I Was Hired As A Teacher...Then Asked To Join A Cult (Part 1)
How my international school in Thailand tried to force its teachers to join a Theravada Buddhist foreign educator cult...and why I'm concerned about the same thing happening in Massachusetts.
As the election came and went, and I sit around the house as an unemployed emotional wreck, I've had an inordinate amount of time to reflect on my 9 years of being an educator. I was nonrenewed from my previous school, Revere High, and despite it being November I still can't even consider returning to the classroom. Despite the top level of degrees imaginable, with an MA Hons. II.i in French and Latin (which would have included Linguistics if the department hadn't disintegrated during my time there) and a Masters in Teaching English as a Second Language (graduated with distinction), I could not seem to for the life of me hold down a job in the state of Massachusetts.
My first job at Charlestown High was too traumatic: at the end of my time there, two students -- a 17 year old and a 13 year old -- brought guns to the school, with what I heard was the intention of shooting up the middle school wing where I was working at the time. It was too painful. I could work my way through BS and just teach kids. But I didn't want to die while doing it. Then, an adult language school nearby catering to mostly local Brazilians. And finally, Revere High.
I unfortunately have had the experience of what it is like to experience trauma and to feel unsafe at school in Massachusetts. Multiple, multiple times.
When I was at Tucker Elementary, my second grade classmate Sam fell off the playground monkey bars after school hours and hit his head on the ground. He was taken to the hospital, but it was too late. Our second grade class was informed of his death, and we attended his open casket wake.
When I was a freshman at Lincoln-Sudbury Regional High School, my classmate James Alenson was murdered on campus before classes had even begun. Our school went into lockdown. We stayed held in place for hours, while our classmates distracted us with jokes and games, and teachers made casual chit-chat, hoping that it was all nothing serious. When we heard the news over the intercom that James had been killed, John Odgren had been arrested, and that we would all be dismissed for the day, our entire school community was shattered. Every sense of the word "safety" had vanished from our teen minds. Girls started bursting out crying, mouths were agape, there was shock. When I got home, I followed the news ravenously. Why did Odgren do this? What did this mean for high school in general? The unfortunate truth was he was most likely mentally ill, and though his school support team tried their best, they struggled to give him what he needed.
I argued with my friend's bigwig Dad in the car who decided he'd show up on the news after this event. "I was in there!" I screamed "Why do you get to be on the news?!" He got so mad that I questioned his big money and connections that he banned me from his house for the rest of high school.
In such an affluent school, I had never seen huge fistfights, or chaos, or what looked like the issues of those "bad schools" over there. The schools that METCO is 'saving' Boston kids from. But I certainly heard secrets. A friend whose Police chief father was abusing her, her sister, and her mother. Sexual assault allegations that quietly disappeared. LS is divided into "houses", and Central House became the house where students who needed support services would receive them, along with all their other classes. It sounds reasonable on the surface, to offer tailored support, but in hindsight I wonder, was it a good strategy to isolate students from their content classes? To isolate them from their community, or other trusted adults?
Revere High has also adopted a similar "house system" which it labels SSTs. And, just like the fancy Lincoln-Sudbury, it also isolates its most vulnerable cases into one "house". Only one problem: at LS, with so many great counselors and resources available, students can generally find some support. At Revere? That "house" is managed by 1 assistant principal, 1 social worker, 2 guidance counselors, 1 family liaison, and 1 student engagement coordinator -- for a caseload of nearly 1000 students. My social worker friend told me he had a caseload of 70 students on IEPs on top of delivering services to essentially any student who needed it at the drop of a hat. In a city like Revere that suffers from extreme poverty, is dealing with an influx of new immigrants trying to build a better life, and is struggling to offer opportunity to its community, of course the amount of trauma that comes with that will be much, much higher. And yet, the number of folks on the ground doing the work shrinks and shrinks.
But today's not about those experiences. Today's about how I accidentally joined an international school that was a massive cult, and how I believe its bullshit "loving kindness", "DEI" buzzword bullshit has somehow seeped into education in a way that is actively harming our global educators.
