The Old Self?

I am now back at Jom Gom Mountain Monastery, where it is quite cool and refreshing. This is the best season to be here, with dry, sunny days and a fresh northerly wind. The leaves are falling and the soft sunlight gives the sense of a long temperate-climate autumn. Recently an out of season rainfall has temporarily refilled the streams. With morning temperatures of 14C-16C, many people are complaining about the cold while huddling around smoky fires.

For the last month I was in Bangkok for dental treatment. What started out as repairing a broken tooth turned into an extensive treatment programme which has included three fillings, two root canals and two bridges. Yet to come are one crown and a teeth guard. Khun Meaw and Khun Tun have been exceedingly generous to arrange the appointments, provide transport to and from appointments and, together with family and friends, meeting all expenses. My only part was to be a good patient and endure the noise of Bangkok. The benefit, however, of staying so long in Bangkok was that I was able to meet up with many Sangha members as they passed through. Thus I met Ajahn Achalo (Australian abbot of Anandagiri Monastery, Petchaboon Province) and Tan Pavaro (Canadian, ordained at Birken Monastery) on their way to India; Ajahn Preecha visiting from Santacittarama Monastery in Italy; Ajahn Amaro and Ajahn Jayanto on a short teaching trip to Thailand; Ajahn Viradhammo from Tisarana Monastery, Ottawa, visiting LP Sumedho and Wat Pah Pong; Ajahn Cagino from Dhammagiri Monastery (and Orphanage) in Mae Hong Son Province, as well as a number of other western monks.

View of the 'concrete jungle' of Bangkok from the roof of the Sangha residence.

On the journey back here I met someone who had just had an operation to remove a tumour on his neck. I asked him if he was fully recovered and he responded that physically he was recovered, but that he was not feeling quite his old self yet. This was the start of a discussion and reflections upon what our 'old self' really is. Fortunately, as a Buddhist he knew the Buddha's teaching that what we take to be 'self' is constantly changing, so he didn't take his loss of 'old self' seriously.

Twice over the last few months I have also had the experience of not feeling like my 'old self'. During the Rains Retreat I came down with an extremely heavy fever which was severely debilitating. I spent four days on my back and another 10 days recovering my normal strength. A side-effect of this was the strange sense of having part of the brain atrophied. At times I felt like a visitor from some other planet, gazing out of the skull at some unusual landscape which I could not quite process. Recently I took some medicine for allergy and experienced something similar. Although awake, it seemed that part of the thinking brain was asleep and could not be engaged. Although both of these experiences were quite 'peaceful' on the level of not having much mental activity, they were also not particularly clear or insightful. Especially unhelpful was trying to do some intellectual study.

It thus seems that our sense of self is just a habit. We become familiar with certain physical sensations, a certain type of mental/emotional environment and certain character traits, and then identify with them as being 'my self', even if they are not particularly pleasant or useful. Then when any of these factors change, we feel disoriented or confused. However, on closer inspection all these factors are actually changing constantly, sometimes quickly as in the case of illness, or sometimes slowly as with the ageing process. If we can acknowledge this, we can see how much energy we expend on trying to preserve a constant sense of self against the ever-changing tide of life, and how much this wisdom would allow us to flow with its ups and downs.

Of course, one of the key elements of the Buddha's teaching is the unsubstantiality of a self. Where other spiritual teachers assumed some permanent entity called Self or soul, the Buddha saw only dynamic changing processes which constitute 'I-making'. And this is not just some philosophical theory, but can be seen directly for ourselves. For example, carefully observe waking up in the morning. When consciousness starts to wake up, first there are basic sense impressions: bodily sensations, sights, sounds, etc. Then you may notice a thirst for existence: 'What is going on here?', then the grasping of identity: 'I am sensing, thinking, etc.' and the coming-into-existence of being me: 'I have to go here and do that'. It is only through clearly seeing this creative process occurring that we are able to relinquish the nourishing of it. It is much more peaceful not to create more self identity, which we then need to maintain and prevent ourselves from losing amidst the ever-changing flow of life.

The sun-parched plateau near the cave.

