Many moons ago on the original Sawatdee Forum ~ if I recall correctly it must have been 2003 or 04 ~ Brad the Impala (he went under the handle 'Charles' back then) posted a rather classic post regarding his boyfriend becoming a monk.
The story was long, full of fine little details about a Thai Buddhist ceremony which is quite common, yet hidden from most farangs a lot of the time. Charles was lucky to have been so close, part of the action, and in fact he had his hand in the cutting off of his boyfriend's hair ... an integral part of the numerous parts-that-make-a-whole leading up to the penultimate day when white robes are exchanged for orange: a monk has been made, out of whole cloth so to speak.
At the time of the posting of Charles' story it was greeted very very well indeed. A long post back then was unusual, and in a way I count that one topic, with it's detail and length, as kind of a starting point for posts on Sawatdee not to be always about what price sex, what number to choose at Dream Boys, where is the nearest fuck show in Bangkok these days, is Sunnee Plaza dead?
The title of Charles' topic back then was "Boyfriend Becoming a Monk". So as a kind of segue from that to this, his to mine, then 'til now, I've used the same title but added "Part 2". Seems thoroughly appropriate.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And also because, sometime this last June my old man ~ more fallen buddhist than devout ~ out of the blue, decided to became a Monk at the quite late age of 46.
I was back in Canada at the time and upon hearing this news over the phone I of course had no input, and was presented with a fait accompli which for myself at least, meant a temporary bachelorhood for up to three months. Stunned-at-the-thought would be a reasonable way of describing my place in this religious fervour. (In actual fact, a rather gentle fait accompli though: he asked permission. But I knew deep down he was going to do this anyway, whatever I said. In the end, I would have never in a million years have allowed myself to be negative about it).
Most Thai men go through this ceremony at least once during their lifetime, but it is much more common for them to do so in their late teens, early 20's.
Why become a Monk?
The most common necessity which Thai men feel ~ in their gut, heart ~ regarding this act is to give tribute to their mother and father: it's what it's all about.
~ Mother ('Mae') gave birth to me ... thanks mom. (Pot's mom gave birth twice ~ one brother, one sister ~ in a rice field. She carried on, bravely, to pop out 8 more in a more normal and decorous manner. Nothing if not committed!).
~ Mother fed me milk from her body ... thanks mom.
~ Father ('Paw') protected me, took me to The Land, showed me how to cobble together a broken water pump ... thanks dad.
~ Both of you loved me ... thanks both of you.
Pot's father died five years ago and Pot had never taken the opportunity to go the Monk route while he was alive. It bothered him a lot, he felt vaguely guilty, vaguely unfulfilled. He wanted to make sure that at the very least he would get this done before his mother followed his father.
Suphot is a late bloomer one could say, a guy who's spent his younger years making money in the tobacco hills of Kanchanaburi, laying tiles with his older brother in the never-ending renovations going on in very old temples in Ayutthaya, Sukhothai, up on Doi Inthanon, learning Thai cookery in fancy restaurants in Bangkok and Rayong, morphing into a motorcycle taxi driver during the economic melt-down years of 1997 Bangkok after every second restaurant went belly-up.
This particular ceremony is not necessarily meant as a start to a young (or old) man's journey into the heart of darkness of Thai Theravada Buddhist complexity: Theravada is not Za-Zen, and certainly would never be described as minimalist.
A very small number of new monks decide to stay on in the religious life, making a career of it. But the great majority do their stint in the temple for various periods of time, usually meaning a few weeks, but can be up to three months. Then most leave, back to the real world.
Suphot originally chose the three month time frame (i.e. from July 26 through October 26), but ramped it down over the waiting period to one month . . . perhaps, in the interim, discovering that Buddhist monks ate breakfast and lunch, but for dinner, just water. I, quietly, silently praised such a rule, knowing him better ~ about тАЬThe EatтАЭ ~ than he knows himself!
All the photos below were taken on the day of ordination ... a ceremony that took about four hours. There wasn't a cloud in the sky that afternoon and the temperature was blistering hot. I thanked someone-up-there for the shade trees and the cool dark back reaches of numerous small buildings where I retreated into their nooks and crannies every so often. I was the only farang there and in fact had just gotten off my flight back to Thailand no more than 8 hours before. The temperature hit me hard that day and I was not my regular self by any means. But I also had no intentions of missing this ... if only to laugh out loud at the bald head of my beloved. When I arrived at the temple I sidled up stealthily behind him, to surprise. The surprise was on me ... I didn't recognise him.
