What do you think?
Rate this book
Venerable Father: A Life with Ajahn Chah
Available until now only in limited editions, "Venerable Father" has become an underground classic among Buddhists, especially those practicing the Thai tradition. It details the joys and struggles of Paul Breiter's years with Ajahn Chah, who was perhaps Thailand¿s best-known and most-loved Buddhist master. Breiter describes Ajahn Chah as a figure who is at once human yet extraordinary, an orthodox yet unconventional teacher whose remarkable skill, patience, and compassion in training disciples flowed naturally from his deep and joyous realization of the truth. Breiter also explains, quite vividly, the life of a Westerner in a Thai forest monastery and the unique spiritual lessons to be learned there. PAUL BREITER ordained in the Theravada Buddhist tradition in Thailand in 1970 and soon thereafter met Ajahn Chah. He became one of Ajahn Chah's favorite disciples and his translator, and stayed with him until disrobing in 1977. Since then, he has maintained close ties to Ajahn Chah's lineage while studying Zen and Tibetan Buddhism, and he has continued to translate Ajahn Chah's teachings, which appear in "Still Forest The Insight Meditation of Achaan Chaa" (with Jack Kornfield) and "Being The Essence of the Buddha¿s Teachings".
184 pages, Paperback
First published September 15, 2004
7 people are currently reading
40 people want to read
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
April 1, 2017
The Hardship Of Developing Wisdom: An Account Of Varapanyo Bikkhu And The Travails Of Life In A Thai Monastery Under Ajahn Chah
When I think about reading a book like this, one might wonder why I would spend time learning about the life of a monk. I suspect that I am unlikely to ever become a monk although I can never say “never” either, because I don’t know what the future will bring. However, after reading this book, I can see how maybe being a monk might not be suitable for me because I find myself relating to Venerable Varapanyo Bikkhu’s perspective in so many ways and could see myself possibly struggling with some of the same problems that he had along the way. Nonetheless, I consider it a rare gift to have this account written down and shared with the world and especially lay practitioners like myself because it’s easy to believe in an idealized version of monastery life and monks as completely pure with no clashing personalities or conflicts amongst themselves. Varapanyo’s account helps clear up the sometimes-difficult reality of what it was like for a Westerner to take on the yellow robes as a way of life in the foreign atmosphere of a Thailand monastery.
Before I read this book, I had the utmost respect and sense of reverence towards Ajahn Chah, and even though he is presented at times as the strict disciplinarian, my reverence for him has not changed because I know that he teaches straight Dharma with authority and a credibility that is rare to find simply because he himself was a living example of how to apply Dharma teachings in one’s life. Yet, Varapanyo’s descriptions of Ajahn Chah add a new dimension to my understanding of him that I would have otherwise never known, the mysterious dual-nature of Ajahn Chah as the “kindly grandfather”/overbearing task-master who is always looking to give people a hard time. I find this dichotomy fascinating and suspect that his method of harassing people was for their own good and not because Ajahn Chah enjoyed it. I detect an underlying purpose to the kind of hard time he gave people, that it was truly out of compassion, and his effectiveness as a teacher resulted from his wisdom in seeing how to teach different people according to their needs rather than through a “one method of teaching suits all personalities” approach. As Varapanyo mentions, “take away what makes you comfortable and secure, whatever it is you’re familiar with, and things start coming up.” This seems to have been the approach of Ajahn Chah in his refusing to let the monks get too comfortable not only in a physical sense, but also by continually disrupting the safety of routine.
Ajahn Chah proves to be not only an engaging teacher, but also displays an enigmatic way of being: “He surprised me time and time again, and over the years I finally came to realize that he wasn’t predictable.” In this light, Ajahn Chah seems to be akin to the mysterious Zen Master and even proves his knowledge of Zen without having studied it as Varapanyo notes when he attempts to describe the nature of Zen only to have Ajahn Chah make fun of his answers, and its in those moments that I feel a great respect for the depth of understanding inherent in the Theravada tradition. I sense Ajahn Chah’s sense of humor when he asks Varapanyo, “Have you disrobed yet?” after he has already disrobed, and I interpret his question in two ways: One, there is no sense of linear time in Ajahn Chah’s mind that he takes to be absolute truth, and two, “disrobing” here merely asks if the inner monk of Varapanyo is still practicing with right understanding. The profundity of his questioning leaves Varapanyo speechless.