Fear in Solitude

There are different degrees and intensities of solitude. Ideally, in solitude we take leave of all human interaction and come face to face with our self. The guardian of self is fear. Contrary to most people's view, meeting fear is a very good sign; it shows that self is on the defensive and starting to 'reveal its colours'. It is important, however, to recognize the different forms of fear. Three of the main ones are instinctive fear, ego fear and imagined fear, which are often intertwined.

Instinctive fear is the deeply programmed survival response to any threat. One day on my morning trek down the mountain, at a particularly dark and enclosed place, my beaming headlamp picked up a large white object in the distance. I froze in my steps as a sudden burst of fear arose: 'What is that?'. With senses on high alert my mind quickly began going through its memory programmes and came to the conclusion that since it was not moving or making any sound, it must be the lighter underside of a rock overhang which had not been blackened by exposure to sun and rain. As I came up closer my conclusion was re-assuringly confirmed -- it wasn't an early-morning hunter waiting in ambush or a sleeping unicorn.

Imagined fear is the fear we create through our own imagination, usually with only a minimum of sensory information. We hear an unusual sound and the mind spins off, imagining a whole range of terrible possibilities. During one prolonged heavy downpour I heard the normally dry stream bed next to my hut becoming increasingly filled with surging rain water. As I lay in my grass-roofed, bamboo-walled hut, I began to imagine it being swept off its foundations and floated down the slope. I could observe the fear which these thoughts were generating, and then turned attention back to the sound again. I noticed that even though the sound was unusually loud, it was not increasing in intensity. Thus even at the height of the deluge the flood waters were not increasing, and my fantasies were not likely to be fulfilled. When we realize that this fear is created by our own imaginative thoughts and not verified by sensory data, we can stop feeding them and the fear quickly subsides. Sometimes, however, imagined fear becomes a strong mental habit, with ego fear overtones. Through recognizing the cause-effect relationship involved, and with some degree of patience and re-training, we can break free of this habit.

Ego fear is not so easy to distinguish, as it comes in various forms. It is the pre-eminent defence of the ego/self against any threat to exposure, either as a direct warning of danger or as a means of deflecting attention. Who wants to go anywhere near fear? Lurking in the shadows there is the fear which is embedded in certain memories, especially from early childhood, which keep leaking out into consciousness. There is always the underlying existential fear of annihilation, the fear of dying, of sickness, of going mad, etc. There is the fear of any new situation, which is a combination of anxiety at facing the unknown and fear of losing control. Beneath the surface of comfortable habit there is the fear of the unknown. When I first moved into the cave up the mountain, I had to face quite a few fears because there were so many unknowns. What if I had an accident? What if I lost my way? Did snakes live in the cave? Some of these were closer to imagined fears than ego fears, except for the fear of failure to follow my idealistic plan and having to retreat to a comfortable hut near the kitchen! However, as I became familiar with the environment and made a few adjustments (carrying a mobile phone, placing a few extra path-markers, reading the snake book, developing an increased level of vigilance) these fears began to dissipate.

One of the most difficult forms of fear is irrational fear, since it is hard to know its source. Basically, if fear is not an instinctive reaction, if it is not a product of imagination, then it is a form of ego fear. This could be a response to a deep trauma of which we are as yet unconscious, or a distraction attempt by the ego to keep us deflected from seeing the truth of non-self. I noticed many times a fear arising when the mind reached subtle levels of calm – what might it discover?

The key element here, I would say, is awareness of the unknown or reaching the limit of knowing. This is where the ego/self is most insecure and vulnerable. Since everything is ultimately in constant change, most of reality is the unknown, where ego/self has no real control. And once mindfulness has gained strength, ego/self-reference becomes obsolete, even an obstacle to presence of being.

One morning as I climbed up to the plateau I met some fog,had to readjust the angle of my headlamp so that it shone more upwards than directly down on the path. The effect was quite dramatic, as the lamp now revealed more of the scenery along the sides of the path, rather than just the ground before my feet. The bushes which had previously appeared as fleeting shadows now lurched out of the darkness, and since there had been recent rain, the leaves glistened and rain droplets twinkled in the passing lamp light.

In this state of newly-lightened wonderment I also had some brief moments when I failed to recognize the path. Since I was walking, it was as if I had literally 'stepped into a new dimension'. My mind was alert, but 'empty'. For a full two seconds there was no fear, no story lines, just 'being present' without any self-reference. Then memory clicked in, I recognized where I was and the self-story began rolling again.

