So, at home again. It is, today, the first anniversary of my dad’s death; and so I came home to spend the weekend with my mum; to give dhanna (sp.) to a small group of monks and nuns my mum had invited over from Amaravati, and – as usual to do a few odd jobs around the house; do some tidying and sorting and so on.
So, today was giving dhanna; which was good. Yesterday was spent mostly cooking, and then today again the entire morning spent cooking to produce what can only be considered a vast quantity of food – the monks and nuns arrived and we gave dhanna; and then talked – in a way completely unlike that that we normally encounter at the monastry – I’m sure my mum’s informally talked to monks and nuns before, but for me it was somewhat of a novel experience. Mostly, my mum took the lead, and we spent some time talking about my dad – his illness – his death, and perhaps more importantly his life. Eventually, they headed back to the monastry, and we began the long process of cleaning up.
It’s funny, as long as organised religion and myself stay far enough apart I’m not made uncomfortable by it – and this experience, like my experiences of working with chaplains (at work) – again, was totally fine. However, when after they and my sister had headed off my mum wanted to do some chanting – well, that’s always been fine before; but this time she had her hands on a book which has the translations in it of what the chants mean. Now, for the most part I only know the basicest, basics of the chants. I know what you say before meditating and err, after. And that’s about your lot. I can do a passable repeat-after-me; but generally at the monastary you just listen and it’s all in mangled parlee (sp.) (apparently the anglicised pronounciation is terrible!).
So, yeah. I did it, let’s get that clear. I didn’t express to my mum my discomfort. But I was uncomfortable. See, I have no problems with religion in general. I’m not mad keen on it, I think lots of quite rude thoughts about it, but so long as the religious believer doesn’t try and inflict their beliefs on me then that’s fine and dandy. Believe what you want. I don’t – and never have – believed in god (with an upper, or a lower case g). I am, loosely, buddhist. Very loosely, apparently. See. Generally my problems start once you get beyond the ‘good idea’ and into the ‘reverence for things or people’ area. Philosophies I’m good with. I really love the buddhist philosophy – that which I know of it – but it’s not that that’s the problem. I really loved spending time with the monks and nuns, they’re wonderful people who are good, and devout, and funny, and intelligent, and able to express themselves well.
It’s the chanting. It’s the whole point at which you, or at least buddhism, seems to lose sight of this whole thing. The Buddha, I am told, never wanted people to use a statue of him as a symbol. He suggested ’empty space’ or – if you needed something to concentrate on – a bodhi leaf. Which I, somehow, would far prefer. Because this whole chanting process seemed not to revere just the teaching, but also the buddha – and that bothers me. I’m not good at that.
It ended up being almost the same discomfort that I had last year, in Alaska, with the Carol singing. Which suprised me. I hope my mum doesn’t ask me to do it again, but I suspect she will. I don’t quite know how to explain the miriad complexities of what I think in my head – again, we’re back to my own personal philosophy about life – and it’s meaning – and purpose. Which some of you have asked me about and are aware of it’s many flaws, contradictions and it’s general incompleteness – but it works for me. But one of the most notable things about it, is that it lacks any figure to be revered. Perhaps it comes down for my general lack of respect for humans as a race; individually yes, I have met some fantastic people, but overall, not that keen. Or perhaps it comes down to the fact that we are all people. Some are nicer people, better if you wish, but I tend to feel that people are people and all deserve respect.
I don’t know, it all ends up being complex – and obviously, it gets blurry because of my upbringing and my childhood, but at the end of the day, I think it’s simply that me and organised religion, we don’t mix.