One of the more challenging aspects of this text lies in how Varapanyo had to not only embrace the teachings of Ajahn Chah, but also had to adapt as a Westerner into the Thai culture and further into the confines of the monastery. The “farang” as Westerners are referred to, seem to have a different disposition and set of needs than the average Thai native who decides to ordain. I think Varapanyo makes some valid points about how monastery life could be improved for Westerners, and thankfully some of these issues have now been addressed as monastery life has started to take root in America. For example, Varapanyo asks the question of why the Thai monks preferred to slouch instead of maintaining good posture in meditation and why people did not receive training in how to sit. I consider these valid questions to consider, and I find myself concluding that whatever cultural differences could not be resolved in his time there, they would be addressed and modified later with Buddhism’s integration into American culture; What is merely cultural in nature does not necessarily need to be adopted by Westerners in order for it to be Dharma. As an example, Varapanyo feels frustrated by his inability to practice the way he would like to in the Thai monastery, and I empathize with his dilemma and annoyance with some of the Thai traditions that are of no use to him. I find it not helpful to force someone who isn’t used to sitting on a concrete floor to try to develop a meditation practice in this painful kind of way rather than simply allowing them to use some sort of cushion, and I suspect little examples like this eventually cause Varapanyo to disrobe since his main interest was to develop his practice; It’s difficult to develop a beneficial meditation practice if you are sitting in pain because then the practice becomes about how much pain you can endure. In my experience with meditation, I see no reason to make it harder than it needs to be, and I suspect it has been necessary for some useless traditions to fall by the wayside in order for Buddhism to take root and thrive here in America.
Perhaps it could be said that the law of dependent origination causes Varapanoyo’s eventual disrobing, for one single cause does not bring about his desire to disrobe, but a series of problems compounded prevent Varapanyo from thriving as a monk. It’s important to note that he views life in the Thai Monastery as ascetic still and perhaps that’s where Western practitioners need more balance: “I went through my well-rehearsed litany: practice was mostly a matter of endurance, I didn’t feel that my meditation was developing, the climate, illness, and the ascetic way of life seemed to be big obstacles, and after long consideration I really thought a change of life-style would be beneficial.” The way he describes practice at times doesn’t sound like what has been termed “the middle way” of the Buddha, and as a result, I don’t consider his disrobing as ignoble, but as the most natural thing that could have happened to him because otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to compare his experience in lay life with that of a monk.
Despite the somewhat bleak outlook on monastery life Varapanyo presents, he also experiences progress in his practice along the way. For example, he describes how his practice helps him through his first time getting Malaria: “lying in the ‘Lion’s Posture,’ I began bringing up the thoughts and watching the chain reaction, over and over until I could see it clearly and step back from it.” Examples like this show how Dharma practice over a period of time can’t be underestimated, and I believe from what he describes that he gains the confidence to know that disrobing will not mean the end of practice for him. Skillful awareness allows him to be able to see the origin of thoughts and their causes, catching them in the act rather than being controlled or driven by them, and as a result, he makes peace with illness despite its unpleasantness.
Ironically, after disrobing, Varapanyo’s respect for Ajahn Chah does not diminish but only grows: “My reverence for Ajahn Chah continued to grow, I continued to practice, and I felt that my training at Wat Bah Pong was the basis which enabled me to practice other forms of Buddhism.” His respect for the monks does not originate from their “individual virtues, but for leading a pure way of life, creating a moral force in the world and offering inspiration and a good example for others.” I echo that sentiment myself and have had the fortune to practice some meditation in the presence of Thai monks in the temple, and I’ve felt similar admiration for them and their way of life. As a Westerner, when I think of Ajahn Chah, I think of someone that did what can’t be done, and I think that is also the basis for my respect for him and for the monk’s way of life. As a fellow monk describes to Varapanyo at one point in the book, what they were trying to do was virtually impossible, but it had to be done nonetheless.
Buddhism in America has the unique challenge of being able to surmount the wall of skeptical doubt here. There are numerous glimpses of Ajahn Chah’s wisdom sprinkled throughout the text concerning people who don’t want to practice or see the value of practice; Poking Varapanyo with his cane, he asks, “if this were on fire would you say ‘I’m suffering, it’s true, but since I live in this society I can’t get away from it?’” Such questions belie the truth of suffering which one must experience for one’s self in order for one to see the value of practice. I find myself agreeing strongly with Varapanyo when he mentions that the value of practice is in every day ordinary practice rather than in relying on retreats which may be of value and helpful, but if practice isn’t integrated into daily life, there is no point in going on retreats other than for temporary escape from society: “I personally was a little skeptical of that way. Many such meditators didn’t practice between retreats.” Retreats offer an ideal setting for supplementing practice, but every day routine life tests the depth and endurance of one’s practice.
I see Varapanyo’s experience as a stepping stone to greater things for Buddhist practice in the West. The light at the end of the tunnel appears when he says, “after several years’ experience, the Western monks were able to run a monastery very smoothly.” Despite the feelings of hardship and disrobing, he shows discernment about how to apply the teachings in the West, and as a result, it’s not such a terrible thing that he disrobed because he served as an example of what wasn’t going to work for Westerners practicing Buddhism in America.
I appreciate that Varapanyo presents himself as fully human, and we catch glimpses of the imperfection of humanity amongst the monks also, and sometimes even the Ajahns. Even after disrobing, he mentions that he still experiences the same kind of negative emotions he always had as he recounts in some of his frustrating experiences with Thai people: “When it happens now, I get the feeling that I’ve never left, this is what life is, this is what I must always endure until the end of time, and I get impatient and depressed. So I fumed all the way to Beung Kow Luang.” It’s at times like this that I find myself empathizing with him and I imagine I would have had a similar kind of reaction if people appeared to waste my time in the way he felt the Thai people sometimes did to him. Nonetheless, I take his analysis of the unenviable situation to be disguised wisdom; Life is short, and if we are practicing, we should be straightforward with each other.
