Rude Awakenings - Forest Sangha Publications

^0 O B S E RV E R 06contemplative balance, but the real art was to let go: to drop all theforms, and the mind’s spaciousness as well, in order to attend to theworld. Its unpredictable turns regularly threw me into a mood, but thatwas what I was here to learn about. So when we interacted with people(which would be pretty continuously between eight in the morning andfive in the evening), I would try to turn my responses around.A lot of contact was the repeated questions: “Kaha ja ra hai?” “Whereare you going?” “Where are you coming from?” “What is your name?”The questions were not real questions, they were excited verbal reactionsusing the only English phrases that the men (it was always men orboys)knew,justtomakesomecontact.Aclusterof childrenwouldbreakinto “What is name what is name what is namewhatisnamewhatisname!!!”I smiled, tried to show interest, or at least look benign. A lot oftimes when one answered questions, it was apparent that their level ofEnglish did not extend to understanding answers. Then there were alsothe invitations to “stop at my house”—a kind gesture I thought. Weshould respond courteously, pausing to explain that we were pilgrims,disciples of the Lord Buddha, and we were wishing to get to Kushinagarin a few days. Entering into these dialogues was pointless in one sense,yet it was a religious activity to treat each person as unique. A couple oftimes I managed to get in a few remarks to catch the attention, ask a fewpolite questions in return—and feel things calm and open delightfully.But then there were Nick’s reactions to these encounters: brusque orcutting remarks that sealed off the interaction before I could respond,or overrode what I was saying. The situation then transformed into“them and us,” with us getting up and leaving—more on the run thanon pilgrimage.But, Nick and I were together, so I had to learn to work with him, andwith what being with him brought up, rather than come on selfrighteously.When you’re hot and dusty, and it’s the twentieth person ofthe day asking the same pointless question, and the trucks are streamingby blasting their horns, it’s not easy to treat each human as someone6 5