Wu Tai Shan: A pilgrim, a fight and mist...

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Five platform mountain is a ring of mountains, long and sloping, bare, that rise up over the northern Chinese lands, which spread away dry and dusty as plains below and beyond. The mountains here form a kind of wide ring above the earth, you can imagine, with gentle ridges that connect five natural platforms: the tallest looms up in the north at about 3000 m; ride that ridge east and south a few miles and it rises again to another flat space at about 2700 m. From here head south down the slopes, you'll come to a central area, a lowland valley that rests amidst these ridges and soft, treeless slopes. From there go south and another mountain rises to a sort of platform, but this one is far off, maybe 10 or 12 miles from the central lowland. From there to the north another 10 miles, and the central platform rises up to 2800m just above the western side of the lowland cental valley. From there, one ridge heads softly west to the western platfrom and another ridge goes north/northeast to connect with the first mentioned northern platform thus completing the visual circuit. This psuedo-ring of platformish mountains was discovered by Mayahana Buddhists long ago and transformed, or rather, became the foundation for a place of sacred pilgrimmage, spiritual growth and devotion. It has since been named WuTai Shan or, roughly translated, Five Terrace Mountain, made up of the northern, eastern, southern, central, and western platforms. Each platform is topped with an old temple and monastery, up above the noise of the world, amid only the wind, clouds, sunlight and spirit of the universe.

I entered here after my June 4th experience in Beijing, mentioned in another blog entry. After a divine meeting with a Polish couple from Vancouver, who joined me on the winding, long, bus journey from the desert plains into the narrow valleys, terraced hillsides and eventually these blissful mountains, we arrived in that afore mentioned lower central valley, just in the nook of these temple laden, pilgrim covered, natural, elevated platforms that, saturated with an energy that betokens a reverence for the sacred, loom up and around all sides of that little town nestled below. And that town is itself a collection of temples, there must be at least 20 monastaries and temples there, some dating from the times of Tang Dynasty (700-900 AD). Emperors from then till Mao changed the stance of the govt towards religion had come here to worship, be patrons for some new temple, or be worshiped, or to do something else. And because of the relatively isolated location of Wu Tai Shan, it was fortunate to suffer less destruction during the Cultural Revolution than less remote places. The devestation that period brought on traditional and religious culture in China and the profound effect it has had on the people's minds can not be quantifiably determined. Many seeds planted at that time are still or have yet to be harvested: the effects of a cause so powerful will echo on and unfold for centuries, possibly aeons, passed the original event. Thankfully, there is a Great Cause that surpasses all others in power and influence, which turns pain and sorrow to healing and love as it is allowed to make its course. Or as one monk from India says, He turns the spot of ink that fell on your shirt, into a picture of a flower.

Anyways, here is a brief explanation of my journey. With my tent, some food, other supplies, and a will to pilgrimmage, to connect with Our Sacred and Infinite Source, Our Loving Parent of the Highest Heaven, I headed west upon arriving and made my way towards the western platfrom. I did not arrive at the western platform during the first day. After plodding on in solitude for several hours, I finally camped out along a ridgeline. The next morning as I returned from a brief meditation in a nearby wood, I beheld the wind blow over my tent, and laughed at the thought that such a thing may have angered me! It was amusing to see my little home blown over on its side, in the same way, the things in which we find temporal security can be blown over by the fluctuating winds of this world, thus should we not be deceived into believing subconsciously, or consciously, that temporal security is actual security, and thus find ourselves to be secure at a deeper level, where our sense of self, peace, and stability matters not on external circumstances.

I continued up the ridge and around other ridges making my way west and north, in search of the western platform (many maps in China, especially at tourists sites, are not really to scale and are more like picture maps showing general locations). After rolling through a thick forest amidst cows mooing, meeting horses in the heights and beholding a temple below, I headed into the fold of two linking valleys where a temple rested sublimely at the base of this joint, and amidst a patch of cool evergreen trees. I stood in awe of the beauty there and then walked down the path and over the bridge to enter the temple. I was looking for food and made it just in time for the noontime meal. Construction workers were there, and some monks; they took me in and treated me kindly as monks tend to do. We ate and discussed some things, especially with one monk from Heilongjiang (NE China) who had taken some interest in me. He noted my guitar, which I was lugging around, and asked if after lunch I could play a song for him. So we went up the steps from the kitchen, across the square inner courtyard surrounded by temple rooms and little sleeping quarters, and through an archway to a grassed, square courtyard on the otherside. The old woodwork all about was colored a fading blood red. We sat on the ground, upon soft cushions, blue sky overhead, fresh air in our nostrils, a middle aged monk before me and another to my left. We sat among eachother as brothers, with kindness and respect in our hearts.