In the end, I can’t conclude that Paul Breiter (a.k.a. Varapanyo) had a “bad” experience, for that would be highly judgmental and missing the points of growth in his practice that are revealed like when he mentions that despite his experience of the same negative kinds of emotions he has always experienced, he now had more tolerance of them in himself and in others: “The difficulties I encountered made me a little more tolerant of my imperfections, and I hoped that I might someday be able to extend that attitude to others.” As a regular meditator, I can relate to his observation of what I see in people in general in American society, which is that it’s not hard to find crude and unrefined people even at times underneath veneers of dignity, but this is exactly what creates great possibility for Buddhist teaching: “When lay people would come to visit or stay for a while, whether Thai or Western, their behavior always seemed pretty crude, and their worldly involvements and attachments were sometimes amusing and often left one feeling sorry for them.” I interpret his “feeling sorry” as a form of compassion that shows the advantage of his having been able to live and develop refinement of his mind as a monk.
Paul’s practice illustrates for us that Westerners still have a long way to go, but at the same time, it shows how realized practice is possible and we are fortunate to have had someone like Ajahn Chah be a living example of Dharma. This transmission is happening now in America, and I have faith that the seeds will continue to grow here in their own time despite what may appear to be a growingly degenerate society. Underlying the surface level degeneration of society is a humanity crying for resolution and peace and a more moral way of life that is fair for everyone, and I believe from my own experience that the more Buddhism integrates into America, the more society will start to change from the inside out.
Paul mentions a disheartening revelation, the realization of impermanence in Thailand as it develops into a more industrialized country, a country with less forest, and less places to practice in the quiet of nature. He laments, “I’m getting depressed as I type this, it reminds me how hard it’s getting to find a quiet place in Thailand, and I fear it’s a prime example of how population growth and modernization combine to erode the quality of life.” His observation points to a real need for Buddhism to make its transmission to America and other countries if it is to survive as a way of life. Despite America being a highly developed nation, we still have wide open spaces and sprawling landscapes where monasteries can and have already been developed, and I hope that we can retain our ecological concern to allow these places to exist in these uncertain times. As the various schools of Buddhism integrate here, I believe that there is a real chance for beneficial change in our society. In today’s America, there’s a desperate hunger for wisdom and meaningfulness here as we are inundated with the oversaturation of information flow through devices and computers. We’ve suffered a great deal for being where we are today, and I believe this suffering itself could potentially drive many people towards sincere and genuine practice, but I don’t think it will be in an overt way.
When I think about reading a book like this, one might wonder why I would spend time learning about the life of a monk. I suspect that I am unlikely to ever become a monk although I can never say “never” either, because I don’t know what the future will bring. However, after reading this book, I can see how maybe being a monk might not be suitable for me because I find myself relating to Venerable Varapanyo Bikkhu’s perspective in so many ways and could see myself possibly struggling with some of the same problems that he had along the way. Nonetheless, I consider it a rare gift to have this account written down and shared with the world and especially lay practitioners like myself because it’s easy to believe in an idealized version of monastery life and monks as completely pure with no clashing personalities or conflicts amongst themselves. Varapanyo’s account helps clear up the sometimes-difficult reality of what it was like for a Westerner to take on the yellow robes as a way of life in the foreign atmosphere of a Thailand monastery.
Before I read this book, I had the utmost respect and sense of reverence towards Ajahn Chah, and even though he is presented at times as the strict disciplinarian, my reverence for him has not changed because I know that he teaches straight Dharma with authority and a credibility that is rare to find simply because he himself was a living example of how to apply Dharma teachings in one’s life. Yet, Varapanyo’s descriptions of Ajahn Chah add a new dimension to my understanding of him that I would have otherwise never known, the mysterious dual-nature of Ajahn Chah as the “kindly grandfather”/overbearing task-master who is always looking to give people a hard time. I find this dichotomy fascinating and suspect that his method of harassing people was for their own good and not because Ajahn Chah enjoyed it. I detect an underlying purpose to the kind of hard time he gave people, that it was truly out of compassion, and his effectiveness as a teacher resulted from his wisdom in seeing how to teach different people according to their needs rather than through a “one method of teaching suits all personalities” approach. As Varapanyo mentions, “take away what makes you comfortable and secure, whatever it is you’re familiar with, and things start coming up.” This seems to have been the approach of Ajahn Chah in his refusing to let the monks get too comfortable not only in a physical sense, but also by continually disrupting the safety of routine.
Ajahn Chah proves to be not only an engaging teacher, but also displays an enigmatic way of being: “He surprised me time and time again, and over the years I finally came to realize that he wasn’t predictable.” In this light, Ajahn Chah seems to be akin to the mysterious Zen Master and even proves his knowledge of Zen without having studied it as Varapanyo notes when he attempts to describe the nature of Zen only to have Ajahn Chah make fun of his answers, and its in those moments that I feel a great respect for the depth of understanding inherent in the Theravada tradition. I sense Ajahn Chah’s sense of humor when he asks Varapanyo, “Have you disrobed yet?” after he has already disrobed, and I interpret his question in two ways: One, there is no sense of linear time in Ajahn Chah’s mind that he takes to be absolute truth, and two, “disrobing” here merely asks if the inner monk of Varapanyo is still practicing with right understanding. The profundity of his questioning leaves Varapanyo speechless.
