Pannadipa
Thirty four years ago, on the tenth of May nineteen eighty seven, at ten thirty two in the morning, I became the Buddhist monk Pannadipa.
It was a defining moment in my life and has left me with not only an overwhelming sense of gratitude to the Buddha, my teachers and now my own students and disciples, but an enormous amount of fond memories. At the ordination ceremony itself there was a huge amount of love and joy especially when my teacher, Sayadaw Rewata Dhamma, who was also my preceptor, asked me a specific question;
It was a defining moment in my life and has left me with not only an overwhelming sense of gratitude to the Buddha, my teachers and now my own students and disciples, but an enormous amount of fond memories. At the ordination ceremony itself there was a huge amount of love and joy especially when my teacher, Sayadaw Rewata Dhamma, who was also my preceptor, asked me a specific question;
“Are you a man or an animal?”
According to legend, in the time of the Buddha it was possible for animals to take human form and then become bhikkhus, and so the question had to be asked. There of course is only one acceptable response which I gave. “I am a man.”
He turned away and then quickly turned back to face me with an enormous smile on his face and continued, “are you sure ?” I feel so blessed to have spent more than twenty two years as the disciple of this man.
Then there was the time of the chocolate éclaire :
It was my intention to be the best monk that I could be, out of respect for the Buddha, my own teacher, my wife and my friends, and so I undertook the ‘samana’ training.
Samana means, ‘one whose senses are under control’, and so I spent many hours each day in silence and in meditation, and always conducted myself with mindfulness and dignity. The result of this training was the very deep feeling of peace and calm. All desires and aversions seemed to have fallen away.
One day I was invited to attend a house blessing celebration with my teacher and another monk. This was a very special occasion for the Burmese lay people who were doctors and had just moved into a new house. They had invited many friends and relatives and everyone was dressed in their finest clothes. The ladies, in traditional Burmese costume, looked especially elegant.
Arriving late, the first thing to do was to eat. In the Theravada tradition of Buddhism it is a monk's rule that no food should be taken after midday, and so in accordance with this, we were directed straight to the dining room.
The families must have been awake for many hours preparing the delicious food for our benefit. Huge amounts of salad, rice, noodles and vegetables were waiting for us on the fully laden dining-room table, and more elegantly dressed Burmese women waiting to serve us.
However, as we walked in, me deeply engrossed in my practice of mindfulness, something caught my eye.
There on a plate in the middle of the table was a chocolate éclair. It was the biggest éclair I have ever seen, filled with fresh cream and covered by a thick layer of chocolate. It was a type of food that I had not eaten for some time and so the moment my eye caught sight of this beautiful object, my mind screamed, ‘I want that!’
We sat down and ate, having the most delicious food almost forced upon us, but I kept one eye on the éclair. I wanted it, and in some way felt sure that by looking at it I could make sure no one else took it.
The generosity of the Burmese people is well-known and finally, I could eat no more. The Burmese lay people had managed to fill at least one Buddhist monk to capacity and I was not able to take another mouthful.
The éclair was left on a plate, until, I suppose, someone else took it. With so much food inside me, I was definitely past caring about its destiny.
The recognition of the power of desire, observed in the environment of a calm and peaceful mind, has stayed with me always.
Or another time when a fellow young western monk and I took a stroll around the local park close to our monastery in England. We were quietly walking in our orange robes, myself feeling very conspicuous as a new monk, when we were met by two local skinheads who immediately began to chant, 'hari krishna, hari krishna', at us. My only idea was to walk on quietly and not engage these two young men, but my colleague however had other ideas and stopped and spoke to them telling them that we were monks of the Theravadin Buddhist tradition and that we do not dance or sing!
He then described our simple life in a few words and in a way that was not only non-confrontational, but allowed them their dignity even in their misunderstanding. They were actually interested enough to ask simple questions in return as to our reasons for following this particular life-style, and this meeting and my friend's response became a great teaching for me.
Today, even if I no longer wear the robes of the bhikkhu, my life is as true as it can be to the principles of Dhamma, and I live quietly and peacefully in my small monastery in France, adhering naturally to the principles of awareness and love.
I share the Dhamma with groups and individuals when requested, and live by the generosity of my disciples and others, who are kind enough to support my simple life through unrequested donations.
One morning during my time as a monk, my teacher, asked me if I would like him to speak on a specific topic that evening.
Immediately I replied, "yes, Bhante, please speak about the Sammanapala Sutta."
The Sammanapala Sutta had long been a favourite of mine, speaking as it does, in its beautifully graduated way, of the benefits and blessings of the life of the bhikkhu, or as I would express it now, the one dedicated to pure Dhamma understanding.
Inspired by this and by the conduct of all the masters and true disciples of Dhamma, I have committed myself to the pursuit of self realised truth, beyond religion and other group psychology, and complete liberation from the causes of suffering and unhappiness for more than forty years.
