous. Some are very pretty, A large yellow flower grows on a tree and a bush alike. There is a fairly common small orchid, which frequently dwells on an old coconut shell; many tiny flowers; a rose-like flower on a thorny bush. There are also some colorful red and silver leaves, but all these are hidden in the masses of green that dominate the landscape, and one becomes aware of them only slowly.

Letter 1.46

…How do I not collect village butterflies? Sometimes with momentary difficulty; lapses of watching the senses, which will spin their alluring lies if not kept a constant eye on… Fortunately, there are also dogs, cows, pigs, etc… and one realizes that the butterfly now, in a blink, is a dog, cow, pig, etc. As you well-put it the erotic impulse is a very selective perception: selecting one's own immediate pleasure in a smell, a sight, a feeling, a thought, etc. If, along with this, however, one sees other things: for example, the dog-cow-pig-etc. in the butterfly; or a body slipped out of that impetuous organ - the skin - or a body decaying, dying, or dead; or being presented with a local dose of VD, being the cause of all the pain and suffering of child-bearing and child-rearing, or being beaten or killed by a jealous boyfriend, an outraged brother or father, or a pious scourge of dirty monks; if one also sees in those beautiful eyes the black hole of ignorance and misery, the hard life, the pains, the regrets, the false hopes, the real hopelessness - one can feel compassion, yes - but passion? And whence eroticism? (Gee, it was here just a second ago!) The flicker blown out in the fresh, cool breeze of another perception: mindfulness. Also definitely useful is the fine strait-jacket of the robes, vows I take seriously (or atleast serio-comically): village butterflies don't flutter about monks - a greater relief by far.

Journal 46

December 23 - This morning I tried eating that fruit, which I found edible but not very tastey - slightly sour, not at all olive-like. I was told this afternoon that there is some meat inside the pit which is edible, but have not tasted that. Washed my robes today. Naturally I was shown the right way of doing it - my way was not at all good. The Kirinda way is correct. It takes out half the color as well as the dirt, but it is orderly. Also was given another raking lesson. It seems that the strokes I was making were too large, I don't mind raking in their pattern which is not a bad design, but I tried to produce some variations on it, just for the pleasure of seeing some variations. That was quickly corrected. There is, I am taught, only one proper pattern for sand to be raked in, and no other designs will do. Variants are heretical: they will tolerate no fake patterns in their sandbox.

I also met a newly-arrived monk who talked exactly like the translator at Kiyanduwa. It turned out that this monk was a former cop. Perhaps Ceylon police are all taught English like that? It turned out, also, that he received his novice-ordination at Kiyanduwa and also that I had met his mother, who spoke no English, when I was in Opate. He taught me how to sit when meditating (which, of course, I had been doing wrong. I just sat; he developed a five-minute ritual in going from standing to sitting position) and told me, I think, that I couldn't walk to Humbantota because the elephants would eat me and that therefore I must turn around and go the other way, by bus, with him to his arañña so that the nearby villagers could come and gape at me. I was taught how to pick flowers, how to pour water from a basin and how to dry my bowl after washing it (which I somehow or other had managed to do correctly). I was also given several further lessons in how to put on and wear my robes. While sweeping the sand clean I saw some monkeys having a fight overhead, during which both I and the just-cleaned ground were showered by large quantities of leaves, twigs, and monkey curses. I found that some monkeys are white-colored from their waist to their thighs, which gives the appearance of pants and solves the curious spectacle of the female monkey in trousers that I saw at Kottawa. I was also taught how to breathe correctly. (How could my upbringing have been so neglected as not to have been taught to breathe correctly? If I hadn't figured out something for myself I might have suffocated long ago.) I expect, at any minute, to be told to readjust my heartbeat.

I have also discovered that another American has taken the robes a few days ago. I met him once, in August, when I learned he wanted to be a missionary, to return to America, and preach to people dying in hospitals. What an ambition! How heroic, self-sacrificing, and absurd! How can a person who wants to preach in hospital sick-bays have an understanding of a teaching which says that we must strive individually for our own welfare?

Letter 1.45

…December 18 - One year in robes. Since leaving Wayne State U, this is the first time I have ever succeeded in doing any one thing for a full year - kibbutz was 11 months - and I find, at the end of a year, that I need not congratulate myself at all, for I have not 'stuck it out' but rather continuously chosen it: it is our ability to choose which permits our existence; only by continuous exercise of that will can we be aware of our present existence, and thus come to an understanding of it. It was in each of the moments in which I chose to remain in robes that I learned. I learned, at last, that I could not imagine any other rational choice for myself…

Journal 45

December 22 - Well, here it is, first day of winter. Not many snowballs in this neck of the woods. I feel, this evening, very amused at the monks here, who exhibit a vast concern over seeing to it that I have comforts about which I don't give a fig. They have prepared a special smokey fire in a pan and placed it in the kuti to drive away the few mosquitos that I have been totally ignoring. They break their own rules of etiquette to show me favoritism which I find embarrassing. I have been told, once, that the Japanese smile to show embarrassment. They are very kind though - they want me to stay here a month now (which I could hardly do) - when they assume my total ignorance of how to handle the most simple matters. They go to great lengths to show me how to turn the flame up and down on the lamp, how to fasten the window latch, how to put on my robes, how to clean my teeth (they’re dawn on toothpaste); they caution me to wear sandals and take the lamp with me if I go out at night, and want me to always carry my travelling alarm clock with me if I go out of the kuti lest some brigands make off with it. And so it goes, every phase of daily life is assumed to be more than I can handle without help. This attitude, which I've encountered frequently in Asia, both as layman and monk, is explicable, I think, only in the view of the vast traditionalism inherent in the culture, which in a time of change creates great readjustment problems: the people can't conceive of anyone actually being comfortable in any but the most familiar surroundings. In other words, they have been taught to exist within a limited sphere - which works very fine as long as that sphere is intact - and assume that I must have the same limitations.

