Rugged Interdependency - Amaravati Buddhist Monastery

Golden Highways Revisited: 1998Farewells and fair weather: we make the run to the airport and immerse ourselvesin the traveling world – polyester-clad dames with sun hats and canes,brawny lads and their girls, tattooed young things untouched by sun, and theevenly browned beach dweller – here we all are going to our places – besuitedJapanese businessmen, pink Buddhist monks and all. Our ticket, our destination,our time, our place – all in order – into our steel tube we funnel, and we fly.Bright sky and green lands below us – the blessings of El Niño glow all around– patches of field and straight ridges of hill, the broad cone of Mount Shasta, dazzlingwhite; Crater Lake, like a child’s creation of sand and sea water, passes byspeckled with cloud-shadow. Greener and greener and closer it draws, then downinto Portland we lower.Mike Echols is there again to greet us – myself somewhat fresher than lasttime – and takes us to his home; we’re welcomed there fondly by Stary (the cat)and a pot of tea. Quiet evening hours pass in conversation and a phone call ortwo. While I’m here I plan to meet with Tan Sudanto, an American monk justback from Thailand who is interested to come and live at Abhayagiri, as well asAjahn Sumedho’s sister Virginia Barber. She and her husband William live justacross the broad Columbia River, in Vancouver, Washington; she is always gladto welcome traveling monastics of our community and hear news of her belovedbrother, so far away in England.June 2 ndA few folks show up for the morning sitting at Mike Echols’ – Mike Stevens andMimi Maduro, Barbara Backstrand, and his old buddy (another Mike) – with whomhe got drunk one night back in ‘84 and had driven over to the coast, just to run hisnew car. They had ended up in the parking lot of a motel in which the Dalai Lamawas staying, unbeknownst to them; they only found out about his presence therethe next day, when they had sobered up and returned to Portland.Only a few stayed for breakfast at Mike’s so it was a much briefer event thanit had been in previous years. They all admired the pictures of the ordination withhearts full of muditā.Mike left for work and then, at about 10:30, Janné Stark showed up to take meto a local restaurant. We walked down Hawthorne Street – the main drag of thelocal area – past coffee shops, bookstores and a dozen other small businesses. Thestreet is filled with an aura of youth and summer and excitement. The weather hasturned bright, at last, (it had rained all May) and the locals are out to celebrate.Sundresses and skateboards, shorts and bare-chested youths roll by us on everyside. The gaiety of urban summer is in the air.We sit at a table on the sidewalk and eat our dishes of potato as we talk of theirfamily life and their daughter Tara’s growing years, the rarity of happy coupleswho have been together more than ten years, and the search for the perfect love byour various siblings (largely unrequited, as yet).Grinning waitress in a black dress, black hair dye and Dr. Marten’s, dragontattoo on her shoulder, strides by us back and forth; our own server has a bril-82