Rugged Interdependency - Amaravati Buddhist Monastery

Golden Highways Revisited: 1998Apparently the US got knocked out by being beaten by Iran and, although Isuspect this was not even reported west of New York, in Tehran they danced allnight. Sweet justice and revenge.Brigitte’s father did not return from his meditation class until 11:00ish (he’sbeen teaching and practicing a form of vedic spiritual training for more than 30years) and the score had to be kept secret from him, to maximize his appreciationof watching the tape of the match. It was amazing to step into the realm of soccer,a world with which I had had zero connection for years, and to find everyone sodeeply enraptured – even Brigitte knew numerous members of the England teamby name.June 27 thRainy and cool again the next day, Brigitte and I walked over to meet her old friendEdna, and David, another friend from the village who was a spiritualist and amedium. We spent an hour or two at her house, just past the train station, but mostof the conversation was dominated by David’s questions to me – Brigitte and Ednahardly uttered a peep.After the meal we piled into their car and headed for Chithurst, motoringalong the M25, the A3 and the narrow lanes with ease and speed – in two hourswe were there. We walked around, picking our way through to the beautifully tidygrounds and the myriad rabbits nibbling on the lawns. All was green and gloriousand pristine for the ordinations on Sunday, tomorrow.They had prepared well: all the necessaries had been done and there were nota hundred monks and nuns flocking around with last-minute crises. The place wasstill and calm – a fitting environment to encourage the going forth – and deckedwith flowers in every corner. The bell for tea rang and the Burnetts left, I went into join the rest of the Sangha in the reception room and spent an hour or two withAjahns Samvaro and Chandapālo, now at the monasteries in Switzerland and Italyrespectively. There was no evening pūjā so I retired early to the forest and to thedwelling I had been allotted: the Ānanda Kutī, above the weir in the western cornerof the woods.This had been newly built in a grove of silver birches and was a silent andwarm little nook. Having started on Pope Joan, bequeathed me by Father John, Ispent a few more hours devouring it: a good, page-turning yarn and a fascinatingtrip into 9 th Century European life, in the darkest of the dark ages after the collapseof the Carolingian empire. The night is still and silent but for the roar of the weirin the muffled distance.June 28 thA sweet dawn broke clear and warm over the forest. I pottered along to the gruelmeeting in the marquee and spent a good while in further news exchange withSamvaro and the others.The day flowed seamlessly by: tea and chat with Ajahn Sucitto until ceremoniesbegan at 10:00 a.m. with giving the Five Precepts and chanting the paritta101