Impermanence

I am now called “Sam” by the people in the village. I am not sure when this began but, while cleaning up debris on the path to the monastery, I realized I was no longer Standford which is the name I arrived with. What had begun as one village person shortening my name has become an opportunity for reconsidering who I am and who I wish to be. It is interesting to think that one’s identity is not set and can be as impermanent as the field crops or huts that were damaged by the hail. I am happy to be here and to have survived the storm, only one old man died when he fell. I am happy to be Sam.

I decided after the storm that I want to go to visit the monastery and talk with the monks. It is undamaged and I will ask to study within it, to find a teacher to follow and serve. I hope one day to be able to practice what I have experienced within this community and I wish to try and serve under a teacher who will help me find a way to learn. The storm left so much damage to crops and buildings but I was spared along with my household. My neighbour says it is because I had affixed the two amulets and our likeness which gave protection. I am hesitant to say that I did not really think it would make a difference when I did this ritual but clearly my household was spared.

My paint powder is safe also. I have some crushed agate and saffron along with a green pigment I traded for in the last village. I will continue to say the recitations to protect our household and village. The gossip about the unusual success of some households to avoid harm from the storm is causing harm to us collectively and the monk suggests we look at a ritual to turn back this bad spirit. This is a good idea and will help heal the village. I will offer my neighbour, who lost much of his crops, my time to help work in the remaining field in hope of recovering some crops. I will paint a likeness of his tree which is growing by the field on a piece of cloth and give it as a thanksgiving for my good fortune and hope for his.

We have heard the villagers on the other side of the river, down the path where the broken bridge is, may be ill. Stories that this village is being tormented by the Naga Spirits because of wrong rituals or actions are repeated. I have an image of a Naga deity in my collection of paintings. Said to have a body of both human and snake, they protect the teachings of the Buddha in their underground realm. It is also said that it was Naga who, when the Buddha was enlightened, protected his with umbrellas while he sat under the tree. If, as the stories are told, the other village, on the other side of the river down the path were the broken bridge is, polluted the waters or land where the Nagu live the spirits could become vindictive and cause great illness to the whole village. I fear this story because illness of this sort can spread, just by visiting. Perhaps this village did not follow the rituals around the water at the correct time. Perhaps this village has not cared for each other. If we can repair the bridge and go to the village with the healers and those who practice rituals from the monastery, we can offer help and they may be able to offer crops but even if they are not able, we can still offer our help. Our village, with the broken wood buildings and damaged fields, must work together. We have the resources to offer help to others but first we must gather, as a community, and decide to be one in action. The Naga spirits are not evil but rather disturbed by wrong actions. The teachers and monks are able to guide us and lead us so we can try to do our best in looking after the village down the river.

Where I came from before here, I believed that if you know the name of something it helped you to care for it. This applies as much to a small bird as it does to a plant or perhaps to a person. I am now called Sam, I have a name and my gift of paint is cared for and so will I be. Here, everyone is cared for but there is impermanence in all things and this causes anxiety. I wish to learn how to care for all that is here, without the thought that it will be gone, without the anxiety.

I want to learn all this so that one day I too may paint a tangka as I have seen other do and not just the likeness of the tree by the field. Today is coming to an end. It is four days since the hail storm came and four days since the old man fell and died. The chanting and candles by the old man are ending, it is said he can now leave and go and find new parents to be born into. It is over for him here now but continues again and again. I am now called Sam here and I wonder about all these things.