My life, of course is precarious depending as it does on the generosity of others, but it seems to me that when fear is finished, the universe provides. From this place of love, compassion and joy of life, everything that the Buddha and my teachers proposed is possible and just waits to be realised.
These are my thoughts today as I put my hands together in anjali to say once again, thank you to all beings; the ones who showed me how to live, and the ones who showed me how not to live.
I offer this with respect and humility.
According to legend, in the time of the Buddha it was possible for animals to take human form and then become bhikkhus, and so the question had to be asked. There of course is only one acceptable response which I gave. “I am a man.”
He turned away and then quickly turned back to face me with an enormous smile on his face and continued, “are you sure ?” I feel so blessed to have spent more than twenty two years as the disciple of this man.
Then there was the time of the chocolate éclaire :
It was my intention to be the best monk that I could be, out of respect for the Buddha, my own teacher, my wife and my friends, and so I undertook the ‘samana’ training.
Samana means, ‘one whose senses are under control’, and so I spent many hours each day in silence and in meditation, and always conducted myself with mindfulness and dignity. The result of this training was the very deep feeling of peace and calm. All desires and aversions seemed to have fallen away.
One day I was invited to attend a house blessing celebration with my teacher and another monk. This was a very special occasion for the Burmese lay people who were doctors and had just moved into a new house. They had invited many friends and relatives and everyone was dressed in their finest clothes. The ladies, in traditional Burmese costume, looked especially elegant.
Arriving late, the first thing to do was to eat. In the Theravada tradition of Buddhism it is a monk's rule that no food should be taken after midday, and so in accordance with this, we were directed straight to the dining room.
The families must have been awake for many hours preparing the delicious food for our benefit. Huge amounts of salad, rice, noodles and vegetables were waiting for us on the fully laden dining-room table, and more elegantly dressed Burmese women waiting to serve us.
However, as we walked in, me deeply engrossed in my practice of mindfulness, something caught my eye.
There on a plate in the middle of the table was a chocolate éclair. It was the biggest éclair I have ever seen, filled with fresh cream and covered by a thick layer of chocolate. It was a type of food that I had not eaten for some time and so the moment my eye caught sight of this beautiful object, my mind screamed, ‘I want that!’
We sat down and ate, having the most delicious food almost forced upon us, but I kept one eye on the éclair. I wanted it, and in some way felt sure that by looking at it I could make sure no one else took it.
The generosity of the Burmese people is well-known and finally, I could eat no more. The Burmese lay people had managed to fill at least one Buddhist monk to capacity and I was not able to take another mouthful.
The éclair was left on a plate, until, I suppose, someone else took it. With so much food inside me, I was definitely past caring about its destiny.
The recognition of the power of desire, observed in the environment of a calm and peaceful mind, has stayed with me always.
Or another time when a fellow young western monk and I took a stroll around the local park close to our monastery in England. We were quietly walking in our orange robes, myself feeling very conspicuous as a new monk, when we were met by two local skinheads who immediately began to chant, 'hari krishna, hari krishna', at us. My only idea was to walk on quietly and not engage these two young men, but my colleague however had other ideas and stopped and spoke to them telling them that we were monks of the Theravadin Buddhist tradition and that we do not dance or sing!
He then described our simple life in a few words and in a way that was not only non-confrontational, but allowed them their dignity even in their misunderstanding. They were actually interested enough to ask simple questions in return as to our reasons for following this particular life-style, and this meeting and my friend's response became a great teaching for me.
Today, even if I no longer wear the robes of the bhikkhu, my life is as true as it can be to the principles of Dhamma, and I live quietly and peacefully in my small monastery in France, adhering naturally to the principles of awareness and love.
I share the Dhamma with groups and individuals when requested, and live by the generosity of my disciples and others, who are kind enough to support my simple life through unrequested donations.
One morning during my time as a monk, my teacher, asked me if I would like him to speak on a specific topic that evening.
Immediately I replied, "yes, Bhante, please speak about the Sammanapala Sutta."
The Sammanapala Sutta had long been a favourite of mine, speaking as it does, in its beautifully graduated way, of the benefits and blessings of the life of the bhikkhu, or as I would express it now, the one dedicated to pure Dhamma understanding.
Inspired by this and by the conduct of all the masters and true disciples of Dhamma, I have committed myself to the pursuit of self realised truth, beyond religion and other group psychology, and complete liberation from the causes of suffering and unhappiness for more than forty years.
My life, of course is precarious depending as it does on the generosity of others, but it seems to me that when fear is finished, the universe provides. From this place of love, compassion and joy of life, everything that the Buddha and my teachers proposed is possible and just waits to be realised.
These are my thoughts today as I put my hands together in anjali to say once again, thank you to all beings; the ones who showed me how to live, and the ones who showed me how not to live.
I offer this with respect and humility.
May all beings be happy.
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