The monk before me, with his bald head, took out some dried tea, washed it along with the little cups, and made a pot of that hot black tea...I don't remember the type of tea it was, but it was good. We would drink out those little cups and have them filled again and again and again. It was very much in keeping with Chinese tea culture. We had maybe a dozen of these small cups amidst conversations about religion, Buddhism, Christianity, Jesus as Guan Yin (a revered Boddhisattva in China), which I respectfully questioned, inter-religious understanding of Reality...it was great, and all in Chinese of course. They did not speak a lick of English.

Near the conversation's end, the monk asked me to pull out my guitar and play him some melodies. Now, I was excited to play for someone who I thought would genuinely listen to what I played, deeply and appreciatively. At the same time, I had lived in a Buddhist temple of this tradition before and was aware that the playing of musical instruments was generally forbidden because of the indulgence in the senses and associated attachment to external, temporal things (like sound) and unconscious disembodiment that it can cause. But he seemed to be a lead monk in this temple, who would obviously be aware of the rules, and so I decided it was cool to play.

I played some improvised melody and felt the notes flow from my heart into his open ears and heart, virgin ears that longed to listen to soulful melodies again, starved for an appreciation of the beauty of creative harmony. The melody unfolded, inspired by the space that his zen mind was opening, a space so serene, filling with the waves of resonance, filling the temple courtyard, overflowing into the courtyards beyond...and then a sound, much less beautiful, echoed back from over the wall..."AAAHHHHHHARRRRRRRAAHHHHH!!!!" A venomous, angry, sound like a wailing beast that angrily stubbed it's toe. And there he came, into the courtyard, bloodshot eyes, and an ugly grimace on his brown peasant face, dressed in his ragged worker clothes...he was not a monk. I had ceased playing, and the man insisted on yelling, angrily, attached to the thought that I was breaking the rules and that was wrong. Hence, why the Diamond sutra teaches "Bu qu feifa xiang" Do not attach to conceptions of what is not proper, or at least do not inflexibly hold others to such subjective standards only oneself, as such inflexibilty can lead to egoic behavior and dominance. As what happened to this man; feeling justified in his wrath because I was 'breaking the rule' he took an opportunity to be an enforcer, superior, to make himself feel a sense of power. He continued to yell, even after I put the thing down. He was a short man, an angry short man with dark hair. I just sat there, the other monk got up, and he was very upset. He told me to keep playing and told the angry man to go away. The angry man must have been one of the construction workers who while familiar with the rules had not realized a 'clean and pure mind.' They argued, the monk defending me, the man complaining and cursing, now at me, now at the monk. And then the unthinkable, violence in a Buddhist temple.

But it was the kind of violence you might expect in a place where non-violence is the norm, the kind you might see among...well let's say, sissies. After the monk began to push the man away, the man got down on his back and began kicking the air, like a little girl. It was hysterical and upsetting at the same time. Now, maybe its self-righteousness or maybe I am taking the edict "Blessed are the Peacemakers, for they will be called children of God" to heart, because I stood up and separated them, chastising the violent man in Chinese saying "look at yourself! What are you doing? You don't fight here!" or something like that. Other people had walked in and were observing this spectacle. They tried to inform me of the problem, which I was already well aware of, and to which the monk again defended me, telling them he wanted me to play music. He told me to play on. My guitar lay down, unplucked for the time being. The man wants me to leave, another scuffle with the monk and again the man resumes the position of being on his back and kicking upwards in a pathetic attempt at offense, or defense? Again it was broken up and finally the man left, still enraged. The monk and I sat down, and exhaled. He looked at me and said "He has no culture. He has not evolved." That was his literal expression "Jinhua." Evolution. I had never heard that word used to describe a person in Chinese. We then talked about tolerance and understanding and how this was an opportunity for us to practice the principles that a moment ago we had just spoken of, lest we both be hypocrites. Although we were happy to reach this realization of the appropriate response to this man and what we could learn from the experience, the monk was still rather embarrassed and upset by this occurrance. He was really happy to meet me, as I was happy to meet him as well. As we walked out he directed me towards the central platform, which I had to ascend the valley wall behind the temple in order to reach. He told me to go there and talk to them about Buddhism stating sadly "they have culture up there, but we, we have no culture here." I reassured him, we exchanged blessings and parted. It was an unfortunate event to occur, but that Great Cause too was at work to make something good to come out of an otherwise "bad" experience.

