I was sitting in the hotel lobby leafing through The Happy Isles of Oceania when one of the hotel staff invited me to assist in making merit in the morning. It was most likely because they know I’m up before 6:00 am and have a reputation – I’m the insomnia writer that continually asks for coffee regardless of the hour, day or night.
Whether consciously or subconsciously a good portion of this adventure was to allow me, the accidental Buddhist, to connect to my spiritual roots. Allow me this opportunity to provide some background regarding making merit before today’s narrative.
Making merit means doing good things in Buddhism and it is extensively believed and practiced by the people of Thailand. The concept can be boiled down to an old Thai proverb, “If you do good, you will receive good, if you do evil you will receive evil”. Simple enough, karma represents the evaluation of all events that take place on a day-to-day basis in a person’s life.
One of the ways to make merit is to offer alms. Monks are forbidden to hoard food or to cook. Therefore alms are an essential daily routine in a monk’s life. Alms consist of food prepared and offered by the general populace and given to the men in orange each morning. Having good karma is very important to any Buddhist, though as I have found out, there is an escape clause. Karma comes in time-release capsules. The accumulation of karma, both good and bad, takes place over the course of ones life and there is no guarantee when it will be returned. It may be come back immediately, or it may not return until a future lifetime.
I think of it as a chess rating. If you win your rating goes up, if you lose your rating goes down, but all in all there are a finite number of rating points in the system, it’s only the distribution that changes. Like energy, and chess points, karma cannot be created or destroyed.
I was ready at 6:30 am, out in front of the hotel waiting for the monks to walk by. The hotel offers alms every Thursday and this morning they set up a table with five baskets of food neatly arranged for the offering. This isn’t a buffet; there is a systematic ritual that must be followed. Once a monk is seen, the food is held to one’s forehead and the word “Nimon” is spoken. The monk/s will then step in front of you, not to close, and open the lid to his wooden bowl. I was then to place the food, in the specific order of rice, savory, fruit, and water into the bowl. Flowers and incenses were also on the table and would be placed on the metal cover of the bowl. The monk would then give a blessing. At that time I could, if I wanted, pour water on the ground. That represented my opportunity to share my merits with someone else. That could be a person that has passed away or a friend or family member that is living, including myself. Since I don’t know exactly how many karma points I would get from doing this, I suppose this is done on a percentage basis. Ten for me, ten for Roger, ten for me, ten for Michael -- you get the picture. It’s kind of like Christmas shopping without going to the mall. It’s important to note that monks walk barefoot so I am suppose to remove my shoes before making this offering. Otherwise it would suggest that I was in a higher place than the monk, a Thai faux pas.
I am now sitting in front of the table directly outside the entrance to the hotel and it’s still dark. A fine white linen tablecloth formalizes the setting and the baskets of food are decorated with long thin purple flowers. No one from the hotel is there to insure the ritual is done correctly. Alone, with full command of the goodies, I notice one monk toting his bowl with a clear plastic bag of food over his shoulder, proudly displaying his collection of swag. I let him walk by. Five minutes pass and I see two more young monks in orange robes also collecting alms. I look around for help -- help! Then another two monks walk by. I haven’t done a thing, I’m still waiting for someone from the hotel to assist me, knowing if left to my own accord I would probably blow this big time and wind up in monk purgatory.
Finally at 7:00 am someone from the hotel comes to my aid, though by this time I have already missed five monks. I think to myself, this is like going fishing, the monks don’t wear watches so you have to be there when they go by – and we missed five. What happens now? The hotel receptionist explains the subtleties – “We must wait for three monks together”. I’m really getting confused now. What about the one or two monks that walked by, they had bowls and they looked hungry. What is so special about waiting for three monks? No one speaks enough English to give me a satisfactory answer. Fifteen minutes go by and I don’t see any more monks. I do see the sanitation truck coming; surely those guys get hungry as well. We have all this food; do we get karma points for feeding the garbage men?
I am told the monks we are waiting for will be coming from a specific temple, and from a specific direction. This is now making more sense. It appears this is not food for just any monk, but more like an adopt-your-favorite Wat offering. When three specific monks come from a specific temple then we can give away the food, and not a second before? Hum, I liked my idea better, first come, first serve -- the early monk gets the worm. Not very socialistic I suppose. Two monks are now walking toward me, knowingly, from the correct direction. Only two, what am I suppose to do now, I was told three monks would be coming. I wasn’t about to pass up my opportunity and assumed one monk must have called in sick.
I look around, I am again alone. The hotel staff is busy at other tasks; apparently this is not a big deal for them and I’ll have to handle these two monks myself. I say hello to the young men in orange that appear no older than eighteen. I begin the dialog by apologizing. “I don’t know how to do this”. My apology is the replacement for the word Nimon that I have already forgotten. I’m too nervous to remember the order that the food is to be served. Thankfully, one of the monks speaks English and instructs me in placing the food in his bowl. Then I notice my flip-flops are still on --- I apologize again. We’re standing on the cold earth and I begin thinking this is beginning to take the form of a marriage – there sure are a lot of apologies taking place.
I’m saved by the hotel staff and everyone seems to be doing fine except me. I’m confused and frustrated. The older monk blesses me, which I thought was a good sign. It was in a foreign language so who really knows what he was saying. He could have been asking for last week’s football scores for all I know. His sidekick stood there, as quiet as a Buddhist mouse. At this point I can’t tell whether I’ve gained, lost, or drew on Karma points, and I was to nervous to accurately divide any up with friends or family. I’ll do a better job next week – I promise. If the hotel staff disappears to find better things to do, I personally think the garbage men deserve a little something as well.
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