One of the more challenging aspects of this text lies in how Varapanyo had to not only embrace the teachings of Ajahn Chah, but also had to adapt as a Westerner into the Thai culture and further into the confines of the monastery. The “farang” as Westerners are referred to, seem to have a different disposition and set of needs than the average Thai native who decides to ordain. I think Varapanyo makes some valid points about how monastery life could be improved for Westerners, and thankfully some of these issues have now been addressed as monastery life has started to take root in America. For example, Varapanyo asks the question of why the Thai monks preferred to slouch instead of maintaining good posture in meditation and why people did not receive training in how to sit. I consider these valid questions to consider, and I find myself concluding that whatever cultural differences could not be resolved in his time there, they would be addressed and modified later with Buddhism’s integration into American culture; What is merely cultural in nature does not necessarily need to be adopted by Westerners in order for it to be Dharma. As an example, Varapanyo feels frustrated by his inability to practice the way he would like to in the Thai monastery, and I empathize with his dilemma and annoyance with some of the Thai traditions that are of no use to him. I find it not helpful to force someone who isn’t used to sitting on a concrete floor to try to develop a meditation practice in this painful kind of way rather than simply allowing them to use some sort of cushion, and I suspect little examples like this eventually cause Varapanyo to disrobe since his main interest was to develop his practice; It’s difficult to develop a beneficial meditation practice if you are sitting in pain because then the practice becomes about how much pain you can endure. In my experience with meditation, I see no reason to make it harder than it needs to be, and I suspect it has been necessary for some useless traditions to fall by the wayside in order for Buddhism to take root and thrive here in America.
Perhaps it could be said that the law of dependent origination causes Varapanoyo’s eventual disrobing, for one single cause does not bring about his desire to disrobe, but a series of problems compounded prevent Varapanyo from thriving as a monk. It’s important to note that he views life in the Thai Monastery as ascetic still and perhaps that’s where Western practitioners need more balance: “I went through my well-rehearsed litany: practice was mostly a matter of endurance, I didn’t feel that my meditation was developing, the climate, illness, and the ascetic way of life seemed to be big obstacles, and after long consideration I really thought a change of life-style would be beneficial.” The way he describes practice at times doesn’t sound like what has been termed “the middle way” of the Buddha, and as a result, I don’t consider his disrobing as ignoble, but as the most natural thing that could have happened to him because otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to compare his experience in lay life with that of a monk.
Despite the somewhat bleak outlook on monastery life Varapanyo presents, he also experiences progress in his practice along the way. For example, he describes how his practice helps him through his first time getting Malaria: “lying in the ‘Lion’s Posture,’ I began bringing up the thoughts and watching the chain reaction, over and over until I could see it clearly and step back from it.” Examples like this show how Dharma practice over a period of time can’t be underestimated, and I believe from what he describes that he gains the confidence to know that disrobing will not mean the end of practice for him. Skillful awareness allows him to be able to see the origin of thoughts and their causes, catching them in the act rather than being controlled or driven by them, and as a result, he makes peace with illness despite its unpleasantness.
Ironically, after disrobing, Varapanyo’s respect for Ajahn Chah does not diminish but only grows: “My reverence for Ajahn Chah continued to grow, I continued to practice, and I felt that my training at Wat Bah Pong was the basis which enabled me to practice other forms of Buddhism.” His respect for the monks does not originate from their “individual virtues, but for leading a pure way of life, creating a moral force in the world and offering inspiration and a good example for others.” I echo that sentiment myself and have had the fortune to practice some meditation in the presence of Thai monks in the temple, and I’ve felt similar admiration for them and their way of life. As a Westerner, when I think of Ajahn Chah, I think of someone that did what can’t be done, and I think that is also the basis for my respect for him and for the monk’s way of life. As a fellow monk describes to Varapanyo at one point in the book, what they were trying to do was virtually impossible, but it had to be done nonetheless.
Buddhism in America has the unique challenge of being able to surmount the wall of skeptical doubt here. There are numerous glimpses of Ajahn Chah’s wisdom sprinkled throughout the text concerning people who don’t want to practice or see the value of practice; Poking Varapanyo with his cane, he asks, “if this were on fire would you say ‘I’m suffering, it’s true, but since I live in this society I can’t get away from it?’” Such questions belie the truth of suffering which one must experience for one’s self in order for one to see the value of practice. I find myself agreeing strongly with Varapanyo when he mentions that the value of practice is in every day ordinary practice rather than in relying on retreats which may be of value and helpful, but if practice isn’t integrated into daily life, there is no point in going on retreats other than for temporary escape from society: “I personally was a little skeptical of that way. Many such meditators didn’t practice between retreats.” Retreats offer an ideal setting for supplementing practice, but every day routine life tests the depth and endurance of one’s practice.