The traditionalism I fine here is accounted for by the discovery, made today, that this is the oldest arañña in Ceylon; another proof of my theory. (It's over 100 years ole.) There is an arahna about A miles away which I had intende visiting, but now learn that it is, more or less, an offshoot of this place and exactly the same; so I'll probably not go there.

The reason this kuti is so decrepit - the plaster is half gone, revealing crumbling mud and stones, the roof is of palm fronds, there are great gaps between walls and roof - is because a tree fell on it. I was visited by more villagers today, who hang around much too long, but gave me some beedis – native-style cigarettes - rather strong - which were nice - haven't smokes in a long time now, and a cigarette feels unfamiliar between my fingers. I can't think of any other stupendous events to record…

Letter 1.44

…Full moon tonight: the full moon in the jungle will never be as goof as in the desert, whore, in the flat darkness, the moon’s height over a vast visible area shows how it totally dominates the land: here there is too much else too close by for the moon’s rays to spread out and grasp hole of everything firmly; it becomes a bright, intermittently visible (through drifting clouds and jungle canopy), surprisingly small ball (the desert full moon always surprised me by being so large); nevertheless it has its affects and adds a buoyancy, as if it were itself floating, something for us to grasp hold of, who are drowning in an ever-combustible sea of air, to grab hold of and pull ourselves out of it at last, and perhaps a less-than-full awareness of this makes one's steps lighter an’ higher, as if the inch difference will enable the fingertips to graze, scrape, perhaps rub sharply enough for a brief moment's pain, as it touches the bottom edge, calling for one real leap to be - on top…

You see? The moon does have its affect: when do I write this? It's not me that's writing, but the moon, Or is the air rarefied in the heights that a full moon pulls one to, creating a giddiness so that words rush out pell-mell…? I must stop now, or I shall never approach the subject for which I had intended this air-letter - but now there is no space left for that vast and weighty series of statements, ponderously bulky and immovable, possibly comprehensible, which I had intended to compose about the nature of communication. Ah, well…

Journal 44

December 21 - night. This morning I left the school about 6:00 AM and went through some stretches of handsome rice fields, but nothing remarkable. Good alms today; ate well. Reached Kirinda village about 10:30 - shortly after Eating - and found it to be less unpleasant than most villages; arrived at Kirinda Arañña at 12:00. Short walk today; only 11 miles.

This arañña I find strictly traditional and traditionally strict. They belong to the small strict sect and their conduct is good. Their arañña, though, is peculiar: at Island Hermitage, as at most araññas, great care is taken so that no kuti is built in such a way that any other kuti can be seen from it, so there is a greater sense of aloneness. Here, they have built an arañña in the jungle, far from the village, but have carefully placed each kuti within sight - and sound - of as many of the other kutis as possible. Why do people do such things? Perhaps because of the tradition: things must be done just so, not because it's the best way, but because it has always been done so.

In some ways, I must be grateful for this, for it is this traditionalist that has preserved the Dhamma word for word through 2500 years, yet, grateful as I am that it was so preserved, I still consider those who preserved it fools, for they did not themselves use it. This traditional attitude, which is to be avoided like the plague, has not only not been eradicated here but has, in a few of its forms, been actually encouraged. My thesis is that any message which has survived 2500 years must be great; any great message must be misunderstood by most people; most people build a tradition around the message and then follow the tradition and not the message.

The monks here are serious; they, apparently, practice the teachings – to what extent I do not know - but their lives are strictly regulated. At a certain time each day they all do certain jobs: 4:00 sweeping, 6:00 chanting, etc., and when they sweep, or rake leaves, they don’t do it any old way: they leave the sand with a definite pattern from the rake; no other pattern will do, and they do not hold the rake with left hand over right, but with right hand over left. (Their insistence on this point annoyed me no end, since it is simply not natural for me, a lefty.) Perhaps such extreme regulation of my time may actually be good for me - I've wondered about that before - and can't hurt me for a few days, at any rate. But I don't care for this en masse attitude, which is more like enforcement than participation, abrogates the purpose of an arañña (solitude), and I don't care for the idea of having to do such and such at such and such a time simply because such and such has always been done so. There is too great a tendency for such a practice to become self-justifying.

My kuti here is the only unoccupied one - there are 8 monks in residence. None speak English, but some boys from the village have come, unfortunately, as interpreters as well as interrogators, which has taken a lot of time. One of them asked me to help him with his problem: he wants to go to America, and needs someone to pay his fare. I pointed out that I neither had money nor dealt in it and so could not help, and asked why he wanted to go to America. He said he wanted to get rich. For all that I deplore his goal, I couldn't help admiring his honesty and surety of what he wanted: not many people are so forthright (or even can be - to themselves, in particular).

The jungle is old and large: very tall - unbelievably tall - and straight trees, with branches only at and near the tops, are filled with monkeys. The monkeys are small, silent, and not much fun at all. They have, clearly, never been in a barrel. There is a peculiar millipede, about 8 inches long, all black except for a vast number of white legs, so that it looks very formally-attired, as if in tuxedo, white gloves, and spats. In contrast, Island Hermitage centipedes are half the size, black on top and red on the sides: much more gay and lively, their legs move in a peculiarly fascinating pattern, sort of like waves. There is a fruit which falls off a tree onto my head as I walk in the walking area: hard – naturally - and dark green with a hare pit and seem to resemble olives except that they don't smell like olives (or smell at all) and fall from a tremendous tree. The leaf of the tree doesn’t look like an olive leaf; though, perhaps, this is some long lost relative (black sheep of the family?). I'm told the fruit in inedible though many seem to be partly eaten by birds, so I'm tempted to taste one in the morning and see. In any case, it's difficult to reconcile this giant tree with the twisted, stunted trees one sees in Greece and Jerusalem…

