by Adam Jeffries Schwartz

At the meditation center where I am staying dogs are in charge.

The dogs on the female side hate men--especially strangers--but they don't like monks either. When they see one coming they form a triangular guard worthy of the Imperial Roman Army; no one gets near a Nun.

On the other side of the grounds Monks live in kutis (raised huts). Underneath each hut there's a dog who chose you:

The sweet old monk on my right has a timid shaggy white dog. He eats, he sleeps, he cowers. The three month monk on my right has the sweetest blonde labrador.

(There are two traditions I just passed over quickly. Many lay Buddhists take vows during the rainy season, which we are now finishing. It's a popular thing to do before marriage, The King has to do this before he's crowned much in the way the Prince of Wales has to join the Army.)

I've been chosen my the alpha male, which pleases me more than it should--probably.

The form of meditation here is Vippassina. In the morning there's fifteen minute meeting with 'Teacher' which goes something like this:

I climb the stairs and say good morning.
The eighty year old woman in a house dress smiles as I sit down.

She asks, How is your practice? Have you seen Rupa (in Pali, the language the historic Buddha probably spoke, this means 'matter' but is translated as 'body'.)

Yes, I say.

What Rupa she asks? There are four kinds of rupa: sitting, standing, walking and lying down Rupa.

(I like the idea of an all position unregulated kind of meditation, otherwise my back hurts, you need special pillows, mats.I don't know if I believe or disbelieve but I like the focus, the rhythm of it, it's soothing in a hypnotic kind of way; I am not my body, I am somewhere eternal watching my body do things.)

Standing Rupa I say.

Anything else?

Walking also.

Sitting Rupa? she asks.

Sitting difficult I answer.

Foong? (Mind wanders)