I see Varapanyo’s experience as a stepping stone to greater things for Buddhist practice in the West. The light at the end of the tunnel appears when he says, “after several years’ experience, the Western monks were able to run a monastery very smoothly.” Despite the feelings of hardship and disrobing, he shows discernment about how to apply the teachings in the West, and as a result, it’s not such a terrible thing that he disrobed because he served as an example of what wasn’t going to work for Westerners practicing Buddhism in America.
I appreciate that Varapanyo presents himself as fully human, and we catch glimpses of the imperfection of humanity amongst the monks also, and sometimes even the Ajahns. Even after disrobing, he mentions that he still experiences the same kind of negative emotions he always had as he recounts in some of his frustrating experiences with Thai people: “When it happens now, I get the feeling that I’ve never left, this is what life is, this is what I must always endure until the end of time, and I get impatient and depressed. So I fumed all the way to Beung Kow Luang.” It’s at times like this that I find myself empathizing with him and I imagine I would have had a similar kind of reaction if people appeared to waste my time in the way he felt the Thai people sometimes did to him. Nonetheless, I take his analysis of the unenviable situation to be disguised wisdom; Life is short, and if we are practicing, we should be straightforward with each other.
In the end, I can’t conclude that Paul Breiter (a.k.a. Varapanyo) had a “bad” experience, for that would be highly judgmental and missing the points of growth in his practice that are revealed like when he mentions that despite his experience of the same negative kinds of emotions he has always experienced, he now had more tolerance of them in himself and in others: “The difficulties I encountered made me a little more tolerant of my imperfections, and I hoped that I might someday be able to extend that attitude to others.” As a regular meditator, I can relate to his observation of what I see in people in general in American society, which is that it’s not hard to find crude and unrefined people even at times underneath veneers of dignity, but this is exactly what creates great possibility for Buddhist teaching: “When lay people would come to visit or stay for a while, whether Thai or Western, their behavior always seemed pretty crude, and their worldly involvements and attachments were sometimes amusing and often left one feeling sorry for them.” I interpret his “feeling sorry” as a form of compassion that shows the advantage of his having been able to live and develop refinement of his mind as a monk.
Paul’s practice illustrates for us that Westerners still have a long way to go, but at the same time, it shows how realized practice is possible and we are fortunate to have had someone like Ajahn Chah be a living example of Dharma. This transmission is happening now in America, and I have faith that the seeds will continue to grow here in their own time despite what may appear to be a growingly degenerate society. Underlying the surface level degeneration of society is a humanity crying for resolution and peace and a more moral way of life that is fair for everyone, and I believe from my own experience that the more Buddhism integrates into America, the more society will start to change from the inside out.
Paul mentions a disheartening revelation, the realization of impermanence in Thailand as it develops into a more industrialized country, a country with less forest, and less places to practice in the quiet of nature. He laments, “I’m getting depressed as I type this, it reminds me how hard it’s getting to find a quiet place in Thailand, and I fear it’s a prime example of how population growth and modernization combine to erode the quality of life.” His observation points to a real need for Buddhism to make its transmission to America and other countries if it is to survive as a way of life. Despite America being a highly developed nation, we still have wide open spaces and sprawling landscapes where monasteries can and have already been developed, and I hope that we can retain our ecological concern to allow these places to exist in these uncertain times. As the various schools of Buddhism integrate here, I believe that there is a real chance for beneficial change in our society. In today’s America, there’s a desperate hunger for wisdom and meaningfulness here as we are inundated with the oversaturation of information flow through devices and computers. We’ve suffered a great deal for being where we are today, and I believe this suffering itself could potentially drive many people towards sincere and genuine practice, but I don’t think it will be in an overt way.
September 18, 2019
I said to him, “You really think life is short? To me it seems interminably long.”
Monks are for the most part ordinary people, and their daily existence is not always free of trivial matters.
Theravada monks (bhikkhus) were intended by the Lord Buddha to be mendicants, not hermits.
As months went by and I went from place to place and experience to experience, frustration and despair built up. Across Europe, across Asia, nothing external really seemed to help. Everywhere people basically seemed to be the same.
One time the following year when I had made yet another request for bhikkhu ordination, he said through Sumedho, “there’s no need to hurry; the Buddha died under the trees.”
It was getting cold, and a monk who was leaving suggested that his kuti might be a bit more comfortable since it was smaller and less drafty. So I moved. But it was near the wall of the wat and the farmers would pass by with their buffaloes in the daytime. This disturbed me because I was still convinced that meditation and noise don’t mix, so after a few days I moved back.
Ajahn Chah got on the circuit too, and Wat Bah Pong became pretty quiet. I spent a lot of time at my kuti, meditating and wondering with trepidation what would become of me. The food got leaner, the weather got colder, and I envisioned a life of walking and sitting meditation, enduring hunger and fatigue, hardly ever talking to anyone.