Letter 1.43

…The night before your letter arrived I had a dream about you, dear sister l dreamt that either your birthday or wedding anniversary was approaching - I'm not certain which - and I wanted to give you a present, namely, a new pair of eyeglasses. The first problem was that being a monk, I do not handle money. There was, in the dream, some attempt to have someone else manage this for me: the details are uncertain, but it presumably worked out satisfactorily, since the rest of the dream did not refer to it at all. The second problem was that I did not have your prescription, and I remember an eye doctor to whom I was dramatically conversing with explaining in a tone of infinite regret that though he could make adjustable glasses, he could not make them adjust to all prescriptions: that it was a case of prescription first and adjustment afterwards. Then, of course, I woke up. The next day your letter arrived. I was very much mystified both by the coincidence and by the dream itself, since 'adjustable glasses' sounds like such a reasonable phrase, but, like the eye doctor, I can't imagine what it means. I was even more mystified the next day, however, for the night after your letter I had another dream, which consisted solely of me sitting in front of a typewriter (which I do not have) at a desk (which I do have) in a room which is on the Island but in which I do not live, writing a very regretful letter to you informing you of the many reasons why I was unable to give you a pair of prescription eyeglasses for either your birthday or wedding anniversary. I remember nothing else about that dream. At any rate, this letter is to inform you, very regretfully, that I will be unable to give you a pair of prescription eyeglasses for either your birthday or your wedding anniversary or any other occasion, and I'm very sorry about it, but that's the way it is. ESP? Retroactive precognition? Telepathy? Lunacy? At any rate, it has occurred to me, while writing this letter, that you wear contact lenses, not glasses, so the dream, it seems, is outdated.

I don't know if I'm glad or sorry to hear that apartment buildings don't have meditation rooms - and probably not only not in LA. I've been informed recently, however, that both the Beatles and Frank Sinatra's wife practice meditation under a Hindu yogi and have renounced several pleasures and LSD. This sounds even more fantastic than apartment buildings, and totally unbelievable; it is, therefore, probably true, but I hope you will be able to deny it for me.

One of the dáyakas (supporters) of the Island who was here the other day told me that he had seen me outside the Island. Not having left the Island in some time, I enquired further, and learned that he believed that he, while on a pilgrimage last month, saw me wearing a wrist watch at the zoo. Most peculiar. I have no recollection at all of ever having been on a pilgrimage to the zoo with or without a wrist-watch. I didn't even know it was considered a pilgrimage site. I didn't even know, in fact, that there is a zoo; but if these things keep happening often enough, and convince me that everybody really is mad, then the zoo, or the jungle, will be the safest and sanest place, and I shall retreat to one of them forever…

Journal 43

On the journey today - 12 miles or so - I saw a fine lake, a very lovely area, and discovered an arañña I had not hears of and shall not hear of again - it was, I suspect, someone's idea of a joke - and finally reached a place which is a school like the one that was north of Akuressa, but larger and, therefore, if possible - it is possible, but only barely - actually worse than the other, especially in monk's conduct: not only are they laymen, but they’re even poor laymen. Gawdl Head monk, principal, very worldly, wants me to study under him for a year- he'll teach me Pali and Buddhist culture (whatever that is), all for free, of course, and I can teach him English and Science in his school and get a good salary and jam every other day (see Alice in Wonderland on that), etc. Maybe if he throws in an elephant I'll take it. I refused, of course; but he is not stupid and he knows what I'm after - that is, he knows what the Dhamma is for - but he's not interested. The other monks, who live under him, are all quite impossible nincompoops with radios and no brains.

Now it's afternoon; I'll stay the night here and leave in the morning. It would involve too much polemic to describe the place, physically, culturally, or on any other level - shall spare all of us the effort.

Night: this place has bed-bugs. First time I've encountered them since India. (In India bedbugs are a way of life.) Talked this evening with the head monk; revised my opinion, he is not not stupid (note the double negative): he is educated. He is the opposite of the Opate people. They asked very simple questions that were related to their lives; he gives only complex and high-toned answers that have nothing to do with life; he knows all about the Buddha's Teaching except how to use it. He has spent 25 years learning it much the same way certain people might spend 25 years solving crossword puzzles. He is, in short, a dope. And his school has bedbugs…

Letter 1.42

…I am trying, much as Stevie is trying to walk, to see what needs to be done and to be done with it. I, too, fall down quite a bit, but holding on to the Buddha's Teaching, I manage to make some progress on my own. Both Stevie and I, the monk, you remember, are of the same age, within 2 says. So I wish him, now, a happy first birthday, and his parents a happy wedding anniversary…

Journal 42

Finally found a road sign, upon which was perched a fine small eagle with an extraordinary beak: almost curves back upon itself. Yet definitely an eagle's beak; an eagle's eye. Everyone ignored it. I however went to the sign and looked up at the eagle. It looked down at me. I bade it good morning. No reply, only a terrible stare from such a small creature - only about 14 inches in body - and I continued on my way…

Letter 1.41

…Heidegger, I find, is superb, particularly in his analysis of what is involved in living authentically; in most that he discusses he is, I find, even better than Kierkegaard in his thought - but ohi! his language, It is as abstract as his thought is lucid, and extremely difficult, therefore, to follow. In his case translation can't help. Here's a random sample: 'Palling is not only existentially determinative for Being-in-the-world. At the same time turbulence makes manifest that the throwness which can obtrude itself upon Dasein in its state-of-mind, has the characteristic of throwing and of movement. Dasein's facticity is such that as long as it is what it is, Dasein remains in the throw, and is sucked into the turbulence of the 'they's' inauthenticity.' (I think in one of Guenter Grass' novels there's a parody of this - though it seems done already.) Kierkegaard, it seems, is much more quotable. I notice Heidegger quotes Schopenhauer, who once said that 'Life is a business that does not cover its costs.' H, it seems, does not agree. He says (roughly) that it may very well cover its costs, but that even so, it's still a business…

