Ingyinbin Journal: The Unguarded Mind

John, a meditator from New Zealand, spends extended periods in Ingyinbin each year, the home of the revered Webu Sayadaw and with his friend Ashin Mandala. This winter, he has decided to keep a journal, which he has kindly offered to share with us. His journal alternates between observation and poetry, between meditation practice and commentary about Burmese Buddhist society, from his learnings and his questions. The full collection of his musings can be found here.

31 December
It takes time finding a routine that suits. Sitting, it is astonishing how the mind teems with numerous unrelated thoughts. Occasionally, beneath a kind or morass, clarity gathers and briefly surfaces. It takes at least an hour on the mat before the concentration gains a steadier attention on the breath:

Following each breath
pull deeper
no bottom or top.

Evening walk. We approach the village to the west of the monastery, greeted by couples who stand smiling at their gates. A group works the threshing machine in one dust-filled yard, tossing in bundled rice stalks that get separated on exit into a growing pile of stalks (to be chopped and fed to the cattle) into one place while in another the husked rice (paddy) falls into a neatly placed large woven basket that, near full, a young woman swings easily onto her head and carries with surprising elegance to the place of storage. The track leads us past a dozen or so simple thatched houses with yards populated with families and their charges, cattle, dogs, chickens, pigs, including an occasional cat. One young woman stops in her tracks when she realises she has been observed striking out at a large feeding sow in the pen. The unguarded mind excites in a scene supported by a hundred contrary things. And getting back to the monastery grounds, overhead we see groups of ibises, their wings stretched wide, almost stalling as they seek a place to roost high in the tamarinds beside the weed-covered lake:

Nadia points out the darkened
shapes arriving in small groups into the upper branches
of the tamarind & neighbour trees

that skirt the matted lake: birds
spilling onto the monastery,
masters of the evening sun.

Chin Daung Curry

Chin Daung Curry 

Today, the cabin in Amarapura appears a bit more cluttered than it was in Maha Gandayone Sayadaw’s day. Daw Onmar, a German nun who stayed here for several years, recalls him saying that it is with the utmost simplicity that a monk a should live, and for many years he had little else but a pen and paper. As the modern era came to Burma, he was once offered a new refrigerator for his private residence. He laughed, and declining, asked what he would possibly put in it—“rice and chin daung curry?” Rice, obviously, is cooked and offered fresh daily, and chin daung is very cheap-made curry that is only good immediately after cooking. Nowadays refrigerators are quite common at Burmese monasteries, a development Daw Onmar feels Maha Gandayone Sayadaw would not accept “with the tip of his toe.”

Dry the Paddy While the Sun is Shining!

Ne pu done, saba hlan (ေနပူတုန္း စပါးလွန္း) means “Dry the paddy while the sun is shining!” When used in a Buddhist connotation, this proverb urges the devout that when there is an opportunity for spiritual development, one must not let it slip away. Sun Lun Sayadaw often used this expression as an exhortation for yogis to meditate and to strive to reach nibbana in this very life, instead of merely doing good deeds and hoping to come back when the next Buddha arrived, as some Buddhists of his day were wont to do. 

Sun Lun Sayadaw explained that just as people had lost their chances to become liberated during previous Buddha Sasanas, one should not waste the opportunities in the present Sasana. A similar proverb is Ne win hma, saba hlan (ေန၀င္မွ စပါးလွန္း), or “at sunset one dries the paddy,” which refers to someone acting even after a precious opportunity has been lost.

Rice and Dhamma

One of the most important and sacred events in the Buddhist faith happens in every village and city throughout the country on every single day, when even the poorest of the poor find time and resources to be able to give just a single spoonful of rice to monks on their morning almsrounds. This ritual, taking place since the Buddha’s time, links the small rice grain to the great religion in the minds of many. 

And there are several proverbs linking one’s home store of rice with his or her ambitions for the world. One goes maouq lun they hsan, peiq they. This means that “the overfilled rice tends to spill,” figuratively suggesting that an overproud person brings himself down. Another states San me shi, a sa gyi, meaning “no rice at a home, but a big eater,” and is said for people who squander their possessions. Finally, there is the good practical advice of Thu oh hnin thu san tan yone. This means that “The pot and amount of rice should be of equal size,” or simply “live within your means.”