Rude Awakenings - Forest Sangha Publications

8CyclesA J A H N S U C I T T ONovember 26th. Another dark evening and we were still walking. Notthat I was eager to get anywhere; everywhere we arrived seemed to displaythe same characteristics as the place we had just come from.Progress itself was more psychological than geographical: the landalways looked much the same, in paddy fields stretched out and scantilydecked with clumps of mango, banyan, and bodhi trees. On its stagethe pujas, walking, going for alms, and occasional halts for tea cameround repetitively.Progress was a matter of being undone and swallowed by the forcesaround me: the bantering inner and outer voices, the sweat and grime,the grit in the throat. The balance came through simply focusing onthese things. Through yielding into the dullness, my plodding assumedan oxlike doggedness, pushing steadily forward. Walking wove a net ofassurance, giving me the semblance of control over my destiny. Even asthe world flooded through me, I could take refuge in the appearance ofbeing able to walk through and away from it. Rationally I knew better;there would be no getting away from the heat, the “Where are yougoing?”—the psychological chafing, bodily discomfort, and fatigue—except by ceasing to resist them. But such abandonment takes time.1 3 1