Although I was about 8 hours from having landed, I had not seen Suphot yet. He had already been in the temple ~ in civies ~ for a week: his hair shaved off by family and other Monks and a heavy dose of learning the chants and the prayers and the language of the chants and prayers (i.e. 'Pali') which would be spoken during the big day.
The chosen temple was here in Hua Hin . . . a small but quite beautiful place named Wat Suk Samran. Pot had asked around his prodigious network of friends and acquaintances and chose a small but well-thought-of temple in the heart of a forest, on the side of a hill on the outskirts of town. The Head Monk was apparently a funny and not so serious elder, a bit rotund like a Chinese image of the Buddha, and quite a bit on the easy going side but at the same time well known for his gentle intelligence.
The central temple building (called the 'Bot' or sometimes 'Ubosot') was bathed in light and shadow, brilliant red looking newly painted (it wasn't), but the size and proportion was perfect given the size of the Wat as a whole, just large enough to fit a dozen monks in orange robes (the 'Ordainettes'), the two men being monked (the 'Ordainees') ~ one being 46, the other 21 ~ and many family and friends sitting around in celebration for each new Monk.
(FYI: Clicking on each photo will expand it to it's 'real' size. Click on the enlarged version to get back to the topic)
It made immense sense to see this lovely cat seeing me, in this place.
I got closer and closer and he did not move. Looking deep into those eyes I sensed that this cat knew Everything. The closer I got to him it seemed the deeper he knew me ... along with Everything.
Humans in a Buddhist meditational life attain to perfect enlightenment (none having attained it besides The Buddha). They work hard at it, coming close, dropping out, chanting into their fans, living in the forest Wat-less, walking in the early morning dew speechless, foregoing dinner.
But I knew in those deep green/yellow eyes the cat was already there . . . he, like most cats, owns that around them, but this cat went a step further and had become The Buddha. I could feel it.
The grounds of Wat Suk Samran are quite spotless. The Monks there clean the place daily, but I have seen other Wats in Thailand in various stages of erosion and neglect: the 'Bot' receives the big bucks, the grounds sometimes be damned. It depends I suppose on the nature of the Head Monk and his belief in the serious upkeep of all parts of the temple grounds: that it matters.
But Suk Samran invites meditation, pulls you in to sit quietly ~ Buddhist or not (and I'm definitely in the 'not' crowd) ~ which is distinctly right up my alley. I deeply need my regular bouts of alone-ness. This place would serve anyone of such nature very kindly, with it's greeny gardens, towering trees, and spiky, flowery water plants floating in giant clay jars.
Before heading off to circle the central building (three times, in full-glare heat!) the two family groups wound their way slowly through these gardens ... with bojangle-type sounds to keep up a musical gait and male family members yelling out тАЬwhooop whooopтАЭ sounds.
The robes of a monk-soon-to-be are white (all virgins? We're not sure) with lace and gold embroidery. Like the later orange robes the white ones are all complication, with little pieces of cloth fluttering all over the place, needing to be knotted exactly as taught, and always seemingly just about ready to fall off a shoulder. These are by the loaned to the new monks, then put away for the next group. They are faintly feminine to the western eye, but not thought that way by Thais.
Before the main ceremony, and before lunch, the two new monks wandered around greeting their family and friends . . . thanking them profusely for coming, asking them to please sit down and eat.
This is Suphot on this greeting journey and he's all talk and laughter. His new monk partner however was all shy seriousness, and I glanced over a number of times at his 'group' who were occupying tables and chairs under a second tent canopy. He seemed stand-offish to my eye, but I venture to guess he was all nerves, thinking about the difficult Pali chants he was (hopefully) about to conquer within the next hour ... like a speech one must make in a semi-understood language yet with no notes, no prompting, no lectern.
Interestingly, an hour later, the new monk who actually stumbled over his lines was Pot. The younger man was spot on the mark.
But new monks must work, servile young whippersnappers that they are. Making the rounds, serving brothers, sisters, friends, pointing out the ingredients in this dish or that one.
Serving the gathered monks was also very important and it was done with gentle movements and careful placement of every plate, glass, spoon ... much like the slow motion precision of a Japanese tea ceremony.
The monks chanted their prayers in that unusual nasal fashion that seems to reverberate off each wall then come together in the middle ~ shut your eyes during this part of the ceremony and in the right room, it's quite difficult to tell where the sound is coming from.
After that, chow down! And the monks' spoons a-clinking is the signal for the gathered guests to do the same.
This is Suphot fussing about with the food.
And this is his younger monk-mate doing pretty much the same thing.
But, in the end, it's all about feeding the 'real' monks at one point in the day. The Boys in Orange cannot be denied, and they lined up in two rows, crossed-legged. First chanting, then eating ... and in the latter case I observed some rather healthy appetites indeed.