So in the morning I would boil water and bring hot and cold water for him to wash his face. When he came downstairs I would give him the water and kneel there with a towel, while one of the novices took his false teeth to clean them. Usually he would walk around with the towel afterwards, and let me follow, until he finally gave it to me to hang up. His robes would be made ready to put on for pindapat, but first he would check things out at his kuti, throw some rice to the wild chickens, sit down and talk, drink tea. Occasionally a couple of nuns would come at this time to discuss something. It was always interesting to watch the local monks and nuns when they came to see him. They spoke to him with the utmost deference, almost as if they were terrified of him. With us Westerners he was usually the kindly old man, though over the years I was to see him play many different roles. He could make you love him or hate him, feel respect, fear, doubt or disgust for him, and he could juggle your mind states around quite rapidly.
In the afternoons after sweeping his kuti, emptying his spittoon, and so on, I would sit down for a while, to listen as he spoke to whoever was there, sometimes to talk or maybe be given a cup of tea, mostly just to be there. After the guests were gone he took his bath, with a few of us helping him, holding his towel, taking his robe, offering the dry bathing cloth, washing his back and feet, cleaning his sandals.
Occasionally Ajahn Chah too would ask about Western life and customs, about my past experiences, about science (astronomy was usually interesting to them).>One thing he never showed any interest in was politics, either domestic or international.It really mattered little, and I eventually learned that they generally don’t take personal histories nearly as seriously as we do; [...]I often felt that his methods were drastic and extreme, and maybe he didn’t make the absolutely best decision in every particular case, but it didn’t really matter, because the practice was to take things as they come, and we could trust that he really cared about us and that ultimately we were guided by his superior wisdom and that of the monk’s discipline itself, which contained nothing harmful.The Buddha did allow five “medicinal substances” to be taken after noon: sugar, honey, oil, butter and a substance sometimes interpreted as cheese. They are used as a source of calories rather than for healing. In Thailand sugar is the only one of these which is widely available.There are many rare experiences that one is privilege to by living in a monastery, and living without a future is one of them.A visitor was told he could stay three nights, during which time he would usually have to sleep in the sala, the main meeting hall. If he was serious about staying to practice, and had a letter from his preceptor or the monastery he came from, he would be given a kuti and put through a probationary period. He would sit at the end of the line and not be allowed to take part in official Sangha functions, such as the fortnightly uposatha ceremony, the confession of offenses and recitation of the 227 Patimokkha rules.I had been told that being a bhikkhu with the Vinaya rules to keep would make a big difference, and just having the third robe to wear over my shoulder actually did make things feel different.As vassa began things got quite strict. I felt the noose tightening and I wasn’t happy. I was constantly being checked and reprimanded by both the abbot, a crusty old man, and the second monk, a young firebrand who actually did the teaching. There was often plenty of manual labor to do, and the morning and evening practice of meditation and chanting was supplemented by hours of reading and explanation of the Vinaya, which is generally agreed upon as one of the most deadly boring experiences in the great chiliocosm [...]When vassa ended I had intestinal worms and went right back to Wat Bah Pong.As soon as he brought it back, Ajahn Chah spat a big red mouthful of betel nut into it, handed it back, and said with a straight face, “clean it.”After chanting was done, he spoke for an hour with a layman who had come. Then he began his desana. He went on and on. And on. After a couple of hours it was obvious he was playing with us.Meanwhile, the Peace Corps monk, who had been sitting directly in front of him, was squirming around, changing sitting positions, holding his drawn-up knees (definitely not to be done), and glaring angrily at Ajahn Chah.It was a cold winter, and in the wat there’s no way to warm up (monks aren’t allowed to light fires to warm themselves).Ajahn Chah didn’t go to speak to the nuns very often, but the times I was there he gave excellent talks.I had heard stories about the “cuisine” at Nong Hy: silkworms, bugs, frogs. But it wasn’t all that bad, especially compared to some of the other branches of Wat Bah Pong. And the frogs were actually pretty tasty. There was usually enough curry and fresh vegetables to go with the rice.After a few weeks I went back to Wat Bah Pong with Ajahn Sinuan for Magha Puja, one of the main Buddhist holidays.It was 1974, and I was still down in the Frog Pond with Ajahn (who is now Mr.) Sinuan.I had come to Wat Bah Pong in May, as I vaguely recalled Luang Por having said something about training the farang monks at Visakha time, though when I arrived he was gone and nobody knew anything about it; still, it was an excuse for a “vacation.”In early December we went to a Pah Bah ceremony at Wat Bah Klor, a new temple in Amper Det Udom.After two hours he stopped, so I went back to my kuti for some yoga, but I soon heard his voice over the loudspeaker again.I’d just read Journey to Ixtlan, and the forest seemed to be electric with mysterious energies and menacing forces.Suffice it to say that in time the Sangha at Bung Wai learned to do the Parivasa process, as we learned to do other Sangha functions.He did come to our Pah Bah ceremony, however. It was a pretty humble affair, sponsored by the local railroad workers. They gave us each a blanket and a lantern.Indeed, before going there I had been experiencing a phase that Ajahn Jun had predicted and warned me about, i.e. attraction to family life, thinking that I’d learned enough to be a good layman and could raise a family in a proper