What is Buddhism?

We were sat on some Himalayan hills smoking under the twinkling stars, my guide turned to me and passed the joint, blue plumes of smoke wisped up into the near atmosphere.

‘What do you think is the secret they keep in the monasteries?’

I was a little taken back by the question; I was in Bhutan and had surely travelled so many miles to get a glimpse at the answer to that myself. In a country where Buddhism is the staple of tradition, culture and society, I had made the assumption that the eight-fold pathway was laid out at school and that these guys knew how to do it all properly – a bit like taking swimming lessons or learning how to do algebra, as though incorporating a new task into a daily routine.

‘I mean’, he added, ‘I get so much pleasure from smoking, drinking, and women, and yet I am told that I cannot smoke tobacco, that I must leave the marijuana for the pigs, and that I must marry and bear children. And here I am at 28 years old married with one child, another on the way and a complete sense of dissatisfaction with life. My thoughts race at night, I feel trapped and at times I am plagued by anxiety about how mundane my life has become. This is the only view I fear I will ever see, and my wife’s face the only one I will ever wake up to’

‘Is it peace of mind and satisfaction that you want?’ I asked, empathising with and intrigued by the confusion that existed within my friend. ‘And is this the secret that you think is guarded within the walls of the monasteries?’

‘I think so,’ he replied, choking a little on the strength of the Himalayan hashish. For a moment more he contemplated – we each sat enthralled by the silhouettes of hills interlocking within our sights - subtle suggestions at a change of shade, making us all aware of the un-weaving multi dimensional Himalayan panorama,

‘I watch monks every time I visit temples and monasteries with tourists, and they all look miserable, I mean, I never see them smile! I think they need a night out, a good fuck and some of this charras!’

His friend interjected and told us that he finds great peace in meditation and suggested that my guide should visit the temple more frequently to say his prayers, although agreed that life without women and smoking would be difficult indeed. We all paused in search of an answer or a solution to the many questions that erupted into our consciousness’s.

‘Perhaps,’ I concluded ‘we need to shave our heads, swop our jeans for robes and head down the monastery – and the cost of that answer will be our vices.’

I first encountered ‘Buddhism’ in Dharamsala, in north India. I had headed out on my intrepid travels as a young adult, in search of some truths and to ‘find my self’, so to speak. The conclusion I had come to after several long dusty and hot weeks, was that getting stoned in the sunshine was the answer to all of my worries. Although it wasn’t; plagued by a cycle of thinking and in a self induced stupor I complained that I was fed up and that I had had enough of India and that I was ready to go home, although I was more than aware that going home was not the solution to any of my issues.

I was staying in the hills on a small farm and felt that I needed to re-integrate with society after a few weeks of smoking copious amounts of dope and doing nothing but watching eagles circle and shout along tunelessly to the greatest hits of Paul Simon which I played on my CD Walkman. If not to engage or communicate with anyone but to remind myself also that I was indeed alive.

In the village I read that the Dalai Lama was giving a series of talks over several days and that these were open to all to attend. I had heard of him, but didn’t really know who he was or what Buddhism was all about. Intrigued, I decided to enrol, and after following the relevant procedures attended the following day at the monastery.

My initial perception of the guy was a cheerful small man surrounded by armed guards that escorted him to his throne, preventing the desperate population of local devotees from getting too close. As he entered the hall, monks around me threw rice like confetti. During loud chants the family next to me offered me some puffed rice, and I took it assuming that I was to throw it; landing over the monk in front of me, my hosts smiled awkwardly as they gestured that I was to eat the stuff. I apologised to the bloke in front of me and sat patiently, unsure of what was happening, however observed other foreigners tuning personal radio’s, and having bought one on the way in took this as a cue.

There were two options regarding the fm radios – one cost 100 rps, the other 350 rps, they both looked identical to some degree however came with the advice that the cheaper one wouldn’t be able to receive the translation frequency. I smiled smugly as I had been in India for several weeks by this point and of course was now seasoned to scams such as this one. I took the cheaper option and sat puzzled as to why I couldn’t find what the French woman was hearing to the left of me. She had spent an extra 250rps. I did however manage to find some trance music and considered this a compromise and settled into my own ‘meditation’. I received a couple of looks from the family next to me, and a tap on the shoulder from the French lady to my left as it seems that I should have invested in the more expensive headphones too.

I took this as my cue to leave quietly so as not to offend or disrupt any further proceedings, however left with intrigue about what this was all about and whether this was the solution I had been looking for. I spent the next few years exploring this concept further, trying to weave practices into daily rituals, travelling to countries of predominate influence, gazing at massive golden statue’s, and sitting peacefully in meditative thought.

My initial inspirations for travel where exotic images of maroon cloaked monks in temples awash with oriental mystery. I had stumbled upon ‘Buddhism’, it seems to me as though by accident. I had stood, thinking about those stupa’s, encased in precious metals and gems while starving people pleaded with me for money in between praying to Buddha to help them. I had attended courses as part of my work in mental health care that insisted that you could achieve mindfulness in a matter of days, and that the process began by putting a raisin in your mouth. In contrast I had seen monks in old age sat beneath huge prayer wheels, counting rosary beads, and wondered,

‘Do they not get raisins out here?’

So there I was sat in Bhutan, with the whole notion challenged again. Only this time the impact was greater; I was a feigning western hippy pretending to have some ‘insight’ and expansion of mind, but these guys, to me where the heart of everything that I wanted to understand about life and the soul of what I felt I needed to know about myself, and they simply felt the same.

After a few years of wondering, I’ve come to the personal conclusion that the answers to all of these questions are delivered through the course of human experience and that with patience that is afforded with age, they are answers that we will all receive in some form or another at some point along the way. I’ve also begun to learn that everyone treads their own path and that the answers that they seek will be delivered in due course. Although it would be nice to put some supernatural attribution to the whole process, I’m starting to think that simply by living, and by doing, instead of smoking and thinking is where the magic in it all exists.

Thoughts and comments appreciated, Full Steem Ahead!!