Rugged Interdependency - Amaravati Buddhist Monastery

Golden Highways Revisited: 1998(Manyati). I was reminded of the response that the Spartans once made to Philipof Macedon – quoth he: “Lacedaemeons beware, if I enter your city I will destroyyou all and forever establish my sovereignty over you. Your names will be lost tohistory forever.” Quoth the city fathers in reply: “…if...”. Apparently the Greekgovernment did the same when told by the Axis powers that they were coming andwould they accept occupation – “No” was the one-word reply.A rich and joyful time rolled by as we headed off to Boston Common, thePark and a walk through town. We dropped off Jaya along the way. The city wasin full bloom, with students and secretaries draped all over the lawns, guitaristsstrumming and branches burdened with the brightness of cherry, almond, magnoliaand apple blossom. The human realm in the gladness of spring – strolling,rolling, smooching, playing – the air was warm and bright, inviting stillness ofheart, and the nostrils full of the fragrance of muditā. April, love and fertile greens– the arising side of the cycle.We stroll up Commonwealth Avenue, past memorials for local worthies: byGeneral George on his noble steed, then sailors, politicians and nine firemen, losttogether in a tragic blaze, back in 1972. After a spell in Trident Books we ambledown Newbury Street – getting more chi-chi, fou-fou with every block. I can’thelp noticing how many opticians there seemed to be and how every face we meetseems to be dressed with different styles of spectacle – it must be a meaningfulitem of dress these days for so much juice and $$$ to go into it. Cafés line thestreet and the outdoor tables are thick with Bostonians, students and city warriorsalike. Numerous are the white collars and ties and tight, shoulder padded twinsets,along with the slash-armed skate boarders and gaggles of roller-blading haves.As we walk along – the late afternoon sun directly behind us – the dream folkwho flow towards us squint and blink or peer from behind shades, not quite surethat they are seeing Buddhist monks drifting towards them. The light gives themour silhouette but steals our definition until we are within a few feet. It is strangeto see that curiosity – etched with suspicion or excitement, shyness – crystalizingon the faces as we glide through each other’s consciousnesses.Past Cartier, Armani and Versace, Brooks Bros. and Burberry’s and back intothe greening park again. Dorothea takes us home to West Newton and, come theevening, a small informal gathering of folk clusters around. Kathy Holmes andpartner, Deborah, Janey, Ruthy, Sandra and Perrin, Charlie Bowen, Chris Melton,and who else but the spirit of concord.Conversation rolls around the concept of the new Monastery, Sangha newsand the plans for Abhayagiri. A few hours flow by. As Deborah has a two-anda-half-year-old we touch on the child-unfriendly atmosphere of IMS and howmonasteries function i.e. “all humans welcome – size irrelevant.” Again, people arekeen to hear the results of our Monastery circle meeting and the subject of locationand time lines appears again, also the structure of the nuns’ order. Many of thesegood folk happily pay up their fees and go along to teachings and retreats at differentcenters; a few, however, are dyed-in-the-wool Monastery types and have noheart for the “Dharma for dollars” world. For them the chemistry of the classical36