These are the monks ~ the Head Monk being the Fat Chinese Buddha-like gentleman front row, second from the right ~ who will, in an hour or so, be attending the main ceremony and, naturally, as 'sitting' is a rather energy intensive workout they are priming their caloric intake beforehand: rather like marathon runners 'carbing-up' the night before a race.
The Black Heart also showed up, with Isaan/Surin tartan sash and his best smile (which I admit, can be endearing).
Welcome Suphot's older brother Tuan Tong: the ruler of the roost (now that Khun Paw has left this world), the scammer par excellence, the fallen gambler, the manipulator, the stealer-of-everything-not-nailed-down, if given half the chance.
Having said that, I rather like the guy on some level: he's a master charlatan but an impressive Sweet-Talker (Thais seem to look up to this trait in others, and admire it). I enjoy our conversations.
A few years ago he once sat me down and proceeded to go through the entire spiel of hi-so sounding bullshit regarding his most recent money-making scheme: an Amway distributor business. I rolled my eyes (on the inside that is), but after an hour of this speech ~ in english ~ I must admit to being very impressed with his energy and apparent commitment. And no, I did not immediately sign up to be one of his lower distributors.
The Amway distribution lastest another two months, and was then discarded for the next Big Idea. To this day Tuan Tong has large numbers boxes of laundry soap and toilet bowl cleaner stuffed in some dark corner of his house, moldering away.
And he came to take over his younger brother's ordination ceremony: i.e. take over the family, friends and miscellaneous temple hangers-on. He could not control the temple's monks, though I'm sure he would have liked to.
He arranged everyone in line for the 'Boaet' walk around. He distributed to each family member their golden bowls of Important Things (I was ordered to carry the new monks orange sash ... which I did). He started ~ and finished ~ the "whooop whooops". He was quite charming really, and told everyone who would listen as to how proud he was of his beloved brother for (finally!) becoming a monk . . . even though once the whole thing was all over with he would revert back to The Black Heart who was ~ as I write ~ attempting to steal some of Suphot's property in Surin. Everyone in the family knew this and secretly decided their older brother was never to be trusted.
Friends and family eat outside under a tent's canopy. No problems with rain today (in this supposedly monsoon season). Food? Fair, nothing to write home about. Filling. Spicy. Some things on plates difficult to identify but having vague insect characteristics ... stay away, timid farangs.
Lots of Fanta in a range of colours. No beer.
Suphot's family. Trust me, the folks in the next three photos are only representative. I 'think' I managed to get everyone in to at least one shot, but there are dozens who could not come all the way from Surin to Hua Hin for a host of reasons. Pot's mother in fact never came: she was seriously under the weather back in Nang Mut with diarrhea-in-extremis ... she is getting on in years now and Pot persuaded her to stay put. (Once he was finally declared a full-blown monk and lived in his orange robes he took a bus back to Nang Mut the following week to see his mother. Another story ~ as I was not there ~ but she apparently burst into tears and, wailing and wai-ing she ran all around the village to pronounce her middle son's journey to paradise.
A glorious attempt at identifying family:
Suphot (monk-to-be); youngest sister (far left); niece (middle. A sister's daughter); Boy-in-black (far right. Son of some sister, brother of 'Oat'); Boy-in-front, could be a temple's employee's son)
Suphot (monk-to-be); Three lovely nieces (could be any sisters kids); unknown baby (sneaking suspicion one of the three lovely nieces has been with child); small girl and small boy in white (daughter and son of Suphot's younger brother Suban); Boy-in-blue (named 'Oat', lived with us for a few days when he came to get a job in Hua Hin. Missed life on the farm and went back after a few months. Excellent pool player); Boy-in-black (younger brother of 'Oat', seems to want to be in every photograph taken that day)
Suphot (monk-to-be); Kneeling front row far left, Tuan Tong (Also referred to as The Black Heart, the monk-to-be's older brother); Lady-in-brown (One of Suphot's older sisters, loves her whiskey, loves my money and is not shy about asking for it, very quiet and rather withdrawn); Young girl behind her (one her daughters); unknown boy-in-yellow (another hanger-on I think): Boy-in-black (again!! see above); Lady-in-white flower dress (one of Suphot's younger sisters, with her two kids in tow)
Some thoughts on monks 'going bald'.
Both the hair ~ all of it ~ and the eyebrows have to go. This is an integral part of the ceremony and usually happens some days beforehand, in his case 4 days. If the family (or very good friends) are present then they will take turns helping to crop off the hair.
