Not every question has an answer. To believe otherwise is
fine and dandy until one is seduced by the universal wonders of existentialism.
You’ve very likely experienced the philosophy if you’ve ever stopped for a
second on a warm summer night, looked up at the sky, and wondered what your
place in this world was.
Well I did this every night last summer and the
overbearing silence that I was given aged me faster than time and made me
bitter. An existential crisis, what I soon came to call it, shortly ensued. An
apathetic disease that not only caused me to forget who I was but created a man
that thought he never knew. This led me to frantically search for the answers
that I thought were hidden from me. I searched in glass pipes and beer bottles,
stories and television screens, everywhere that was within my grasp and then
further. Every question led to another and another and another until the only
sensible conclusion I could reach was that nothing mattered. “If only I could
find meaning in my life,” I told myself, “I could be happy.”
For reasons not quite understood, I’ve always been
fascinated by Buddhism. When the start of school this year proved to be as
meaningless as everything else, my heart began telling me to look towards the
teachings of the Buddha. A light began to emerge in my life, a light that was
brighter than any I’d seen since my teenage years. However, this beautiful glow
was not close; it was over seas. This is what led me to Chiang Mai, to Bangkok,
to Ayutthaya, and most importantly Wat Tham Krabok. For I had one question left and it
was for the Buddhist monks: “Is purpose worth striving for?” I wanted to know
if the need for meaning was like the need for everything else. Was it ever
going to be enough? Was it something I should learn to live without?
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| Statues of the Buddha at Wat Tham Krabok |
When we arrived at the Buddhist temple of Wat Tham Krabok we
were greeted by the monks and brought to a place where one of the monks (his name escapes me) taught us about the temple, what went on there, and Buddhism in general. After
his talk we were invited to ask questions. This was an opportunity to ask class
related questions that pertained to our cultural perspective groups. After a
few questions there seemed to be no more and we sat in silence while
the monk waited for any last thoughts. As the silence persisted I was dying
to move on so I could ask the monks my question of purpose in a smaller
setting. The monk must have sensed this because out of no where his head
turned directly to me. Our eyes locked as the monk, with raised brows, said,
“Question.” He wasn’t asking if I had a question, he was telling me. To be
polite I asked what was going on in Thailand in the 1950’s that caused people
to suddenly come to Wat Tham Krabok for drug addiction treatment, a question I
already knew the answer to from Steven Martin’s Opium Fiend. Unexpectedly, and quite shockingly, the monk left the
front, walked over to where I was, and sat down directly in front of me. Looking
directly in to my eyes he spoke to me, and only me. Although I can’t
necessarily tell you what he said to me, I can tell you what I heard.
He began to talk of a contract, one that binds every person
on the planet. The contract leads us through our lives and tells us where to
go. He told me that the Buddha taught us to follow the contract and only by
following our hearts can we live like the Buddha. He then asked, “You want to
be Buddhist monk?” something I actually think of quite often, “Learn from the
Buddha. Think like the Buddha.” He then stood up, returned to the front of the
class, and continued his talk like nothing had happened. Speechless and
confused I sat there. Why did he tell that? Why would he assume I wanted to be
a monk? But, for the first time in years I felt like I was exactly where I was
supposed to be. Finally someone had ignored my words and stared right into my
heart, speaking to my very soul instead of my broken and predisposed mind. I
then realized that the answers I had tried so hard to acquire didn’t exist in
the realm of language. They were deep inside the spiritual plains of existence,
buried by endless amounts of “knowledge” that was forced down my throat by my
superiors. These questions could not be spoken and the answers not told, they
had to be felt.
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| The monk sharing Wat Tham Krabok's herbal tea with me after our conversation. |
After exchanging emails with the monks they invited me to
visit again for as long as I wish. Before goodbyes, the monk from earlier placed his hand
on my shoulder and said with sheer certainty, “I am confident that you will
come back.” They could sense my lost soul desperately searching for a light in
the darkness. Soon I will return to Wat Tham Krabok with a cooled tongue and
let my heart do the talking.
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