Not This, Not That ~ TO OZ AGAIN
In
November, I flew out to Singapore, where I got a tourist-visa
for Australia, then went to Perth, spending three
weeks with Tinh Giac in the temple; they organized
just one talk for me while I was there. Next stop
was Adelaide, where I spent some time in the Vietnamese
temple before Sheila came to pick me up and take me
home with her. During the time I’d been away,
our parents had moved to live alongside of them in
their own self-contained ‘granny-flat’.
Mum had become unwell ~ she’d diagnosed herself
as having bowel-cancer, but it wasn’t so; what
she’d really had we never ascertained ~ and
felt too isolated out at Moonta; there were pros and
cons about this move, but they couldn’t have
gone on living there much longer, so it really was
for the best; and poor old Gran had died several years
before. It was nice to stay with them for a while;
it was quiet, nothing was expected of me, and I was
able to relax and ‘let my hair down’.
Back at the temple, my Dharma-talks were well-received,
especially because people there seldom had a chance
to listen to a talk; the resident monk never gave
any himself, and maybe because of this, he began to
resent me, and somehow got the strange idea ~ I was
informed about this after I’d left Adelaide
by some-one close to him ~ that I was out to take
over his temple. To this, I responded: “Well,
he made two mistakes. Firstly, he thought of the temple
as his own private property, when it belongs to the
whole Buddhist community and not to any individual;
and secondly, he thought I wanted his prison.”
I am often asked if I have my own temple, and I usually
reply that I don’t, nor do I want one, and that
if I had a temple of my own, I wouldn’t be free
to say what I feel should be said, but would have
to say things to please people in order to get their
support; truth is not popular, nor is it a big money-earner.
If I wanted a temple of my own, I could have had ten
or fifteen in different countries. No thanks!
While I was in Adelaide, someone from Melbourne called
~ a person named Nguyen Thanh Liem, I’d
met briefly in Manila in ’79 when he’d
just arrived by boat, and was staying in the Jose
Fabella Center. He’d heard I was in Adelaide,
and requested me to come to Melbourne, and offered
to send me a plane-ticket, saying he would organize
talks for me. I accepted, and he met me at the airport.
On the way to the temple where I was to stay, he lost
no time in excitedly telling me of the talk he’d
arranged for me in a large hall he’d rented
for that purpose the next Sunday, saying he’d
announced it in the Vietnamese press, and expected
about 800 people to attend. How he’d dreamed
up this figure I don’t know, but I was to see
that he was capable of all kinds of crazy things.
He came to collect me from Chua Quang Minh
~ the small house-temple in the western suburbs ~
to take me for my talk. When we got to the venue,
however, we found it locked and no-one there, and
he had to look for the caretaker for the key. Eventually,
only about fifty people turned up, and we were ‘lost’
in that large hall, where Liem had hung ‘Welcome’
banners over the stage. He’d also arranged a
talk for me in the other Viet-namese temple on the
far side of the city for the following Sun-day, but
it was no more successful than had been the first.
On my first day in Melbourne, I ran into Pham Thanh
Hung, who had not long before been resettled in Australia
from VRC.
I had tracked down Ray Seibel, having lost contact
with him some years before, and through an old address
was able to get his current one and phone-number ~
in Melbourne! I called and spoke with him, and he
came to take me over to his place. We had lots to
talk about over dinner, for which Judith had made
an egg-pie dish. Now, I’d not eaten eggs for
years, but partook of it, not knowing how it would
affect me. Next day, I was producing a gas so potent
that when the cook brought lunch to my room, her face
changed color, and she looked under the bed and chairs
thinking the cat had brought in a dead rat or something.
Deeply embarrassed, and ashamed to say, I let the
cat get the blame, saying that it did sometimes come
in through my open window! Since then, I’ve
always tried to tell people who wished to invite me
for food that my vegetarianism includes eggs, except
if they are in cake, when I can’t take them
out; somewhat hypocritical of me, you might say, but
then, we are all hypocrites in some ways; none of
us live exactly by what we say, but do and say things
that contradict our philosophies; long ago, I recognized
this about myself; nor is it because we want to be
or try to be; it’s just part of our stage of
evolution.
I came to know of the case of a young guy who had
been hospi-talized for a minor operation on his ear
in 1984, but the opera-tion had gone wrong and his
brain was starved of oxygen, with the horrifying result
that he was left disabled, unable to do any-thing
for himself, or even to speak. Why this terrible thing
befell Tai ~ for such was his name ~ we can’t
say, and must be careful not to casually and callously
dismiss it as ‘his karma’, as if we know,
for we really do not know. What we do know, however,
is that he didn't want or try to be like that; it
happened to him; one day he was young, healthy, and
handsome, with everything go-ing for him, and the
next day, his life had changed forever, and he’d
become a prisoner in his body, wanting both to live
and to die, but caught between and unable to do either.