I made a video a long time ago about my experiences in Thailand and my research into the Thai royal family. I truly loved my time there. The land is beautiful, and the people there were always generous and kind to me and my partner. I wish I could return someday, but this YouTube video probably killed any chance I have of getting a visa back into the country.
Panyaden International School is a huge school and a genuine community spirit. Its parents, educators, and staff are top-notch. Everyone I met working there had a great heart and positive attitude. But the way the school treated its staff was with cruelty and shame. They had no clear evaluation policy, so educators would be bullied by administrators into thinking they were terrible at their jobs. Many, many wonderful professional educators were let go with no warning. Many felt discouraged to speak up in meetings, or to discuss anything happening at the school with other departments.
The worst part of the experience, however, is its 5 day silent meditation retreat for its staff. It takes place every October, conveniently around the time that teachers must have their intentions meeting with the administrators. I went on it twice. Thankfully, on my retreats, I found solace in journaling my experiences. I will include some of my journal entries and thoughts throughout this piece. I'll start with my first experience with the retreat.
November 20, 2019 - Day 1
The bus ride took quite some time. Five hours. Nausea. My knees radiated achiness. Our room is a cell block. One cramped space to the next. The first session is already a maddening feeling. I bow to things I don't believe in. I sit for endless talking, blathering, only to walk while counting in every language I know! One positive was seeing a cat land on the Buddha statue. Q+A was somewhat of a release because I could snark out notes freely. But the free time, oh god was it the worst. That must be how they get you. Give you nothing but the message. When you have nothing left, you scream "Please let me meditate! Please let me hear the words of a geezer!" This is brainwashing in every sense of the word.
The first meditation retreat, us foreign teachers and parents were bussed up to a Theravada forest tradition Buddhist wat outside of Chiang Rai. We were told to bring nothing of any entertainment value such as books or games, no technology, or any clothing that wasn't black or white. Any phone or earbuds we had for the hours long bus ride from Chiang Mai we had to surrender to administrators who were on "Dhamma Service" for the entire experience. Since the retreat was meant to be in complete silence, we only had one notebook to communicate anything we needed or wanted to know more about.
A group of female staff were taken to a single dormitory with barely any windows. Our beds were just a flat rock surface with a slim mattress. Not everyone received this type of accommodation, however. Some women stayed in another dorm with better windows and more private quarters. The men slept in en-suite rooms together, on the opposite side of the monastery. In my notebook, I wrote, “Why do women have to stay in this dark space all together? Why is it us who stay away from monks? Do they not believe in controlling themselves? Why are we not allowed in the front of the line? What is the point of women not touching the monk’s bowls? Do they fear getting aroused from it or something?”
My ESL coworker warned me to bring melatonin on the trip. She swore by it, and I later understood why.
Without warning, we were encouraged to chant that we would obey the 8 Precepts of Buddhism, meaning we took an oath similar to the 10 commandments mixed with the Mormon Word of Wisdom. Every day began and ended with chanting, lots of it. All of it was from the Pali scriptures, which my friends struggled to chant phonetically. We got an English translation stating the words were phrases like "I believe in the Triple Gem" and "I believe in the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha". It was also the beginning of "Noble Silence", or our vow to cease communication with all other attendees.
Then came the meditation. Meditation was organized into half hour blocks (though monks are not known for their punctuality). We started with half an hour of walking meditation, all in one sala, circling around its perimeter. Then, we did a half hour of sitting meditation. An hour of meditation for the average newcomer to the practice, completely unguided, was challenging for all us new professional teachers. Looking around the room, the silence was eating away at us.
The monk Ajahn Jiew started our afternoon with a long Q+A "Dhamma Talk". Monks often love to prattle on for hours and hours in these Dhamma Talks where they are meant to give great wisdom to the flock. For our first one, we were allowed to write on paper some questions we had.
The first was on "passion". He noted that likes and dislikes are impermanent. He gave the example of advertisements manipulating our desires. In my notebook, I wrote, "Now tell me how to overthrow capitalism?"