Journal 41

I had to return a third time to, and through, Akuressa - wretched place. Worse than Colombo. Colombo, of course, has a great number of illusions and accompanying nonsense, Akuressa tries to imitate all of this ('cosmopolitanism' is one of the euphemisms for these illusions and nonsense; 'society' is another), but fails; thus they have here only the illusion of Colombo: that is, the illusion of an illusion, They doubly deceive themselves…

Letter 1.40

…As for writing, I do some, but not the kind of writing you mean. Mostly involved with the Dhamma. I'm occupied more with developing equanimity as a supplementary meditation subject (my primary one being the in-and-out breaths at the tip of the nose), and find it a far better use of my time. Of the h Brahma-Vihara (nivine Abidings--mettá/loving-kindness, karuná/compassion, muditá/sympathetic joy, and upekkhá/equanimity), the Buddha speaks highest of the last, although today - and, it seems from the texts, in the Buddha's day as well – mettá or 'loving-kindness' is the most popular. People even use the word as a salutation at the end of a letter. I wonder how they would react if I signed myself, instead of 'with mettá', 'with enuanimity'? I would be delighted to receive such a letter, though I suppose most people would think it in poor taste or something.

Sometime early next month I expect to be leaving the Hermitage for an indefinite period in order to accept the invitation from another American monk - Ñánasumána - whom I haven't seen since February - to visit him in his jungle seclusion and discuss some mutual matters…

Journal 40

December 20 - left this morning: descending a high, jungle hill at 5:30, I saw the other hills spread out in peculiar shapes, mist rising from the valleys below and enveloping the lower part of the jungle in cottony shrouds while the upper jungle rose uncertainly in dark green. Above this were mounds of pink-cloud icings frosting the picture hanging in impossible suspension, while a single sun rose orange over the entire mass: the one candle above a wild yet possible birthday cake (in which, I may add, were half a dozen leeches). It augured a bright day with a hot sun and cool waters, finally splitting itself, not fragmenting but dividing into two: earth and sky, united at the horizon, at infinity. (I write between a rushing river and silent rice paddy fields: rushing, growth, chance, events, occasions for erecting monuments in the changes of a blade of grass, in a son's age, in a monk's age, in mankind's age.)

Letter 1.39

…I've been investigating the weather condition in Ceylon - or, at least, the condition of the weather surveys in Ceylon (which is not quite the same), and have learned the following facts of interest or curiosity: It seems that the indigenous or native weather is 'clear cool nights, bright mornings, and afternoon or evening thunderstorms, particularly in the S.W.'. (Particularly what?) But we only have this weather when there is no outside interference, and 'Particularly in March and April and less so in October and November.' Other kinds of weather, it appears, then, are foreign imports, like American cars, penicillin, and English beer; and these effectively flood the market (literally!) and the local weather doesn't have a chance.

The SW monsoon apparently starts as SE trade winds, obeying Ferrel's Law (he must be someone connected with the Stock Exchange to be able to dictate laws to the trade winds) begin blowing from the SW as they cross the Equator. Then, because of 'increased thermal intensity' - i.e. heat - in India, or for some other undiscovered reason - the meteorologists are quarrelling about it - it blows harder, becomes damper, and is called the Southwest Monsoon.

Northwest India, according to my geography, is some hundreds of miles away from the Indian - or any other - Ocean. Perhaps the National Geographic, in stating that the Somali current runs from East Africa to Northwest India, believes not only that it is a hundred miles wide and thousands of feet deep (is it fresh water or salt?), but also that it has the ability to flow uphill across half the subcontinent - indeed 'a phenomenon known nowhere else on earth in such magnitude and extent'…

Journal 39

After going 2 miles along the southern road from Akuressa, I climbed a jungle path to a mountain top where I reached, exhaustedly, Kiyanduwa Arañña. I'd been told of the place by the people at Opate, and found some of what they told me to be true: the head monk was young - 40 years old. (At Dedivagala, the oldest monk was 26 and the average age of the residents was surely less, which is, I think, a large part of the reason I found it so pleasant. The average age at Island Hermitage, on the other hand, I would guess to be about 45. He has 5 disciples, the youngest one being 32. There are no child-monks, or monklets - these are serious adults who have some ideas and want to practice them. Only one of them speaks a little English, so I could not decide whether their ideas are the Buddha's or not - I rather suspect not - but, they are, at any rate, not deluding themselves or playing gamesP: children play the game of war, which, if played well, can reproduce every aspect of real war save one: the danger. So too, most people want their religious, ethical, spiritual - which word do you choose? - exercise safe, simple, and comfortable, and wind up doing no more than playing.

The people at Kiyanduwa have no temple for chanting: they have mud huts, few comforts, strict discipline which is wholly voluntary. They accept no food brought to them (as do all other araññas, including Island Hermitage, that I know of), but go daily for alms to the village, which involves descending and ascending a very steep and long path, the round trip taking a tiring 2 hours. Yet I have no doubt that the experience is good. One meal a day is all the head monk takes - though the others take a light breakfast at 5:00 AM. This one-meal-a-day business seems to prove to some people the saintliness of a person. To me, who can speak from experience, it is no such thing, of course, though it may indicate a seriousness which truly makes food and eating something bothersome, if not vaguely distasteful, a task to be gotten through as quickly as possible, repeated as seldom as possible. Or it may simply be a desire for recognition of ascetic practices - one must more or less hide the fact, if one practices it so. I suspect, in his case, though, it is the former. In mine there are a number of reasons; it is, in fact, a nuisance; also the Buddha has recommended restraint in this regard as good practice; so I'm willing to give it a try, and do find it, in fact, to be pleasant (a relief). I never feel hungry at all except about 10:00 AM each day - unfortunately most places don't eat till 11, which gives me one somewhat uncomfortable hour, unless I'm alone with alms, when I eat at my own convenience. Clearly, the only thing one can do at Kiyanduwa, for that is all there is to do, is practice. Nevertheless I think that I could not live there, for I felt a certain discomfort in the atmosphere - perhaps due to my own exhaustion from the trip and the climb - the road is unite rough and sharp.