Two years later, his case came to the notice of a
lady named Jacquie, who responded to his needs, and
not only went every day to take care of him as normally
only a mother would, but contended with the hospital
authorities until they finally but reluc-tantly agreed
to pay ongoing care-costs; this was no minor victory,
as the hospital had denied responsibility for negligence.
Jacquie's loving care for Tai touched many people,
and caused some to remark that they must have had
some strong bond from a previous life. I can't say
much about that, but was full of admi-ration for her
tireless efforts with Tai. He responded so well to
her that he even made an attempt to write short notes
to her, the first of which, though hard to read, of
course, said: "Chet roi," which
is Vietnamese for ‘Dead already,’ probably
meaning that he was as good as dead, and, therefore,
there was no point in taking care of him. This didn’t
deter Jacquie, however, and for seven long years until
he died, she bestowed her love and care on him, and
the Vietnamese that she had previously learned came
in very useful in facilitating communication with
him.
Liem drove me to the airport, with his wife and small
daughter, Diana. While I was checking-in,
this little girl wandered off alone. It caused a panic,
and I was so scared. We had to make an an-nouncement
on the P.A. system, but it was quite a while before
she was found down by the departure gates! This child
was as hyper-active as a hurricane!
Now, here, my memory fails again. All I remember is
that I stayed in several places, including Chua
Phap Bao and Chua Phuoc Hue, but not
in what order. During my talk in Chua Phap Bao, although
people were interested and wanted to listen, the abbot,
Thich Bao Lac, rang the bell to cut me off,
as it was near lunch-time; this was so rude, and had
never happened to me anywhere before.
Like in Los Angeles, there was rivalry and acrimony
between these two temples, and instead of subsiding
over the years, it became worse.
I met someone I’d known in VRC: Vo Tan Hong
and his family were living in a small flat; he and
his wife were sewing for up to sixteen hours a day
in order to stay afloat. They would later get into
the bakery-business. I’ll refer to him hereafter
as Baker Vo.
Liem had arranged for me to stay with a friend of
his in Sydney, Minh Quang, another ex-monk
like himself. He lived with his wife and young son
in a small flat, where he wanted me to watch videos
~ a 12-tape series about Kwan Yin, in Chinese, dubbed
into Vietnamese, which I found extremely boring ~
just like Giac Luong’s video about the Buddha
in San Jose.
I bumped into Tam Dao, from VRC. He was a
follower of Cao Dai ~ a Vietnamese religion
comprising elements of the major world religions and
other things beside; he lived in the house that served
as a temple for their activities. Many Cao Dai-ists
are vegetarians, and I always got on alright with
them.
From Sydney I went to Brisbane, to be met by Le
Bang, who had been with me in Bataan; he took
me to one of the temples. There, I met Tran Van
Hoa, who had worked in the dental-clinic at VRC,
and had studied in this field since arriving in Australia
in ’82; the first thing he did upon meeting
me was to look at my teeth, and asked me to ‘open
wide.’ “You need a partial den-ture,”
he said; “I’ll make you one.” So
he took an impression of my teeth and made the denture.
He then took me to his home for a fitting, and forced
it in ~ it had sharp wires sticking out on it ~ hurting
my gums. Afterwards, I ate with it in, but it was
hard-going. It was impossible to wear.
During my stay in Brisbane, the monk from the temple
where I was staying arranged to take me to the Chenrezig
Institute at Eudlo, a Tibetan center
that had been established mainly by the efforts of
an Aussie doctor ~ Nick Ribush ~ and his
wife, Marie, who had become monk and nun, and who
I’d met at Kopan in ’74; they were not
at Chenrezig at the time.
Returning to Sydney, I went to Canberra to stay for
a while with Thich Quang Ba, who arranged a talk for
me in the Uni; he also drove me around Canberra, but
was such an erratic driver that I said, “Look
here, I don’t mind visiting people in hospital,
but don’t take me to stay there!” He was
well-known for his driving. Back in Sydney, I flew
out to Singapore before my Aussie visa expired, and
again went back to the Phils for some months.
Enlightenment
is like the moment of death: when it comes, it is
always instantaneous, but the process leading up to
it is gradual; in fact, we spend our entire lives
building up to it — no, more: the moment we
are born, we begin to die, for death is not something
separate from life, but part of it; it might even
be said that living is dying — the wheel turns,
and the life-force runs out.
The problem
is not that there are problems. The problem is expecting
otherwise and thinking that having problems is a problem.
~ Theodore Isaac
Rubin, U.S. Psychiatrist & Author, 1923 ~
|