The second was about whether we were allowed books or journals. He told us not to read anything except Buddhist teachings. At his monastery, the 'library' was a locked cupboard, and only contained Buddhist-approved literature. He warned us not to become "addicted to books". Journaling was fine, he said, but just things about your mental state, and only journal positive ideas.
The third was a question about a book recommendation about gratitude. I didn't catch the name of it, but Ajahn Jiew somehow wandered off into a story about his time visiting Prague. As a monk, he was required to do an alms round to collect food, as alms round is meant to spark gratitude in others when they give food freely to another human being. People stared at him in his old orange robes, and how out of place he looked. "How do we combat racism?" I wrote in my journal.
He also told a story about his mentor, Ajahn Jayasaro. For context, Ajahn Jayasaro is a white British man, while Ajahn Jiew is Thai. Ajahn Jiew had bad legs, and suffered greatly from his gout-related health issues. Since Ajahn Jiew was Jayasaro's mentee, he was required to help button his clothes, even as he was in immense pain. Ajahn Jayasaro claimed that this exercise would help Ajahn Jiew learn 'gratitude'.
The rest of the questions were of little interest to me.
After some 'personal time', we reconvened for a "Dhamma Discussion". This was officially the only time we were allowed to speak. The topics were preselected, and we were required to read Buddhist literature on the topics prior to the discussion. The topics were "Awareness" and "Craving".
"People are unaware of how much they think," said one teacher. He was a veteran at the school, having worked there since Panyaden's inception. He was exactly the type of mindful, kindhearted backpacking hippie that Panyaden loved to market. He had joined the Peace Corps as a young man and worked on Kiribati before wandering over to Thailand. He spoke fluent Kiribati and Thai, and hung out at the local skeezy gay bars.
"Ajahn Jayasaro gives me deadlines to translate his thoughts into Thai," said Ajahn Jiew. He also floated the idea that American culture is bad because we have too much choice, and democracy is fucked (my words, not his).
"I crave coffee and chocolate," said a young American female teacher, who had fallen hard for the school's Montessori-like vibes, "I want the experience of coffee."
"What we 'lack' isn't just physical or tangible," said a young British male Early Years educator, who used every opportunity to virtue signal how 'Buddhist' he was. He and the Montessori lover were the best of friends, and took everything the school's religious advisors told them at face value.
"Craving is related to avoidance," said another young blonde American woman, who had joined the school at the same time as me, "I need to learn how to be complete without the craving fulfilled."
"Is craving a problem?" said a curmudgeonly parent who had been encouraged to join this retreat, and was quickly regretting it, "I can have everything that I want."
"In the desert, I craved greenery," said a South African teacher, also brand new to the school, "so I went to Thailand. I made a choice to make myself better."
"Craving towards human progress is good," said a young queer British woman with short hair and a tattoo of a naked woman nailed to a cross on her leg.
After our "Dhamma Discussion", it was back to "Noble Silence" as we continued following the schedule. We were not allowed to eat food past 12 PM, same as any other monk, but through some weird Buddhist loophole, we were allowed cheese and chocolate as a snack. I filled a bowl with cheese and chocolate, desperate for any kind of sustenance.
We returned to the sala for chanting. We chanted for hours total over the course of 5 days. After chanting came another hour of meditating: half walking, half sitting. As the singing bowl rang out to signal the end of meditation, we prepared for our second Monk Q+A. The first question was related to why the Buddhist teachings here were so conservative. It was asked by my future husband, a young British man from a small working class town in the North of England.
"Modern thought is more negative," said Ajahn Jiew, "The University of Edinburgh came here and scanned our brain waves and compared it to others. Most are negative. The teachings we have here are still relevant."
Another question asked about the afterlife in Buddhist teaching. "Belief cannot be proven true," he said, "If there is condition for life to continue, it will. Enlightenment frees us from rebirth. In Tibetan Buddhism, they focus on reincarnation, and choosing to be reborn, like the Dalai Llama. In Burma and Thailand, we don't think we can really choose." He continued to discuss the Eightfold Path, and how through following it, we could become enlightened and free from suffering, or dukkha.
