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Published: January 26th 2013
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Our days have been so full that I have had little time to write.
Monks are fascinating to westerners. With their shiny shaved heads and dark orange-red robes wrapping them up, they swish around the temples and chedis, walk along the road, ride bicycles and motorcycles, pack themselves into trucks, meditate, and take in the views from Mandalay hill, just as the locals and travelers do.
It seems we want to cast them in a role. Exotic. Foreign. Unknowable. Dare I say, curious.
That is why, when I see a group of touring monks holding up their cell phones and Ipads for photographs, I am startled.
How could they? I thought they were leading a simple life, free of desire, free of need. Are they slipping into the technological world, as we are so accustomed to needing daily, hourly?
On Mandaly hill, with gorgeous vistas and hundreds of people scrambling for photos, the monks are the most desired objects of photographs. I see a half dozen tourists pointing cameras at one group of monks, and say I will not be apart of it, then point my camera too.
I rejoicewhen I get a
photo of a handsome young monk stretching, smiling, or acknowledging my presence. They are so patient.
Then a pair of monks approach and talk with us. They are brothers. The younger, who is seventeen years, became a monk when he was seven years. The older is 22 years, and has been a monk for about seven years. His English is accomplished, and he enjoys using expressions such as "shooting for the moon." This he used in reference to his dream of visiting America and England someday.
He shows me the "real English " lessons he is studying. American slang, with "real life" conversations that I can only laugh at and then tell him he could easily speak with my two sons if he learns the conversations:
Yep, I'm gonna have to pay ten bucks.
That sucks.
Those are the two lines I remember the most.
He tries to tell a joke. "Why did the chicken cross the road?"
That was it.
He's got a "bucket list." I argue with my fellow travelers who are Brits on the proper pronunciation. They say "booket", I say "bucket". I hope we
did not confuse the monk, who calls himself "Hawk."
His parents are wood cutters. Their sons .becoming monks was a source of pride for their parents. They are committed to their paths.
Elsewhere, I see monks playing video games on cell phones and tablets, including one young nun dressed in pink.
A group of traveling monks encounter us in a major temple, and we go back and forth, pointing cameras and cellphones at one another, taking photos. Lots of laughter.
While our bus travels, a monk on a motorcycle suddenly pulls out in our path. Our guide cries, "bad monk!"
We see them in the early morning, carrying a bowl for offerings for the day. To give gains merit. They eat once a day, relying on these offerings.
A tiny toddler dressed as a monk, walks along with a bowl, babbling to himself. He throws his stick down, as a toddler would. Our guide says he's not ready to be a monk. They can become a novice at age six.
And monks in this country have been a political force, marching to show displeasure at a sudden gas price hike in
2007, and suffering imprisonment and arrest, beatings and death at the hands of the government.
Yes I will keep trying to get the perfect monk photo.
I have so much to learn from them. They are the same as us, after all.
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lydiavelose
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pink nun
How do they get such beautiful colored robes and would've loved to see the pink nun. Great pics.