In the evening a villager came up who knew quite a few words of English. He also knew how to arrange them into what generally struck me as a fantastic double-talk, not quite making sense, and soil tried to communicate through this distorting machine with the head monk, but I don't think much of what I said and asked got put properly and, unless the head monk was mad, certainly not much of what he said came through very clearly. He did, however, say that he would not accept me as a disciple - which I had certainly not asked for - unless/until I learned Sinhalese - which is unlikely - and that, since they were crowded and he could not help me or advise me I would best leave the next day, today.

The conversation, which involved several hours, required all of my effort and energy and concentration to learn that and very little more, and left me totally exhausted. I've never heard English words mixed up in such a fashion in my life. The monk who spoke the little English spoke to the head monk afterwards, explaining, I gathered, that nothing the villager had said had made any sense. The head monk then wrote a letter in Sinhalese which I have translated and says that he can't accept me as a disciple until I learn Sinhalese, etc., and makes sense. Perhaps, now that I think of it, my feelings about the place - that I couldn't stay there - are due in large part to that village distorting machine. He told me, by the way, that he was the town cop. Thankgod, he's not the postmaster…

Letter 1.38

…Now that the Vas - 'rainy season retreat' - has ended, we move on to the 'kathina season' - kathina being a special temporary relaxation of certain monastic rules concerning robes, which privilege is one of the benefits obtained by observing the Vas season. Traditionally it is, therefore, the time (for the laity of giving - and (for the monks) of receiving-robes, and a ceremony - the Kathina pinkama - is held.

The whole thing dates back to the days of the Buddha, when, of course, the ceremony served a definite purpose; at the end of the monsoon robes were frequently in bad condition, and a temporary relaxation of certain rules regarding them was something of practical importance. Gradually as the Sangha (the Order of monks) deteriorated - it reached its lowest point in India just before its virtual demise there in the 9th century A.D. - the ceremony became one of obtaining possessions, and the laity were encouraged to give for the sake of merit, thus taking a giant step towards the vulgarization of the Buddha's Teaching.

By now, except in a very few places which uphold the tradition, the whole thing has degenerated into a season of preaching and palaver, gobble and grab (they expect to be both fed and clothed in the best of style - although most of them don't even have an almsbowl, let alone use it) - and 95% of them don't observe the Vas anyway (though that is hardly the greatest of their faults).

I was able to get a glimpse of what goes on - shocking, indeed! tut! tut!, etc. - when five of us from the Island attended one of these affairs in the village of one of our (generous) supporters (he wanted to show the folks that there were many foreign monks, for there was not only myself and two of the German monks, but also - from other parts of Ceylon - Thai, Laotian, Burmese, and Vietnamese monks as well) who lives about 30 miles to the South and 20 more inland - the first time, incidentally, that I've been more than one mile from the ocean since arriving in Ceylon last January.

It was an affair meant, of course, for the local monks and laity and was geared to their level; and since the laity insist upon not only changing the Dhamma into a mystical - and therefore useless but emotional - doctrine but also in converting the monks into priests - and the difference is great - naturally this level was very low indeed - I expected as much but was nevertheless unprepared for what I saw, which could best be described as a cross between a camp-town meeting of Holy Rollers and a small-time carnival - yes, even with blinking lights! Amazing. The Ceremony - which lasts for three days in that part of the country (we didn't attend the whole thing) - was, of course, a farce, except for the preacher who sounded like Sinhalese hell-fire and damnation but, as I later learned, was actually whipping the emotional pitch of the laity into a frenzy - very successfully too – of generosity. But enough. One word alone is too many, but volumes are not sufficient, to describe it all.

The day of the ceremony at the Island a great many lay people came - it's a day reserved for our principal supporters only - along with their families of course - and the parents, uncles, friends, business associates, idle curiosity seekers passersby and those who got on the wrong boat - and I feared the Island might actually do something similar. But there was a brief quiet ceremony of 3 minutes in accepting the robes, a 5 minute (also subdued, sans hell-fire) talk, and, for bhikkhus only, a ritual in the chapter house, lasting a short time. Also there was a fantastically opulent meal, which, unfortunately, we had to eat so fast we couldn't enjoy it at all, since everything was late, what with the vast crowds, and we had to finish before midday, after which time no food is eaten by monks (on this Island, at any rate). We were each given an extremely good quality outer robe - these robes measure about 100 inches by 80 inches - to go on the pile of robes - which-we-have-no-use-for-but-which-it-would-be-impolite-to-refuse. Actually they will be mostly used during the next year, largely in helping other worthwhile hermitages - of which there are a few - not so well supported as we are.

Naturally with the giving of robes it becomes appropriate to dye then, and this is, traditionally, the annual dyeing season as well. Since the robes are already dyed, though - contrary to tradition - it is now traditional to Aye the robes that are older and in need of being dyed. So a few days ago, a huge cauldron of water and various tree-barks was boiled for l2 hours to make dye, and I have now spent some days dyeing old robes (2 upper and 2 inner along with a chest covering for chilly nights). The cloth takes very little color with each application and it must be dried thoroughly between applications, and so the process must be repeated many times before the proper russet color is obtained. Skin, however, takes this dye much more readily, and so you now have a russet son with only semi-russet robes. (Saffron, orange, and yellow, by the way, are not the prescribed colors and are worn only by city monks.) At one time I was struck by how much the bark dye smelled like shoe polish. Just now I was struck by how much it smelled like Jello. Do you think that Jello and shoe polish smell alike? (Depends on the flavor?)…

Journal 38

I returned to Akuressa - 9 miles - along the same road of dull-witted villages, where I learned, after seeing the dead and bloody bodies of dogs lying by the road, that the government actually pays a man or men to go about shooting the animals - anti-rabies, I am told (they could justify shooting people on the same grounds) - and this from a government which styles itself 'Buddhist' - see the very first of the five precepts incumbent upon all who wish to style themselves as Buddhists, against the taking of life - and the villagers do themselves no good by permitting or even, perhaps, co-operating with such a project, which is carried out against dogs who are invariably timid - they are unbelievably mal-treated, quite causelessly as I have seen myself on many occasions - and finally I reached Akuressa, where I was summoned to the cop shop.

