Meditation

Sing Man Temple was located at Geylang Lorong 29. Previously, the place had been known as Sing Man Abode, a Buddhist monastery with a history of more than seventy years. The abbot was Venerable Sin Min, an elderly woman in her eighties. Next to the monastery, Venerable Long Zhen had set up Zen Garden, a relatively new Zen organisation, in the Liau Association Building. Zen Garden occupied one storey in the building. A monk in his forties, Venerable Long Zhen lectured extensively on the Platform Sutra and the Sutra of Perfect Enlightenment, and managed to attract a following of Zen practitioners. He became a monk when he was only seventeen years old, and not too long ago, he had worked closely with the notable Venerable Jing Hui. Zen Garden had moved for a few times, from Telok Kurau to Balestier to Geylang. With an increasing number of students, Venerable Long Zhen had been trying to find a suitable venue for his Zen classes, but without much success. Shortly after, Venerable Long Zhen and Venerable Sin Min knew each another and visited each other frequently. They eventually reached an agreement: they would reconstruct Sing Man Abode into Sing Man Zen Temple, and Zen Garden would raise the funds, which amounted to approximately three million dollars.

The first time I saw Venerable Long Zhen, I thought he looked extremely ordinary. Could this really be someone who had spent years practising Zen? Perhaps I knew as much as he did? After all, I was not unfamiliar with Zen literature. Alan Watts, D. T. Suzuki, Dogen’s Shobogenzo, the Diamond Sutra, the Blue Cliff Records, the Mumonkan (or Gateless Gate)… … I have sampled them all. The only text I had not read was perhaps the Platform Sutra by the Sixth Patriarch.

Less than a week ago, Dr Ho took me to the Cheng Huang Temple at Pandan Gardens. “I can pretend to meditate while you draw,” I told him. “Then you can tell the caretaker that you are waiting for me so he won’t chase you away.” I sat down the normal cross-legged way; I did not try the half lotus or full lotus position because I did not want my legs to become numb. I tried to meditate, but instead I found myself worrying about bird droppings landing on me. There were a few stray mynahs flying in and out of the temple and some were making their nests on the wooden beam above me. I wondered how the monks in the past meditated in the forests. It must have been worse with the ants and mosquitoes and heat and all. Then I dozed off…

Back to the Zen temple. The meditation hall was a large spacious hall with wooden floor. The tatami and futons had been arranged in neat rows. Everything had a Japanese-style design to it, except for a large golden Buddha statue; I had expected the statues in a Zen temple to be white or grey, not golden. Long Zhen entered the meditation hall in a composed manner. Around me, about sixty to eighty other people have filled the hall, mostly middle-aged uncles and aunties. They were already seated in their half lotus or full lotus position. Long Zhen made a gassho in front of the Buddha before walking to the low table next to it. He sat on the low table, made himself comfortable, and struck the wooden fish once, then twice. The meditation had begun.

I sat in the half lotus position, my right foot resting on my left thigh. I tried to focus my attention on my breathing, but my monkey mind would not remain still and my thoughts wandered from place to place. I thought about the waxed canvas bag at Wanderwonder boutique. It was dark green with light brown leather straps and cost a staggering three hundred over dollars. It would go very well with the Japan Blue jeans I saw at The Denim Store. Then perhaps I could also pick up one or two contemporary Japanese novels (preferably a thriller) and get a few CDs…

I had strayed too far. I returned to my breathing. Inhale, exhale. One. Inhale, exhale. Two. Inhale, exhale. Three…ah, a newcomer. I cast a furtive glance. A somewhat young and pretty lady. I started to think about pretty girls. The beautiful waitress at the café. The lady in the long black dress. The stranger on the train last weekend…inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale…I had lost count. Return to zero. Inhale, exhale. One. Inhale, exhale. Two. Inhale, exhale…I thought about my students’ art projects. I thought about my incomplete drawing. Before I knew it, my right foot became numb, and the numbness coursed through my entire leg. My left foot had become numb too. I fidgeted. I tried to sit straight. I wriggled my toes. I wondered about the rest. Surely some of them were beginning to feel uncomfortable? Then I remembered a visualisation technique I had read about in a book. I tried to imagine a glass of murky water before me, the particles slowly sinking and settling to the bottom as the top part of the glass slowly turned clear. It helped for a while. Inhale, exhale. Fifty-four. Inhale, exhale. Fifty-five…Where was the pretty latecomer seated? Inhale, exhale. Fifty-six…Should I visit the café later to see if the pretty waitress was working that day? Inhale, exhale. Fifty-seven. Inhale, exhale. Fifty-eight. I began to feel sleepy. When was Long Zhen going to strike the wooden fish and put an end to my misery? Inhale, exhale. Forget it – I was not going to count anymore. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. My eyelids became heavy…inhale…I gave up on observing my breathing. I waited. And waited. And waited…and still waiting. And waiting. And waiting. And wa…w…z…zzz…zzz…zzz…(dozed off)…zzz…zzz…zzz…z…w…woke up with a start. My legs were completely numb and I felt extremely uncomfortable. I wanted to get up and walk out. Why had Mum even brought me to this place? Be still, be still. Do it all over again. Inhale, exhale. One. Inhale, exhale. Two…it would not last very long. All I felt was restlessness.

As I was one of the later ones, I was seated in the front row. The back rows had been occupied. Time stood still. The old uncle to my right seemed to be doing well. The young man next to him seemed to be doing well too. In front of me, Long Zhen sat very still, like a Buddha statue, composed amd relaxed, neither stiff nor uneasy. I recalled one of Alan Watts's sayings about people confusing what is spiritual with what is geological. Long Zhen was as still as a piece of rock. I thought he was just being geological. Perhaps I could challenge him on a discourse on the Shobogenzo or Joshu's koan? Or perhaps I could ask him if the Medicine Buddha and Amitabha Buddha physically exist or if they were merely symbolic? What is, what if, why, where...

For all my knowledge and theory, the truth was I was sinking fast. I was struggling. Then I was struggling against struggling. Soon I was struggling against struggling against struggling, ad infinitum. I told myself I must outlast them all, but there was no way I could hold on to my pretence. Each passing second seemed like an eternity. I began to feel as if both my legs had become paralysed and useless. I was certain that if I should be made to stand up  I would not have been able to do so, or assuming that I could, I would be unsteady and I might even fall. All of them (including Mum) were pretentious posers! Geological artifacts! Dead, dead, dead...they were all dead! What was so spiritual about sitting like a stone? Then I remembered what Dogen said about zazen, and I was not sure if I still wanted to engage in a dialogue with Long Zhen about the Shobogenzo. When he finally struck the wooden fish to signal the end of the first segment, I was convinced that I was in the presence of a true Zen master.

I uncovered my legs and folded my towel. My legs were so stiff and numb that I could only move them slowly and with much difficulty. I tried to stretch and massage my legs. Meanwhile, Long Zhen had distributed a photocopied handout on Bodhi Dharma's teachings to everyone. He began his discourse:

'For one to enter the Way, the paths are many, but they can be reduced to two: the first is through understanding, the second is through practice...'

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