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Sister Candasiri
Some years ago Sister Rosemary from the Order of the Sisters
of the Love of God came to spend two months at Amaravati Buddhist
Monastery to pursue her interest in meditation, stimulated
through reading the teachings of our abbot, Ajahn Sumedho.
After discovering, in addition to a deep sense of spiritual
friendship, that we had been at school together almost thirty
years before, we kept in contact. I was delighted when an
opportunity came to pay her a visit.
From the moment Sister Medhanandi, who is also a nun from
Amaravati Monastery, and I stepped off the bus in Oxford and
were met by Sister Rosemary, we were made to feel at ease.
As three brown-robed figures conversing animatedly as we walked
through the streets, we attracted a certain interest: her
elaborate head dress and gold crucifix, our shaven heads,
and all of us wearing sandals. We made our way to the convent,
which is situated on a quiet suburban road. It consists of
several buildings constructed over a time span of about one
hundred years and is set in five acres of enclosed gardens
where fruit and vegetables are grown and formal gardens merge
with less cultivated areas.
As we entered the cool silence of the enclosure, our voices
naturally dropped to a whisper and then to silence in accordance
with the rule followed by the community. This simple observance
brings an aura of quiet collectedness as the sisters move
about in the cloisters. Most communication happens by notes--each
sister has a note clip in the main hallway--or by gesture.
When meeting the superior, Mother Anne, I noticed we all felt
a slight awkwardness in finding suitable gestures of respect
and greeting, but we knew we were welcome.
It was our intention to merge as much as possible into the
daily life of the community. However, Sister Rosemary, although
appreciative of our intention to be as discreet a presence
as possible, had other ideas. I was surprised to see on the
daily schedule thoughtfully prepared for us in our cells "morning
puja" and "evening puja," as well as group
discussion and meditation workshop on Saturday afternoon.
These were to take place in the Chapter House, which had been
set aside for us to use during our stay. We attended their
Offices in the chapel, including the Night Office from 2 to
3 am, and helped with simple domestic duties--washing up,
sewing curtains and taking care of the refectory. At suitable
times and in suitable places we also did a fair bit of talking.
So our days were well-filled, and yet somehow there was a
sense of spaciousness. Each moment felt precious as we drank
from the well of goodness that we found there.
As we entered the chapel it was natural to bow--a deep bow
from the waist--and we were seated among the professed sisters.
For some of them it must have felt very strange to have us
there and included to such a degree. For our part, we felt
deeply touched. I looked at the faces of the sisters sitting
opposite to us, many of them getting older now, some of them
very old. From some, one could sense the struggle of the life,
from others there seemed to emanate a radiance--the beauty
of one who is whole and at peace with existence. For each
I felt deep respect and gratitude.
We ate with the community and the other female and male guests
at long wooden tables in the refectory. The midday meal, which
was eaten from a single wooden bowl, was accompanied each
day by a reading on aspects of spiritual life. During our
stay the theme was celibacy in religious community and the
integration of the active and contemplative aspects of our
life. It seemed strikingly pertinent.
The sisters, concerned that it might not interest us, were
somewhat hesitant about inviting us to their choir practice.
Each week an elderly monk from another Order nearby visits
"to try to teach us to sing," as one of the sisters
explained. But it was a delight to experience their interaction
with him and to hear their Eastertide Alleluias soar to the
highest heavens. One felt they were simply brother and sisters
in the holy life. In contrast, the first morning of our visit,
we noticed the immediate sense of polarity that arose with
the entry of the priest to the communion service. Until that
time we had all simply been religious people. Suddenly in
relation to him, we became "women."
Each morning and evening we met in the Chapter House with
those of the community who wished to attend our puja and meditation.
Although the sisters do not receive training in formal meditation,
as we sat together the quality of silence and still attention
was quite remarkable. One sensed that this presence of mind
was the result of years of silent prayerfulness and recitation
of the Office--an austere and impressive practice.
Our discussions were lively. Although they keep silence for
much of the time, the recreation periods two or three times
a week encourage discussion and stimulate a keen interest
and reflection on many aspects of life. They were very interested
in the Buddhist approach to working with the mind. It was
a revelation to them that significant changes in the mind
and mental states could occur simply through patiently bearing
with them. There was no need to struggle or to feel guilty
or burdened by the negativity, doubt or confusion that affect
us all. Also interesting to them were the practices of walking
meditation and of just sitting consciously as ways of attuning
to the physical body.
We talked together about many things, aware that what we
shared was vastly greater than our differences. It was clear
that we could learn from and support one another without compromising
our commitment to our respective traditions in any way. It
was also touching to realize that we experienced the same
personal doubts and sense of inadequacy, and that each felt
the other to be stronger or more impressive. I sensed the
fragility and subtlety of the renunciant life, demanding as
it does the surrender of personal power and control; the need
to give of oneself totally and, as one sister put it, simply
to "trust the process."
I met with Sister Helen Mary, who is eighty-four years old
now. Having lived alone for twenty-five years on Bardsey Island,
she has the appearance of one well worn by the elements of
nature. Again I felt a shyness, a hesitation: should we bow,
shake hands, or what? But that seemed to be a very minor matter!
She spoke gently and quietly but with great enthusiasm about
the wonder of living "immersed in the spirit." I
knew what she meant, although I would have used different
words.
On the last morning of our stay, we met with Mother Anne.
I was curious to know how she regarded our visit and Sister
Rosemary's great interest in the Buddhist tradition. She told
us that she had had no doubts about receiving us and that
she felt that nowadays it is essential to recognize God beyond
the limitations of any particular religious convention. This
was clearly conveyed when we finally took our leave, as she
enveloped each of us in turn with the most whole-hearted embrace
that I have ever experienced! There was no doubt about the
"Love of God"--or whatever name one would like to
call it--that we shared at that moment.
At the last Office, with the afternoon sunlight filtering
through the lofty windows of the chapel, I was struck by the
awesome purity of the life: its simplicity and renunciation,
its total dedication to what is wholly good. Beside it, the
outside world we were about to enter seemed overwhelmingly
confused and complicated. There is so little in our society
to encourage people to live carefully, so much to stimulate
greed and selfishness. Later on I realized that many visitors
experience our Buddhist monastic life in much the same way,
even though from the inside it can often seem quite ordinary
and full of flaws.
As we waited with Sister Rosemary for our bus back to London,
we continued to talk about meditation and mindfulness. Meanwhile,
the bus we were due to catch sailed by. Oh mindfulness! Not
long after another came, and more attentive this time, we
managed to make it stop for us. We parted, our hearts full
and deeply grateful.
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