This continued with the monk droning on and on until nearly 10PM. My ESL coworker was right: melatonin was necessary. The bell rang for morning chanting around 4AM every day.
November 21, 2019 - Day 2
I woke up relatively effortlessly. The shower was brisk with only cold water. Chanting continues to give me cultish vibes and I feel guilty for not believing every time, but I do it because it is the only song I can mutter out loud. Alms round was genuinely beautiful. The birds and cows amused me and I touched every cat o'nine tails on the path. What ruined it was seeing the lower-class, impoverished, working-class villagers giving food to something this overindulgent. Meditations today grew even more tedious. I went into this thinking walking meditation would be easier, but it has become the bane of my existence. You cannot bail out of walking meditation as all eyes are open. I spend the first few rounds counting in English, French, and Chinese before I get some amusement from the surroundings. Then, I am bored again and play games with myself: stealthily practice rhumba, memorize parts of the surrounds, sing songs in my head to the beat of my footsteps. I have not completed a single sitting meditation. We officially broke Noble Silence around 5:30 and talked nonstop for an hour. Knowing that it could be broken heled me immensely to release the weight off my shoulders!
The bell rang for morning chanting around 4AM every day. As we began to open our eyes in the darkness of our cramped dorm room, we heard the monks beginning to assemble. The wat had no hot water for our showers and no electricity, so we used battery-powered flashlights to make our way in the dark to the sala. My fellow female teachers exchanged looks of exhaustion and despair.
Whenever we chanted, my work friends laughed at me. I was always the loudest chanter. I was a musical theater kid throughout my youth, so chanting, though it conflicted with my atheism, was my only outlet for my energy. That and my journal:
On 27
I forgot my birthday was yesterday. I always wanted my life to be my 20s, when it all kicks off. Now that my 20s are almost over, I don’t know exactly what I am looking towards. I mostly wish to command respect. A distinguished writer, an academic, the smart lady of the room. But no one will listen until I create something to make them listen. So what I want is the spark to create that which will give me a voice, give me power. Somehow, I worry if I don’t make that spark in my 20s, it will never be bright. I also want the glowing warmth of family that I foster. I’ve journaled since I was 18, and nothing has changed in the amount of love I want as I grow old, and as family rises up with me. All in all, it is these three connected desires which this new year of being I hope will strive for.
After chanting, and another hour of sitting and walking meditation, we began our alms round. Alms round was my favorite time of the day. We walked through the glorious Thai countryside to the local village. We wandered near rice paddies and watched the water buffalo from afar. However, it made me uneasy seeing impoverished Thai people give food to us foreigners, when we knew that generosity was frankly unnecessary given our means. But as for walking, getting moderate exercise as we watched the sun rise over the landscape, I couldn't deny that it was a powerful experience.
When we returned, we ate the food we had collected. It was important we eat as much as we could then, before we would be cut off from food for the rest of the day. I noted in my journal, “Monks, no matter what they say, are in their nature patronizing. After watching them eat first, they go on to say we must be treated unequally ‘like parents and children’. We are the children in the metaphor. Nonsense.”
Then, we began our "working meditation". We were instructed to find work to do around the monastery, such as sweeping, cleaning dishes, tidying the sala, or any other chores, and to focus our mind on the activity. I chose a broom as my tool, and decided to work to brush the small pebbles from the walkway near our female dorm. As everyone walked around barefoot, I imagined as I swept, every small pebble I moved off of the path was one potential source of dukkha removed from our future walking.
The schedule of walking and siting mediation continued, for hours and hours, with short break for "personal time" or yoga, or to eat cheese and chocolate. Even with the first day as only a half day, my friends and I in the dorm were going nuts. "I'M GOING CRAZZZZY!!!" wrote one of them in my notebook. I worried that my negative journaling and notes to friends would be discovered by an administrator or a monk, so I folded each page to keep as a secret.