The top cop wanted to see me out of curiosity, apparently, not suspicion - though he did mention that there had been 2 murders in the last week I was not asked to account for my whereabouts. Then one of his other curious visitors lashed into an attack on the poor behavior of Ceylon's monks, as if he were giving me information I did not already have. I smiled to myself and continued on…

Letter 1.37

…As for mosquitos I have developed, and continue to develop, a product which is far superior, in terms of reducing their annoyance, than anything found in a can, bottle, or tube, It is useful, in fact, for every ailment known to man and beast. Unfortunately it can neither be sold nor given away (though it can be acquired), nor packaged and shipped anywhere (which is a pity, because there are many places that could use a great deal of it), Manufacture takes a long time, and individual needs require slight variations in the formula, though the basic ingredients are actually quite well known, even if their occurrence is not all that common. The name of the product is equanimity, and it is quite pleasant to make it as well as use it…

Journal 37

I had already planned to leave on the 19th, and to announce my plan. The day was hot and bright after yesterday's floods; the river is still a few inches above its normal level, however, and I left amidst a great deal of mud, my bags heavier by a flashlight and 2 spare batteries given to me at Dedivangala where I preferred to use candles, I have a flashlight which I purposely left at Island Hermitage, but I know by now that a gift, once offered, cannot be refused - it is just not possible, nor polite either (for refusal deprives the giver of the merit gained by giving). I have also learned that what I don't have I don't need: but if something is offered me, it will then become necessary - as with the umbrella, which in yesterday's heat was an indispensable sunshade (except in villages, where it cannot be used) - so I suppose the flashlight will be useful - was, in fact, useful that very night - i.e. yesterday, the 19th…

Letter 1.36

…Yesterday I was presented with a copy of Heidegqer's Being and Time - quite unexpected, unasked for, and extremely welcome - of all books, if I were given one choice presently, I probably would have picked that one as the most wanted. One of the local dáyakas gave it - wonder how he knew how to pick it?...

Journal 36

Ñánasiha has not appeared; it seems, though, that he is not the one I know; for I have learned - possibly correctly - that there is a word in Sinhale which sounds like the word 'German' and has some possibly relevant meaning, but that the Ñánasiha whose arrival is imminent is not of German nationality: the one I know has lived for some years in a cave at a place called Wirawila; the one I don't know comes, apparently, not from Wirawila but from Witunawila which it turns out, is the headquarters of the leader of the sect to which this arañña belongs - it is the largest, by far, of the 3 sects in Ceylon, and also - except for the araññas, I suppose, it is the most lax, by far, in practice and discipline, disgustingly so, in fact: most of its monks are only laymen in monk robes…

Letter 1.35

…'It rained, and it rained, and it rained. Christopher Robin had never seen so much rain!' It's been raining very heavily, due to the N.E. monsoon (the S.W. monsoon being over), for the last 4 days (and nights too - only 36 more to go). The level of the lagoon waters rose and rose, and then the man in charge of the floodgates opened them up and the water ran out to the sea. It's a good thing he hasn't fallen asleep on the job, or we would have been washed away long ago, I don't actually understand the purpose of the floodgate which closes the channel leading to the sea. I had always thought a floodgate was something on 2 dam to prevent floods. The gate here, however, seems to serve the sole purpose of causing floods, and it is only when it's removed (or raised) that the danger, as well as the waters, subside, I recall Ray Bradbury's science-fiction novel, Farenheit 451 (471? 457?) in which firemen no longer serve the function of putting out fires, but of starting them, and the analogy has certain aspects which are quite alarming.

Something else I don't understand is why the lagoon is salty. (I know why the sea is salty, of course - many many years ago I was informed that it was due to a magic salt box at the bottom which continues turning out the stuff – but the lagoon?) The only source of water to the lagoon, as far as I can tell, is rain water. (There might be a small river on the other side, but that water would also be fresh.) And each time the floodgates are providentially raised, salt water runs out to the sea. Therefore the lagoon should become perpetually less salty. But it doesn't. Perhaps some engineer or divinity student can explain this…

Journal 35

December 20 - On the 18^th - my 'anniversary' in robes - the clouds gathered in the early afternoon, forcing the air downwards, heavily, and drowsily everyone weakened and at last fell asleep under the weight of the air mass. 3:00 I was wakened by knocks on the kuti door and told to look at the river. This river had been a refuge from the heat: running rapidly between rocks, clear and brilliant, it slipped between giant boulders into a smooth area of S0 yards, deep enough for swimming, shallow enough for bathing, reached by a flight of stone steps, before running into more rocks, and continuing its journey to the Indian Ocean amidst foam and splashes. Such had been this fine jungle river. Now, though, it was raining: air, its pressure released, rushed upwards, and water, replacing it, poured down, and the river was no longer a mountain stream but a muddy Mississippi; dangerous and rolling steeply above hidden dangers: it was about 20 feet above its normal level (of about 3 feet), wide and brown, and struggling to contain itself as more water poured down. The bridge going across the river, leading to the village - this bridge, which had formerly been a dozen feet above water - this bridge was nowhere to be seen, and we were stranded. It was reminiscent of the Deluge of Ein Gedi. Reminiscent only, however, and not climactic: after a few hours the rain stopped, the level dropped, the bridge, and other familiar landmarks reappeared, none the worse for the torrents - which may be common for all I know - and all was normal…