way according to Dharma, etc.Then he asked me what I wanted to do in the future. Did I want to go tudong or live in solitude, did I want to teach, did I want to become a scholar … ?I am reminded of Sasaki Roshi who has said that people here like Zen meditation but are not yet interested in Mahayana Zen, and when asked what he thought of Zen in the West, said that as far as he could see, Zen hadn’t yet come to the West.The purpose of meditation is more than just calming ourselves from time to time, getting ourselves out of trouble, but seeing and uprooting the causes which produce trouble and make us not calm to begin with.There were questions and answers, then the Mindful Way film (made by the BBC) about Wat Bah Pong was shown.I said that I usually felt that for me, death was far in the future, I was destined to live a long time, 100 years or more.”That’s the wisdom of Devadatta,” he replied.Finally he told people they were always welcome to come to his wat and stay for a while. Wat Bah Pong is like a factory, he said. After the product is finished it can be sent out into the world. But it’s easier to train people if they’re far from their home.”There were some people at the center who’d been with the Korean Zen master, Seung Sahn, and had left him to find greener pastures among the Theravadins, but now Ajahn Chah was teaching just as he had.”When the retreat ended he went to visit Anicca Farm, a piece of land where several practicers were living.The trip there was a Thai “classic.” We rushed into town to make an 11 AM truck, except it was leaving at 12, so we waited in the store of a lay supporter. When the truck did leave, it drove around town picking up passengers and goods for transport, and after an hour we were still in Ubon, though at least on the side of town closer to Amper Keuang Ny, which is where we wanted to go.I’m getting depressed as I type this, it reminds me how hard it’s getting to find a quiet place in Thailand, and I fear it’s a prime example of how population growth and modernization combine to erode the quality of life.One morning, well before the bell, I woke up with cramps in my stomach. I reached for my kettle to pour some water, only to get a cup full of ants. It seemed like a classic forest wat episode.Next stop, Sri Lanka. Up to now my game plan had worked well, and I was in high spirits. I went to a meditation center that had been recommended to me, outside of Kandy on a hilltop above the tea fields. An idyllic location, but it was crowded, and it felt a little strange to be living with lay people again. After two weeks I took to the road, stopped to check out the British hill station of Newar Eliya, and ended up at a hermitage in Bandarawela. It was a sturdy place built out of stone and concrete by a European monk. There were only an English bhikkhu and a Japanese anagarika living there.At least there were cushioned mats to sit on, and we in the back row could use zafus or other such illegal things (this was another of my long-standing disputes with the stubbornness of the Thai monastic system—as a monk I was always sneaking in wads of cloth to sit on, or sitting on the rolled up end of my sanghati, the outer robe which is usually folded into a long narrow strip and worn over the shoulder; sometimes I would sit on my flashlight. Some sat on books. As we all know, raising the buttocks helps to straighten the back. But Thais prefer to sit slumped over rather than break with custom).Ajahn Som has built some gaudy Buddhas and, against Sangha rules, installed donation boxes, so he is encouraging the people who come with their radios and bottles of whiskey.One of the special attractions of Tarn Saeng Pet was that it's three km from the nearest village, so the noise of village festivals and movie shows doesn't reach the monastery at night.From Ayuthaya we took the train to Nonthaburi, on the outskirts of Bangkok, and went to stay with Ajahn Sumedho at Wat Pra Sri Mahadhatu.
May 14, 2019
Very honest, and humorous. I enjoyed reading it.
July 3, 2024
This is a personal account of Paul Breiter's experience of his teacher Ajahn Chah when he was a monk for 5 years as Ajahn Varapanyo, and later as a layman after he disrobed.
It is an interesting read, as a way to get up close to what Ajahn Chah was like, since he was the teacher of many well-known western monks that I am learning from on-line, from books, or have attended lessons with eg Ajahn Sumedho, Ajahn Viradhammo, Ajahn Brahm.
I read Ajahn Jayasaro's official biography of Ajahn Chah, and I came away with mixed feelings. I saw how austere things can be in the Thai Forest Tradition and how challenging Ajahn Chah could be as a teacher, as a way of training. Mixed feelings for example towards the lack of proper medical care for monks who have fallen ill eg with malaria. On one hand, it is training those who had willingly "gone forth" about illness and death. Yet, misgivings because monks are human beings still in training and adequate health and well-body are still important for their training esp in the early stages since our bodies are our vehicles in this life. Isn't it cruel to cut short their life (and training) when it can be avoided? But I realise this is also partly cultural, and also a reflection of the times. Ajahn Chah himself was used to the poverty and austerities of northen rural Thailand. And it was the 1970s, so access to medical care and modernity was also very limited, esp in that part of Thailand.
I think Ajahn Chah also realised this later, on the need to adjust. That training westerners may need a different approach, and asked Ajahn Sumedho, his most senior western monk, to set up a monastery in Thailand specifically for westerners. Ajahn Sumedho is now 90 years old, and I think he also adapted the approach for westerners in the monasteries in England.
So reading this book gave me those same mixed feelings again. If it is so necessary to train under such harsh conditions. But then again, I am just an ignorant lay practitioner, still caught up in my worldly world. Still hankering some creature comforts and structure in daily life, still having expectations. And many of those who had spent long time with Ajahn Chah often spoke of him with affection and respect, as their "venerable father", even after they have disrobed.