To converse with my partner, I gave him my notebook and asked him to write in it. We would leave the notebook on a chair, and check in on it once and a while to respond to each other. Though this communication wasn’t “breaking Noble Silence”, we still knew it was very frowned upon. In fact, everything us newbies were doing seemed very frowned upon.
“I hated yesterday so much. I was in so much pain last night and just generally pissed off,” he wrote to me, “Today feels so long but I think it’s actually a little better. I don’t mind the spartan lifestyle. I just hate all the Buddhism! If I could read/wasn’t forced to meditate/chant/listen to the monk then I would be okay. I asked a question in the box about why everything is so conservative.”
During cheese and chocolate time, Keen British Man mimed his newfound enlightenment to the others in the group. We watched as he looked intently at a little sprout on the ground. He caressed it tenderly, then collected stones from nearby to encircle the poor thing. He did everything so methodically, and in front of all his peers, so that we may notice how keen he was to shield this ‘new life’ from the forces of nature.
One woman, a young Scottish girl, struggled massively with the rituals. She told us and the school administrators that she had already escaped a cult prior to joining the school. Her mental health was very fragile, and she had an intense phobia of bugs. As we were in the middle of a Thai forest chanting and meditating for hours on end, it was difficult to avoid either of these issues. She finally built up the courage to ask that she could leave. The administration saw this as weakness, and she left the school not long after.
By evening time, our dorm friends had had it. Six women, all new teachers to the school, had had enough.
"This is too much," one confided in our small huddle. Everyone nodded and jumped at an opportunity to speak. We chatted for nearly half an hour during our personal time. From then on, we made a pact to ignore Noble Silence. We weren't feeling very noble. That talking, that communication, as we snuck notes to each other, or whispered, or went back to the dorm to vent, went a long way in solidifying our bonds. We trusted each other.
The monks and school administrators caught on to our ruse. At a Dhamma Talk, Ajahn Jiew mentioned that there were folks 'breaking' the Noble Silence. "Though I cannot make you follow this," he said, "I would encourage you to continue practicing it for the benefit of those here who care." He droned on and on into the evening, and we got to bed at nearly 11PM.
November 22, 2019 - Day 3
Though waking up was harder, alms round did brighten my spirits. I needed it, as sitting meditation had me shivering with no blanket. Breakfast was again better than lunch. Today was the first day I had any decent meditation as it was thinking meditation. You know I love me a think. I think giving up on Noble Silence has helped me much more. The stress of the silence kept every thought in my head, so I could share it later. Now, knowing I can just share it whenever, has helped me relax. I have found nice things, but I still do not want to be here and wouldn't want to do it again. I can respect, but do not believe, in what we are doing. [Scottish woman] has decided to leave, and I envy her. The joy of seeing the monastery cat is one of the few things that keeps me here. I went to bed kind of pissed off. The monk insinuated that we who didn't keep Noble Silence or disagreed with this practice were unwilling to learn. But I've learned so much! It's just not the dhamma they want me to take.
The third day was the same as the last. A 4AM wake up call. An alms round. Endless hours of meditation, alternating walking and sitting.
In my journal, I kept a page entitled “Is it Monk?” where I wrote down everything I saw the monks doing that we were told not to do. For example, I saw Ajahn Jiew on the “women’s side” of the monastery on an iPad. He also never did walking meditation with us. He claimed it was due to his gout. But as far as I know, no teachers got any accommodations for their health issues.
On the second day, I opened my eyes during sitting meditation and saw that the monk was gone. “What’s so important you don’t need to do your full 30 minutes? And he of course goes right back in place before the bowl ring.” On the third day, I noted the monk was late to almost every activity. He didn’t start chants, and left during most of the meditations.
In our “Dhamma Service” notebook, where we communicated to admin anything we needed, Keen British Man wrote he would be fasting completely for the final two days. It was another attempt to virtue signal with the administration, but The Talkers weren’t falling for it. “What a nonce,” said naked female Jesus tattoo woman. “I even hate the way he walks,” said my future husband.
My partner and I, though we were not allowed to dorm together as a man and a woman, used my notebook to communicate regularly, and took long walks away from the watchful eyes of the administration to converse.
“[ESL coworker] said he fasted all retreat last time,” I wrote, “He just sits in the eating area torturing himself to make himself the martyr. Fuck him. Everything he does is calculated for self-importance. After his stunt at the staff outing talk circle I just have to laugh at how pathetic he is.”
“I had the realization yesterday that that was basically a rehearsed Dhamma Talk in the style of the monk — it wouldn’t surprise me if he eventually went down that path,” he replied in the journal.
“I wish he would!”, I replied, “Save us the theatrics and walk the monk walk.”
The frustrations were running high, and The Talkers spoke constantly about our dislike of the retreat. The beds were hurting us every time we slept. I gave up showering with the freezing cold water. We complained about the mosquitos and the darkness with the lack of electricity.
We gathered together for our second Dhamma Discussion. The topics were “the Eightfold Path” and “Karma”.
“As teachers, we teach subjects but also teach values,” said Keen British Man, “You choose your friends as adults but children don’t have awareness of how to choose who fits their values.” Clearly he had never heard of the hidden curriculum.
“You can lead a horse to water…” said the sweet blonde, “but getting a good teacher can be wasted on you.”
Ajahn Jiew stepped in. “Reflection is a key component of learning. We don’t argue with ourselves when we are alone. What is ‘right’? What’s right is what leads to liberation. Technology can give information, but we need human interaction.”
“I don’t believe in karma,” said my ESL colleague, “but I know my children reflect my own actions.” Keen British Man smiled a wide, fake smile.
“My better English is a result of karma,” said Ajahn Jiew. My masters in TESOL inside my brain didn’t know how to react to that.
He used this as a jumping off point to describe how he became a monk, which led to more Q+A questions. He told us he was originally in university as a theater major. He planned to become a monk for one month. One month turned into 25 years. He also discussed how Buddhism differed from Christianity (he seemed unable to fathom that others could be Jewish, or Muslim, or of any other faith).
After evening chanting and meditation, we were finally free to sleep once more.
November 23, 2019 - Day 4
Today was the worst day waking up. It's Groundhog Day. I missed Alms Round to do my working meditation. It's been the working meditation that has been the most consistently good meditation on the retreat. I like sweeping and hearing the rhythm of the bristles. There is one part of the path that Is "mine", and every day, I sweep it to clear all painful pebbles. I am always proud of it. I know the monk would say this is good because I intend to remove potential suffering. Mostly, I am just happy my walk to and from my room isn't a pain in the ass. Every part of the retreat safe for the endless Buddhist trite and the Noble Silence is tolerable. I've found some positives in the meditation, the yoga, the working. But the Dhamma Talks, the lectures, the Q+As, they are so tiring. I wish one day was fully free. I would easily do working meditation and reflect, but every time we must sit in front of the monk, I dread. Breakfast today was the best it's ever been. Today was contemplation on Death, whereas yesterday was on Metta. Yesterday's topic was more thought-provoking to me. Death is more emotional but I've thought about death and what I want in my life more. It's just manipulative to do it on the last day, as science tells us people look more favourably on experience that give them intense emotions. My private talk I went to with [ESL coworker] was interesting, discussing death talk with children and how to combat discrimination and bigotry without anger and being loud. Interesting, but not mind-blowing. At afternoon snack, l realized the 'talkers' (not talking then, but the group of us troublemakers) are the only ones who show happiness on their faces. I have had a lot of fun breaking the rules here.
On the fourth day, our meditations veered into pseudoscience. Ajahn Jiew instructed us to think about an ailing or dead family member. We were to breathe metta into the world to heal them. We were told we could cure our loved ones through our thoughts. As the meditation continued, I heard other teachers sobbing as they pictured their loved ones halfway across the world, or reminisced about their loved ones who had passed. The mixture of chanting, meditation, no sleep, and no talking had clearly taken a strong psychological toll on the others. I stood firm in my belief that this was all nonsense. I could sense that my lack of crying set me apart from my coworkers, and "Dhamma Service" took note.
Together, our dorm room of young women had rallied against Noble Silence at every opportunity. We would take walks around the monastery and talk openly, where monks or administrators couldn't see us. Many were starting to bow out of activities to go nap or escape from the endless meditations.
My future husband and I passed our notebook back and forth again:
“I think I’m thinking more like you,” I wrote, “I’m doing okay for meditation and I don’t mind the silence (to a point! I still like breaking it to relieve my mind) but the Buddhism talk is getting more irritating. My impressions of Buddhism are 100% more negative after this trip. The death stuff, I almost got sucked into the manipulation before I realized what it really was. I’m fine thinking deeply about stuff but I’m not here to gain some deep gratitude for the dhamma or whatevs.”
“I don’t know, you don’t need to overthink it as much as you do,” he replied in the notebook, “It was a pretty useful exercise. I can maintain a distance pretty easily from things I don’t like. Some people were, like, blown away by it. I’ll never understand it. I have enjoyed some of his talks, I actually quite like him to be honest. Sometimes though, he talkes half an hour to say the same thing over and over again. Then I catch him looking at the clock, he realizes he still has 10 minutes so he has to go over it all again. These are the things that just make me laugh at the theatrics of it all.
Once again, we gather for a final Q+A with Ajahn Jiew. Question 1 was, surprisingly, about insects. Clearly the mosquitos had gotten to someone.
“This is the insects’ home,” he replied, “Be friends with them. Female mosquitos need blood to lay eggs, so think of a hungry mother.”
The second was about the rubber trees on the property. “They don’t belong to us,” he noted, “They belong to the villagers.”
The third was regarding the monastery itself. He explained that the land used to be his grandparents’ rice farm. Then, they added dirt to make it more stable, flatted the land artificially, and added a pond. “We found about 700 year old pottery during construction,” he continued, “We also found rock tools near the Buddha up top.” He also clarified that there was no evidence that it was a monastery prior to his creation.
The fourth was about dreams, and whether they could predict the future. Ajahn Jiew admitted he did in fact believe they could. “But don’t analyze your dreams,” he said, “Analyze your meditation.”
The questions this night went on and on, ranging from basic to philosophical. The monk told us Bratislava was his favorite place in the world, that he enjoyed the toy shop owner as a kid who invited him to play, that all relationships end in one way or another, and that we should read The Cocktail Party by TS Elliot.
We were told to expect a surprise later on in the evening. The way it was said sounded almost ominous, like we were about to approach The Wicker Man. We were also told that a new monk was to be ordained the next day. The Talkers all joked that it would be the virtue signaling Keen British Man (it wasn’t).
Instead of a Wicker Man, we walked up the monastery’s tall hill to its peak, where a large Buddha statue towered over us. Around it and its base were many candles, and each of us was invited to hold one of our own. We walked around it in meditation before sitting before it, as we had done many times at this point in the sala. Then, the monks began to chant. In the candlelight, the chanting was hypnotic. The ceremony itself was beautiful under the moonlight, with the candles flickering light over our faces.
Day 5
I didn’t journal a damn thing on day 5. We were finished — physically, mentally, and emotionally. We woke up at our usual 4AM. We chanted and meditated, counting down every second. We did our alms round. Then, we watched a young Thai man get ordained. His ordination ceremony was bright and joyous, as his family looked on with pride. The sala smelled of fresh jasmine flowers.
Finally, we were encouraged to chant to remove the 8 Precepts we had sworn an oath to. Noble Silence was broken for all the veteran teachers, who had watched us ignore the rule for nearly the entirety of our retreat. It was clear they were annoyed with us Talkers.
We didn’t care. The Talkers were pretty convinced: we had just joined a cult, and now we had to reckon with it to keep our jobs.
Will continue in Part 2!