Letter 1.34

I have spent several days in the hospital in Galle with a pain in my right side which the doctors said was probably an infection of either the kidneys or the urinary tract. I had been advised to go to the hospital in Colombo, but did not want to travel so far. After my stay in Galle (6 miles to the east), I see why the advice was good: facilities in Galle were so wretched that all the extra help and favoritism I was given did not compensate, and I returned to the Island several days ago with a severe cold and a slight Fever - though apparently my kidney is now all right. Am taking aspirin, enteroviaform, cold tablets, and a native medicine which is rubbed on the skull (and which seems to be very effective against colds, headaches, and mosquito bites). Also drinking lots of orange juice. The oranges in Asia, by the way, are green, not orange, except when they are green, at which time they are yellow; and are very acid and require lots of sugar to be palatable.

I've been thinking for some time about taking my higher ordination, and, while I'm not decided that I‘m fully prepared for it - there are a few difficulties in the way - I would like to be as prepared as possible. One of the requirements for the ordination is to have the permission of one's parents, and so I would like you to give me your permission so that that can be settled before proceeding further. Note that I do not require, nor do I ask for, your approval - that is hardly to be expected - but only your permission. (If you don't want to give me your permission then, of course, I will be obliged to continue with only my lower ordination, which may, eventually, make progress more difficult for me, but will not prevent me from progressing.)

Thinking back, it seems October is hospital month for me, isn't it? Last year it was hepatitis, before that Israel, before that Beirut. Oh well - finished for this year, at any rate…

Journal 34

December 15 - There is a chameleon here that looks like a miniature pterodactyl: spiny-ridged back, fish face, pouch beneath its jaw, long tail. It's possible to get very close - 2 or 3 inches - to its face before it moves, and I have grabbed hold of its tail. I have seen it exhibit the following colors: green (dominant body color); red (on its face when I get close with my robes); powder blue (only under its eyes, on a very scaly skin), yellow, brown, black, grey, orange, and white! Amazing creature!

Letter 1.33

…As for music - yes, I sometimes miss it, but of course, one can't have everything (anything?). It may be of interest to you, by the way, that one of the more important reasons that led to my taking robes was my reaction to hearing a performance of the Detroit Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Walter Poole, playing Shostakovitch's Symphony #5. I didn't know its significance at the time, but the memory of it has never left me… As for your offer of insect spray – well… I have vows, both public and private, and in some ways of many years standing, against killing - and yes, included are insects as part of the monastic vows…

Journal 33

I have solved, I think, the mystery of a peculiar heehaw sound prevalent in the jungles. I didn't think donkeys lived hereabouts. Now I think the sound is that of hyenas. I've never heard one myself; but it's similar to descriptions l've heard of. But are there hyenas in Ceylon?

Letter 1.32

As for insects, the main insects at the Hermitage are ants (which get into everything and some of which bite something fierce, but otherwise are no problem), fireflies (which I like), and mosquitos (which I don't like - but we have screens on the windows, and any way the bite of the local variety does not produce a very long-lasting itch). There are almost no flies at all, though there are millions of them just across the lagoon. Perhaps flies are attracted to society. There are lots of spiders, but most of them are small and harmless. Termites produce construction problems, but otherwise are no bother. I had some once, going along the edge of the floor, but I sealed off their entrance with wax. The biggest animal problem is the dogs, who are totally untrained, extremely friendly (particularly when they are muddy), and fond of baying all night at the moon and howling at fishermen who come close to the island…

Journal 32

Last night, about 1:00, I awoke with a start when I realized something was nibbling my big toe of my left foot. I gave an involuntary kick, sat up, lighted the lamp, but saw nothing. My toe had a small piece of skin taken out of it, which I treated with antiseptic and went to sleep again. I was woken several more times by rustling sounds, movements, and finally lighted a candle. This was sufficient to keep the pitter-patter away from me, but I was too awake to get to sleep again. Slept several hours this afternoon as a result. I have no idea what it was. There is a kind of red and black striped cockroach which bites; perhaps a mouse. Do any kinds of lizards bite? I hope not, for I've always liked lizards and welcomed them into the room, since they eat mosquitos. I don't wish the mosquitos harm (though I do wish they would leave me alone); but if a lizard must eat them, he may as well eat the ones that would otherwise eat me. It would be unfortunate to learn that the lizard, too, will eat me. There would not be much hope left. Perhaps I will keep a pet frog…

Letter 1.31

…Went to the dentist last week. He is in Galle, the nearest town, 9 miles south (an hour's travelling time), and he found that the filling that had been put in my lower right wisdom tooth (at Ein Gedi) had come out and the tooth was decayed beyond saving. It was extracted efficiently - far better than the butcher job that was done on the other wisdom tooth at Beit Oren - and no other work at all was needed. So in the last four years, except for the loss of the two right wisdom teeth (a loss of negligible value), I've had, I think, only one filling - a quite satisfactory record…

Journal 31

December 14 - Explorations: there is one easy path leading into the arañña, about 3 miles from the village, as I discovered when I came here; the place has only 4 kutis, but only 2 of them are in use (and I'm using one of those two); the samaneras sleep in an addition beside the dining hall, en masse. They study, but the bhikkhu, who is a friendly person, practices meditation (though, I suspect, not very seriously), besides teaching the novices (samaneras). He has been a bhikkhu only 2 years: ordination must come from a monk of at least 10 years standing. I have learned that this monk, of 11 years standing, who is the formal teacher lives at another arañña and comes here only once a year - a peculiar situation, and not very proper; this may account for the lack of buildings and endowments here.