I just feel a bit depressed after reading this honestly. So I guess I feel a bit depressed because I wonder if even all these sincere monks who made so much effort disrobed after a while, then what hope is there for me haha. Is this what it means by "going forth" and ordaining? I think many of the modern monasteries are not like this. I mean, there are basic hygiene and access to care even for monks and many lay people really take good care of the monastics too. From my lay person perspective, I do think of basic human rights haha.
I also look at Ajahn Chah's last years. He was diabetic and spent the last 10 years of his life in ill health, and a portion of that unable to speak or move (I read from his biography that carers and decision makers also felt pressured by external factors to prolong his life). I am saying this not disparagingly, but as in thinking aloud - if someone like Ajahn Chah seemed to have lost a big portion of his mental capabilities in the last years, I wonder about the relationship between mental training and this stage of life. Maybe he was clear inside but his body was unable to convey that. Who knows. But this thought did cross my mind..."what hope do I have if someone like Ajahn Chah....."
So I must admit, I am only wearing lens of a lay person when reading this. The author had said that when as a monk, he could see all the trappings and confusion that lay people are plagued with. And even after disrobing, he was not a monk but not quite a lay person because his orientation as a monk has been so ingrained in him.
But I am also inspired by many other teachers, for their patients and kindness, and clarity of mind even at ripe old age eg Ajahn Sumedho.
It is an interesting read, as a way to get up close to what Ajahn Chah was like, since he was the teacher of many well-known western monks that I am learning from on-line, from books, or have attended lessons with eg Ajahn Sumedho, Ajahn Viradhammo, Ajahn Brahm.
I read Ajahn Jayasaro's official biography of Ajahn Chah, and I came away with mixed feelings. I saw how austere things can be in the Thai Forest Tradition and how challenging Ajahn Chah could be as a teacher, as a way of training. Mixed feelings for example towards the lack of proper medical care for monks who have fallen ill eg with malaria. On one hand, it is training those who had willingly "gone forth" about illness and death. Yet, misgivings because monks are human beings still in training and adequate health and well-body are still important for their training esp in the early stages since our bodies are our vehicles in this life. Isn't it cruel to cut short their life (and training) when it can be avoided? But I realise this is also partly cultural, and also a reflection of the times. Ajahn Chah himself was used to the poverty and austerities of northen rural Thailand. And it was the 1970s, so access to medical care and modernity was also very limited, esp in that part of Thailand.
I think Ajahn Chah also realised this later, on the need to adjust. That training westerners may need a different approach, and asked Ajahn Sumedho, his most senior western monk, to set up a monastery in Thailand specifically for westerners. Ajahn Sumedho is now 90 years old, and I think he also adapted the approach for westerners in the monasteries in England.
So reading this book gave me those same mixed feelings again. If it is so necessary to train under such harsh conditions. But then again, I am just an ignorant lay practitioner, still caught up in my worldly world. Still hankering some creature comforts and structure in daily life, still having expectations. And many of those who had spent long time with Ajahn Chah often spoke of him with affection and respect, as their "venerable father", even after they have disrobed.
I just feel a bit depressed after reading this honestly. So I guess I feel a bit depressed because I wonder if even all these sincere monks who made so much effort disrobed after a while, then what hope is there for me haha. Is this what it means by "going forth" and ordaining? I think many of the modern monasteries are not like this. I mean, there are basic hygiene and access to care even for monks and many lay people really take good care of the monastics too. From my lay person perspective, I do think of basic human rights haha.
I also look at Ajahn Chah's last years. He was diabetic and spent the last 10 years of his life in ill health, and a portion of that unable to speak or move (I read from his biography that carers and decision makers also felt pressured by external factors to prolong his life). I am saying this not disparagingly, but as in thinking aloud - if someone like Ajahn Chah seemed to have lost a big portion of his mental capabilities in the last years, I wonder about the relationship between mental training and this stage of life. Maybe he was clear inside but his body was unable to convey that. Who knows. But this thought did cross my mind..."what hope do I have if someone like Ajahn Chah....."
So I must admit, I am only wearing lens of a lay person when reading this. The author had said that when as a monk, he could see all the trappings and confusion that lay people are plagued with. And even after disrobing, he was not a monk but not quite a lay person because his orientation as a monk has been so ingrained in him.
But I am also inspired by many other teachers, for their patients and kindness, and clarity of mind even at ripe old age eg Ajahn Sumedho.
June 4, 2014
Wonderful memoir of the author's experience as an ordained bhikkhu (monk) in the lineage of the Thai forest tradition. This is the story of Varapanyo Bhikkhu (Paul Breiter) and his 5 years as a monk with renowned meditation master, Ajahn Chah. Through the stories of his life in this capacity, his relationship to the Buddha, dharma and sangha unfolds. Ajahn Chah comes across as the eponymous venerable father in many regards. It is the time after Paul disrobes and returns to lay life that the best interactions occur. He attends to the Ajahn when he visits the US in 1979 and engages in some wonderful discussions regarding the dharma (my favorite parts of the book).
July 21, 2015
Very intriguing. If you are in the right space, this book will crack you open like an egg. If not, you may find it unsatisfactory.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews