Nothing Said

There is a beautiful Buddhist monastery in Woodinville, not far from my house. The other week, I felt particularly low on spoons after the holiday, so I asked my wife if she would hang out with our son while I went over there to sit and meditate for a bit.

It was a Sunday afternoon, so there were no services or events. The only cars in the parking lot were mine and a couple older ones that looked like they may have been for the monks to use.

The great hall with the large Buddha statute is connected directly to the monastery's community kitchen. (I'll bet you five bucks that architectural quirk ain't an accident-- but that's a different entry.)

These "off times" are my favorite times to come in and sit. Usually, there's no one there, or maybe just a few of the monks sitting quietly or doing chores. There's this massive, comfortable silence that I take a lot of nourishment from.

Only today, as I walked into the great hall, there was something quite different.

The tinny sound of Fats Domino drifted through the air from an old radio.

When you sit in dharma, you sit whether its raining, shining, silent, or musical, so I plunked down and got to paying attention and settling.

A few minutes later, an older monk poked his head in from the kitchen (the source of the music). He had a broom in his hands, ostensibly cleaning up after the Sunday morning services. He made a chagrined face as he saw the hall occupied, breathing in through his teeth.

I do not know the rules that govern these particular monks, but I imagine filling the air with Fats Domino's work when people are sitting isn't standard operating procedure.

I thought it was delightful. The monks are usually so focused and so serious.  I love looking through those little cracks to see the places where we are all the same. I grinned from ear to ear.

He smiled back at me sheepishly. Then we both started laughing. Big belly laughs that filled the great hall. I raised my hands and gestured with my palms down, as if to say, "The music is OK."

He picked his broom up and continued sweeping the kitchen. When he was done, he came into the hall and sat down next to me.

We just sat together for a while. The scratchy sounds from the old radio filled the large emptiness of the hall.

No one said anything. No one had to.

I got up, bowed, and left.

I felt much lighter than I did when I came.