In Pot's case, the family group had not yet arrived, and neither had I, so the Lopping of The Locks was given over to a few good friends from Hua Hin and the Wat's monks themselves.
As mentioned somewhere above, When I first crept up behind Suphot and he turned around I almost did not recognize him. But the two photos below which are joined together gives a quite good impression of how hair a-top then hair all-gone changes one's long-held physical impression of that person.
First: bald makes one look older. Wrinkles hidden become wrinkles stark naked. One looks more serious (perhaps feels more serious as well) when shiny. Perfect strangers start to have overwhelming desires to play a game of golf, or watch re-runs of 'The King and I'.
Second: here in a stitched-together photo the juxtaposition cries out: тАЬgrow it back, Bud, grow it back!тАЭ (And this is happening, with fervour, as I write. B-) )
These two novices are now in their last hour of whiteness. There was a host of intricacies as they sat at this table ... moving silver vessels from one place to another on the table, passing each container (who's to know what was inside them? ... I must remind myself to ask about this, but there were so many 'pieces' to this ceremony that I have lost track), praying in that nasal tongue again, each time copying exactly what the monks had just chanted first.
But in the eating hall, once eating had ended, there was a deep sense of coming dramatic zenith, like a whirling dervish flinging a heavy blanket over all and everything in the building.
IN THE 'BOT': Finally, after the three turns around the central hall, after the temperature had started to retreat with a nice breeze blowing through the trees, after everyone was seated on the floor, as The Buddha looked on from the central altar, the two monks-to-be ~ still all in white ~ sat in front of their jury and chanted away in Pali for half an hour. The Head Monk was smiling away like a teacher proud of his best pupils.
Soon, in slow motion, the two novices stood up, and were guided by one of the monks into a small hallway between the Bot's wall and the altar. They disappeared behind (The Buddha could no longer see) the altar, and all was eerily quiet . . .
. . . and soon the two came out: serious, gripping tightly onto their new robes as if they think they might come apart at the worst possible time (ASIDE: monks do not wear underwear), faces lowered, no longer the virginous light-hearted willow-wisp white garment but now draped in the full, heavy, substantial orange colour robes of a made-monk. (I felt like applauding or yelling "you go girl!", but didn't).
And then, DISASTER!
One at a time the two new monks were instructed to go to the back of the 'Bot' and stand alone ... surrounded ~ but apart ~ on both sides by their respective family and friends.
The Head Monk proceeded to ask them questions (in Pali) and their job, from the back of the hall, was to answer (in Pali) with the phrases they had learned during the week before first entering the Wat.
Then Suphot ~ to my horror and painful embarrassment for him, like a comedian who never gets a laugh ~ forgot his lines.
No worry laughed the Head Monk, relax, take your time. And he did, and he did. He then made it through the gauntlet with no more trouble. I felt really bad for him, but one doesn't leap up and give a new monk a hug under these circumstances.
I'm sure the little girl seated there on Pot's family side felt the same way ...
The last part of the in-Bot's ceremony was the presentation-of-things: the giving of gifts and money from the families, and the passing-on of monkdom's essential accouterments by the Head Monk himself.
No folks, that's not his toilet he's carrying around on his back, it's his silver food bowl wrapped in it's leather and cloth shoulder strap.
Some more chanting . . . and soon a nice human touch indeed, a fifteen minute discussion together with the Head Monk about life in general, including lots of laughter and camaraderie from the rest of the now-relaxed monks. For all I know they were sharing dirty jokes.
I liked that.
For the next few weeks my dearest was deeply into the daily duties of a 'real' monk: waking at 4:30 am every day, praying, leaving the temple at 5:30 am every day, walking barefoot through Hua Hin town (every day), getting their silver bowls filled to brimming, giving blessings to folks along the way when asked, back to the temple, breakfast (from the now-filled bowl), rest, cleaning the temple grounds, lunch, prayer, studying Buddhist books, dinner-no-dinner, bed (on floor) at 9.
Repeat.
And then, a month later, Suphot took off his orange robes, left them carefully folded in his room, put on his civilian clothes, and walked away.
(Thanks Charles!)
__________________________________________________ ___________
DENOUEMENT: By coincidence, on the very same day of Pot's leave-taking, in the south of Thailand in Surat Thani another new monk, a much more well-known one, was also leaving the temple he had chosen in his time of angst.
Mr Supthep, the leader of the almost-coup (i.e. just before the real coup by the Thai Army was undertaken) decided he had had it with life as a monk and he was leaving the quiet life to go back to Bangkok to stir up a little shit.
Reply With Quote
Originally Posted by cdnmatt
