Sahanmas.

I had the greatest birthday tonight. And I really mean that. This was the happiest birthday I have ever had. Tonight reminded me of the amount of love I have in my life. Like the brightest stars in the sky, my best comrades shine through ever and ever. As they have in the past. I'm too sleepy and overwhelmed to reflect upon this. But I feel happy right now. And I cannot find any other words to describe this feeling.

The illusion of strength.

Sometimes I like to think I'm so strong that I can take on the world. Then the next morning I'd see something and it would remind me of how weak and broken I am. I can jab, hook, and break fucking walls. But I can't save myself from the demons in my head. Maybe I'm still messed up, who am I trying to fool?
Clair de Lune, it's a good song. Listen to it.

The ruins of Brampton.

I went for a walk once around my neighbourhood. I passed the lake behind our house and went into a maze of roads. This area was unknown to me so I thought it made for a great adventure. How wrong I was. This was suburbia, at it's worst. It was a labyrinth of houses. Every direction I turned there was a house; pink or brown bricks, with flat facets. They all looked the same. I was suffocated by them. But I kept walking, taking random turns, hoping I can find at least a leaf out of place in this concrete jungle. This reminds me of a Mayan civilization. An outcrop of stone in what was once a forest. I'd think that in a few hundred years, if our civilization becomes extinct, someone will stumble upon this site. This neighbourhood will be a remnant of our lives. As if all this concrete and brick will outlive the flesh and blood of those that lived here. Living, is that what they do here? Because I didn't see a single life in my walk. Just the bricks. I looked at these houses and saw how big they were, how large their lawns were, how they have big porches. What do they use these lawns for? Do they even sit out on their porches? Do they even take notice of their houses, spending so much of their lives indoors?

I thought about this and then how my parents do the exact same thing. This says a lot about their philosophy. They once said, "How can we accept her into our family? She has a different culture, a different religion. How will we communicate with her parents when they see us? What will we talk about?" I think about this statement and how revealing it is of their mentality. It is not about the ninety-nine percent of the time which I will be spending with her, but that one percent of time when they will have the inconvenience of meeting the inlaws. These houses are a physical manifestation of that philosophy. It's not about the ninety-nine percent of the living they will be doing inside the house, but it is about that one-percent of time when their relatives come over and they'll have the fortune of boasting the size of their porch. Hm.

Huong Hai Zenforest.

I woke up extra early today so I could pick up Bhante Buddhananda at the Mississauga temple at 8. We left Mississauga in the middle of the morning rush while rain was spraying against my windshield. We're driving to Tweed, which is half an hour north of Belleville. The Bhante is an old friend of mine, and he often goes to meditation retreats. This one is a favourite place of his to visit. He'll be here for a week.

We passed through rolling green hills, many of which were marked with lines of red trees. I saw many wild flowers which I didn't recognize here in Brampton. The sky was a beautiful blueish-grey and the rain created a mist that drained everything of colour. After about two to three hours we arrived at Tweed. We passed quickly through the town proper, and much of this town is farmland. The land wasn't as flat as it is down here in Brampton, the hills rolled often with short red bushes that lined the sides of the road.

To get to the temple we had to drive off the road and through a narrow gravel path which turned into mud from the rain. We passed a gate and entered into an open valley. On the other side of the valley was a vast forest, and it seemed to embrace all the land around us. We parked the car next to some logs and a small cabin, which I was told later was a one-person accommodation in this centre. There are other cabins like this scattered around the 25 acre forest. We enter the main building, which is one large room consisting of a sitting area with two long tables and a kitchen. I met the resident monk there, Ven. Thich Thong Tri, who made us a mint flavoured green tea. The Bhante and I took the teas and went outside into the rain, we passed down a slope and across a bridge which ran over a pond. On the other side was small teahouse, which was partly sitting on the water.

We sat inside drinking our teas while the rain fell all around us. The smell of the tea and the wood and the sound of the drops against the water was such that I was felt the need to be completely still. Doing so otherwise would only interrupt the peace of the wilderness around us. The Bhante and I sat cross-legged, and facing each other we went into meditation. It was completely unannounced, as if we both felt it was the perfect time. My mind often stills to the sound of rain. And today it stilled to a level I haven't felt in weeks.

Taking a deep breath I relaxed my body. Pulling my mind from the outside world I let it settle inside. Amidst the chorus of sensations across the depth of my body I found my breath. Watching it move in and out, I made a note of the direction it takes. As other sensations pulled my attention away in distraction, I had to re-center my mind and settle it back onto the breath. My back started to ache, my leg went numb, and my body was cold from the wet wind; I told myself that these were simply feelings, phenomena that arise due to conditions, and they are temporary. Returning once again to my breath, I told myself that even though my mind wanders away my breathing will continually happen, awaiting for my mind to return.

It didn't take me long to lose concentration and open my eyes. I have trouble meditating long these days. I tried a second time and it was better. We heard a bell ringing behind us, and it was the resident monk back in the dining hall. I could see him waving a large bell in his hand, meaning it was time for lunch. Back in the large wooden hall we ate a vegetarian lunch. It consisted of rice, fresh vegetables, a mushroom and soy curry, and fruit. The meal reflected the simplicity of this place, and it was delicious.

This place was built about a decade ago by this monk. As I understand it he fled the Vietnam war as a refugee and brought his family with him to Canada. With whatever funds given to him by supporting Buddhists he bought this forest, and by himself he dug the earth, cut the trees, laid the foundation, and built all the buildings and huts here. I looked at the cottages and they were built masterfully. From the wooden rafters to the drywall inside, it was cut and installed to perfection. The Bhante told me this monk has had much experience in construction and manual work back in Vietnam. And from the scar next to his eye I could tell he must have plenty of stories to tell.

The Bhante and I went inside one of these one-person cottages. It is a cube of about 10 feet by 10 feet. Just enough space for a small bed and a short cupboard with a lamp. Deeper in the forest we found a larger cottage with an attic big enough for a meditation space. This forest is open all year for anyone to come and escape the chaos of the city life. They hold formal meditation retreats here which are conducted by the resident monk. There will be one next week for 36 people from Virginia. They will stay here for a week. The people who come here are from many faiths and backgrounds. This still forest, with its small wooden cottages, is a refuge away from the jungle of the city. But as I always believed the real stillness and peace has to be found within one's mind. Even a forest like this can be as loud as a city if one does not aim to calm their mind.