Repeatedly being told about things that you must do in Chiang Mai, as well as learning about that which is quintessentially Thai, has resulted in my keeping of an ever-growing checklist in the back of my mind. Every guidebook and Buddhism tract discusses the daily morning rituals of monks, yet my body has vetoed the pre-dawn wake-up that is a prerequisite for witnessing this event. So this morning, frustrated with the relentlessness of workprecluding me from ticking anything off of my mental list for longer than a weekI set the alarm, and more importantly, mobilized myself to get out of bed.
When I got to Wat Suan Dokmy neighborhood watit was still dark out, and there was basically nothing going on. I took light readings, and true to the sensation that my eyes were conveying, it was just plain dark. I walked along the road, surprised at the amount of people awake, and came across a few women with folding tables set up. On them were baskets with assorted fooda package of noodles, a plastic bag of rice (more on this later), a package of cookies, an orange, and a store-bought single serving of water.
Its a curious thing this alms giving. People go and buy these pre-organized monk baskets of mostly processed, factory-produced food, from people entrepreneurially selling them on the street (and turning a nice little profit no doubt) in order to make merit according to a centuries-old Buddhist tradition.
Just think about that for a minute.
Further confusing my perception of this strange crossroads of global and local forces, tradition and commercialization, was the fact that in the twilight, as the saffron-clad monks skirted the shoulder of the road touting their orb-like alms bowls, I couldnt help but think of trick-or-treating. While I have read a lot about how alms giving is not begging, and how it is an act of charity on the part of the monks, who are giving lay people the opportunity to make merit. Then again these are the same monks who I keep seeing pulling cell phones out of their yaam (the satchel bags that every monk carries) as they wander the large Western-style mall.
In trying to remedy some of roadblocks to my understanding of Thai Buddhism, I have continued to seek out conversations about Buddhism and peoples relations to it, as well as starting to pay more attention to their little odd bits of behavior. I have found that monks too often spit back the dogma that they have been taughta phenomenon that is certainly echoed among clergy of whatever religion, and which is amplified by limited English, which has frequently been taught in monastery schoolsand have now started to concentrate on increasing my understanding via lay people.
The fact cannot be ignored that enough people are committed to the whole system that all of the monks in the over one hundred wats in Chiang Mai get fed, everyday. Likewise, the tiny spirit houses that sit alongside just about every residence and most businesses (which can incidentally be bought at factories along the highway, where they are mass-produced) are constantly adorned with fresh flowers, and everyday straws are stuck into new glasses of water, juice orinexplicablyorange soda. While driving, my Thai friends pause and waithe universal greeting in Thailand, that looks like a prayer, with hands pressed together in front of the faceto every monument, statue and spirit house that flanks the road. My confusion intensified when one of my friends expressed her frustration in not remembering the requisite recited words (think Hail Marys and Our Fathers) that one is supposed to say when offering respect for a statue of Buddha. More and more the barely-religious-more-like-a-philosophy nature of Buddhism that had previously drawn me towards it, has been stripped away; there is no two-ways about it, Thai Buddhism seems like plain-old religion.
In search of some answers, I returned to the statue of Kru Bar Sriviche both to observe peoples behavior, and to make an offering in hopes of achieving understanding. Again, I couldnt help but notice the row of stalls selling the complete offerings package, and the intensity with which each hawker tried to attract each worshippers business. This situation of making money from others desire to be pious is still somewhat unsettlingbut then again is this any different from churches amassing fortunes from tithes? Would it be any better if the money was going to a wat or a monk? Wasnt contributing to someone making a living a better alternative?
I sat and watched the actions of each person, coming and performing the same set of rites, each person pausing while holding their lotus blossom upright, to pray to this statue of a Buddhist monk. I couldnt help but wonder what was going on inside their heads. I have enough problems with reconciling the fact that people come to this statue, prostrate themselves, and ask for future success, but if I were to find out they were internally reciting words they had been told to memorize, I would feel utterly lost.
I watched as each person let their clove of garlic fall carelessly to the ground, and after applying the thin sheet of gold leave, let its paper drop similarly. As my reaction quickly transitioned from an instinctively negative reaction to understanding, I harbored hope that similar triumphs of understanding over preconceived notions were imminent for some of these other issues to which I was still reacting negatively.
I have come to understand the prevalence of what I would most readily call littering, as it ties into Thai culture and history. The weekend I spent at Pee Oots house in Wiang Haeng was instrumental in this process of understanding. This tradition of littering comes from village life, where the only refuse one has is organic, which should logically be dropped to the ground where it can either be left to compost or to be eaten by an animaleither way producing future foodrather than being relegated to a specific bin to be taken awaya practice that is essentially an exportation of resources. This notion that trash can be thrown wherever works perfectly well in the village, but when thousands villagers congregate within a citywhere incidentally there are streets and sidewalks instead of fields and junglethere starts to be a disconnect.
Again, I come back to the intersection of modernizing global forces and as-of-yet unsevered ties to traditional village life. Its a hard balance, and I find myself split between which side to root for.
As I watched, a man came alongwhat his official job is, or whether he does this voluntarily, I do not knowand picked the garlic pieces and paper up off the ground. He picked up the stubs of wax melted to the dais and then gathered up the dozens of lotus blossoms, each of which represents someones dreams and wishes. I found myself asking What does he do with them? Does he sell them back to the venders? Or just throw them into the woods? Would one of these be better than the other?
While I was quick to dismiss Thai Buddhism as an aberration from the Theravada strain from which its provenance can be traced, with time I have forced myself to increasingly put aside my judgments and instead resolve to learn as much as I can about it, in an effort to try to unpack its many layers of meaning.