And so when we are inevitably brought to our personal limit, we are thus supported to surrender to what simply “is.”
Life at this temple is simple, to the point, and collectively oriented. Individual needs are tended to as best as possible, but the collective reality is unavoidable: if it rains, we are all cold together. If it’s sunny, we are all happy together. We wake up at the same early hour, eat the same simple food, and practice the same material. Sometimes we are all confused together, as instruction from the teacher is not always clear or consistent. Now, this may sound odd to some, but I love this. It has a way of bringing us to the same level, and allowing us to motivate each other through solidarity.
We are a rag-tag team of diverse inter-nationalities who have, for the most part, never met each other before this time. And many of us have never been exposed to traditional Chinese culture, which often eludes Western minds. How then do we smile so brightly each day? Well, life here seems designed to take us to our physical and mental limits, to question our reality and life decisions. But as those fall away, there’s no need for survival mentality, as we are indeed cared for: with basic needs met, infinite wisdom, and excellent translators. And so when we are inevitably brought to our personal limit, we are thus supported to surrender to what simply “is.” We trust the process, and are met with a deep divine love that lives warmly in these temple walls, the Abbot’s laugh, and our own hearts—it’s been there all along, buried under the illusory manifestations of life.
As the Chinese saying goes, the practice will “grind an iron bar into a fine needle.” I’m forever grateful to this Taoist way of uncovering deep truth via paradox, regardless of one’s belief system, or even of the course one chooses here. All I need is to trust: to continue to listen, as things unfold around me, as my mind slowly remembers stillness.