I headed through a prickly field of needles, and after hours of walking, thinking and writing along the way, I made it to the top of the central platform just before the sunset. Literally, just before; you can see the photo where I caught the last sliver of red sun before it set behind horizonal clouds. I headed into the temple there on the top of this platform, elv about 2800m, noting the western platform in the distance and the long slopes in each direction. After a good conversation with a worker there, whose bed I took that night, I slept and ended day 2.

After arriving at the central platform, the next morning I decided to head north and to make a circuitous journey. Atop the ridges, over the valley and below that wonderous blue sky, which stretched out like an infinite blue transparent blanket overhead, I walked north towards the northern platform. On the way, I stopped to record and sing a song that had come to my mind. Arriving at the northern platform, I ate a meal in the temple and headed out (there were a few too many tourists there and the temple here was surprisingly not very well kept). I now walked on the long journey east, following another steady ridgeline towards the eastern platform. On the way I met a monk who said that he had walked here from Jiangsu province, all on foot, which is about 2000 miles away. This year and throughout the centuries many such pilgrims from all over Asia have made such journeys to arrive here in WuTaiShan, some walking here from Tibet.

Finally, half way between the northern platform from which I came and the eastern one to which I was headed, I climbed up onto the top of the ridge, found a flat space and made my camp for the night....

Was it that night or the next when the mist suddenly filled all the world? Sitting in my tent, reading, thinking, meditating, planning my life, I feel an impulse "LOOK OUTSIDE!" Not an impulse of fear but curiosity. I look and behold in wonder and joy the sight. Moments like these encapsulate my profound affection for China and the divine feeling I have felt at times as my senses swim in it's romantic natural landscapes and mystical atmosphere up above the world:

LIKE THE MIST

Threads of mist steal across the hill top,
Wisping up like breath pouring from the grass,
Clouds of mist careen down the hillside,
The white sea fills the gulfs between the valleys,
Standing in the distance, illumined are the peaks,
Long ridges amidst an aura of silky white,
As red paint, subtly, trails thin clouds,
in the oncoming dusk.

The folds of mountains, holding pools of cool mist,
Are ensilvered,
A blend of white and pale shadow.
They stand as ridges guarding the borders,
Of another land of numinous beauty...

How beautiful the world is!
How beautiful the world is!
How beautiful the world is!

Looking again, the mist has overtaken all,
I am amidst an ocean, only white can I see.
That vision came as mist rolled back,
Tall hills rising o'er the seas of rolling mist,
Hills crowned with golden temples,
Below that twilight blue sky,
Crescent moon beaming above.
All is hidden now, but this fleeting vision of beauty.


I wrote that after the amazing moment and scene had slipped beneath the shroud, a glimpse of eternity in the moving stream of time....


The next day, another impulse..."MOVE!" it comes in late afternoon, along with thunder...A storm was approaching. I headed out moving swiftly along the ridge and up towards the nearing eastern platform, like a palace atop a high hill, the storm is on my heels. Thunder rumbles in the blackness, again I am overtaken by mist. Rains softly pelt down, a headlight into mist blinds all but the step I am taking. Looking down, I follow the trail, now walking briskly, now jogging, up, up, up I go, into the dark, trusting to the road, winding up to the eastern terrace temple. Finally I arrive, a Buddhist brother receives me, and I receive a large room to myself and a peaceful rest.

Awaking to behold, from the eastern platform, the sun apparently "rising" over the eastern horizon. Ah the beauty again for me to bask in. Praise God! Praise Jesus for opening my eyes and heart! That I could feel the Love, that manifests such spectacles! That I could share in the joy of this infinite creation! There I beheld it, and the sun rose higher, as I descended and completed my circuit by entering the temple town below where I had begun.

And then, after much writing and planning my first book, which is only a coalescing idea and may not manifest as first thought, and sleeping on a hillside just meters above town, I came down to get a taxi ride to the bus station with a most unusual and interesting character: A Chinese Buddhist Homosexual. But we will save that story for the next blog, stay tuned!

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