There is also a temple room with a Buddha statue, an open-roofed area (commonly found in village temples, but the first I've seen in an arañña) and a small, young branch of the Bodhi tree growing near it. (The Bodhi tree is the tree the Buddha sat under when he attained enlightenment at Bodh Gaya, India. The southern branch of it was brought to Ceylon in the 3rd century B.C. and still grows at Anuradhapura - 2300 years old, the oldest tree existing. Branches of the Anuradhapura tree are found in a number of places in Ceylon. 'Bodhi' means 'enlightenment'. The tree is of the species ficus religiosa.) One kuti has a huge rock as its back wall and is therefore very cool, but it is beginning to fall apart - the kuti, not the rock.

There arc no paths within the arañña except leading to the few buildings: an uncared for path leads out the back, which I followed for 1.5 mile without reaching its end: perhaps it leads to a village somewhere; it's leech-infested and unused.

This evening another monk of one year's standing showed up. No one speak English.

There is, in addition to evening worship, also morning worship; about 6:00 AM, which is done in silence - how less razzmatazzy can it be? - which is also congenial and relaxed. The great advantage of the arañña is that it exists for as much the residents as for the lay supporters, but, since it lacks the benefit of a number of Western (white) monks as an attraction, it is not, apparently, well supported, or perhaps the austerity is intentional.

Dána today was brought by dáyakás, but even so was not anything like what is found elsewhere. Curds and honey, yes, but small portions, and nothing that would be considered a luxury food, though, of course, sufficient: that's fine with me. My concern is only if it's healthy. Lots of unhealthy spices, but much better than the doughy meals I collect on alms when wandering. I was given some vitamin tablets - B complex and C - a few days before leaving Island Hermitage, and I take those daily. There is a month's supply of C's and 3 months of B-complex. The dividing line in food between luxury and non-luxury, by the way, seems to be Nestomalt, a malt-flavored powder which is offered in preference even to milk. There is none here: Island Hermitage has tons of the stuff, which has a sort of butterscotchy flavor. (Island Hermitage also has tinned cheese and other fancy foods in abundance.) A piece of coconut at the end of the meal is quite effective, by the way, in toning down the spice-burn of the food; lemon juice, if available, put on the food, will remove much of the curry-flavor and hot-chile-pepper taste, as well.

I also learned that leeches hate soap: the best way to remove them, once they've taken firm hold, is to work a sliver of soap under them; they will let go quickly. Well soaped legs will not pick up any.

The robes I wear while walking have become a very dark brown. This is odd. Perhaps perspiration reacts with the dye to produce the darkness. I suspect salt also works. They are darker where I sweat most and lightest where they are least in contact with me…

Letter 1.30

…I receive no periodicals or papers here, but I was told, via letters from Europe, of the Arab-Israeli war. I suppose, too, I'll hear about it if either pushes the other into the sea. As for books, there is a library here, but almost all the books, save the Pali texts, are totally useless (including most of the commentaries on the Pali texts). They were all contributed free, of course, and by people who had, apparently, vested interests in the books they gave - a large share of the books are about flying yogis and such things, whereas I'm interested in learning to walk…

The riots in Detroit, from your description, sound as bad as the Watts riots in L.A. I can't say it surprises me - though one might have hoped that with a liberal council it could have been avoided. Or is the government no longer liberal? Maybe riots don't know the difference?...

Journal 30

December 13 - night. Not much night-jazz here, but lots of fireflies: medium jungle, I suppose. Mosquitos are medium also, but there's something yet undetected that raises quite a bothersome welt. This evening a monk showed up - it turned out to be the properly dressed monk I had seen yesterday. I don't know why I didn't realize yesterday that he was from the hermitage - I wasn't sure, when I saw him whether I was even close to the hermitage yet. Any way, that accounts for his proper conduct, and since he is a bhikkhu his presence relieves me of my unwanted leadership.

It was difficult at dána, for example, to initiate all procedures when the procedures here differ from those of other places. (Every place has its own way of doing certain things.) I gathered, from a very fragmentary conversation in Pali, that there are 5 novices and 2 bhikkhus regularly here. One more novice appeared mysteriously this morning, leaving 2 still absent - a novice and a bhikkhu.

I gathered also that Ñánasiha is expected here on the 17th. Very mysterious: they seem to know all about Ñánasiha, who is one of the German monks, a very nice person, and informed me that he was in Colombo, and had taken his higher ordination at Anuradhapura in June, etc.; whereas the Ñánasiha I know was last at a hermitage and has never taken his higher ordination at all. Yet they say he is a German; there could not possibly be 2 German monks in Ceylon with the same name, yet they were quite certain of their facts; very peculiar. I am very much inclined to remain here until the 17th, not only to meet Ñánasiha, but to find out just who they were referring to, and if their information is correct. It hardly seems possible, since I had a long talk with him just last month about taking higher ordination. Another reason for remaining is that this is a very nice place.

I haven't explored yet - the day was spent in meditation - but there is a fine stream where I bathed, and everyone conducts himself pleasingly, and also I am left alone in a pleasant kuti. (The roof, by the way, is tiles; the ceiling is old robes tacked onto the rafters: unusual, but not ugly.) The discipline here is generally good - a few lapses and actions contrary to what is set forth; it seems, though, to be based on a different attitude than at Island Hermitage. At Island Hermitage there is, I think, a sort of grim determination to keen the rules, whereas here they are used as a pleasant aid: actually far preferable than at Island Hermitage.

I have been expected to participate only in evening chanting, which is simple and honest, and therefore quite nice, lacking the razzamatazz of Nugagala and the formality of Island Hermitage both - though there are pictures of Hindu gods next to the Buddha image, it's not too important, for everything is too casual for importance to enter, and a relaxing congeniality is the attitude of the chanting.

The place is, then, very pleasing, with only a few objections. No one here goes any further than the discipline into the practice of meditation, but that could hardly be expected of the younger novices, and the older one and the bhikkhu only could be expected to practice: perhaps they will develop a practice someday. Late now: to sleep…