If our mind is settled enough, it is possible to observe fear more objectively and distinguish what kind of fear it is. Facing up to ego fear can take us right to the edge of self: What is self afraid of? What is that fear covering up? Ego/self is afraid of being found out to be ultimately just a clever illusion held in place by grasping. Reacting to fear is a grasping response. Seeing this we let go, and all is well.

A Season of Solitude

The Rainy Season Retreat is now formally over and the monsoon rains have mostly abated. We are now beginning the 'cold season' with cool NE winds blowing from the mountains of Laos and mostly sunny skies. This is the best time of year here when the vegetation is still green from the rains, the streams are flowing and the meadows are ablaze with wildflowers. The wildflower display is not as spectacular as in the Swiss Alps as the flowers are small and dispersed. However, the great profusion and intermingling of the various colours conjures a subtle and delicate beauty like an Impressionist painting. And in the last two weeks several trees have burst into blossom. One is a spectacular display of white and pink starbursts. The other has simple blossoms but an intoxicating fragrance which wafts around on the breezes.

With the end of Rains Retreat and the change of season I ask myself whether I should stay in the remote cave. Is it worth trekking two and a half to three hours daily up and down the mountain? The Buddha encouraged monks to seek solitary and quiet places for meditation. However, is this just some antiquated, historic ideal?

So what is the value of solitude these days, especially when few spiritual traditions give it much value? My own experience is that in solitude the sense of self lightens, softens and relaxes. The image which comes to mind is one of those Chinese tea balls which, when placed in hot water, unfurls like a blooming flower. When we are with people we usually assume or act out one or other of the many persona we have acquired in the course of life. However, in solitude we don't need to keep feeding them or they aren't drawn out of us by other people's dramas. With the support of mindfulness and investigation we have the possibility then to listen more clearly to the sounds, noise or tune which the self is playing – we can 'tune in' to our deeper self.

Some people might say that we get the same effect from silence, however, I think the difference is that in solitude this is amplified more clearly and consistently. When we are with people, even in a quiet place, there is always some human interference, if not overtly in sight or sound, at least energetically. I think most people will acknowledge that we each have our own 'psychic space', but do you know how big that is? In front of us it is approximately four meters (twelve feet). That means that anyone coming within four meters will impinge upon our personal space, and their mental/emotional energy will have some impact upon our sense of self.

During two weeks of the Rains Retreat I went alone for daily almsround to the village on the bank of the Mekong River. For these two weeks I didn't speak to anyone in English (except myself). During that time I observed a very noticeable increase in clarity of awareness which I attributed to the continuity of practice, uninterrupted by other people's story. I was not drawn out of myself and did not have to process the mental and emotional input which we receive from others.

By not having to engage with other people we can engage more with our self. Less energy is used dealing with people's demands and projections (assumptions, expectations,) and thus more energy is available for awareness of one's own behaviour and mental activity, and especially increase the continuity which strengthens and deepens it.

So do you know what 'tune' your self is playing? I like the image of a tune or vibration as a contrast to my own tendency to lapse into conceptual thought which is much more stimulated by sight than sound. It also helps to remind me and acts an aid to broaden awareness into a 'full-being awareness' rather than just a mental activity. As we all know: truth is beyond conceptual thought. Of course, it is also beyond 'tunes' as well, however, this image can be a stepping stone to help ease us out of dependence upon thought.

Usually we have many tunes, sometimes playing at the same time. We each have our own 'theme song' playing in the background. This is our main or primal purpose for being alive, and is usually expressed by our general character traits or what I call our mental/emotional climate – for example, whether we are cheerful and positive or depressed and critical. Then we have our 'classic hits', particularly meaningful tunes which keep popping up throughout our life. Sometimes these songs are drowned out by the sound of the latest popular tune, that is, our most recent life drama.

Relating this to the Buddha's teaching (maybe somewhat obliquely), I would say that our 'theme song' is fundamentally about the way we grasp the body-mind as self. For example, if we grasp at body-mind lightly we can flow with life's changes easier and be more light-hearted. If we grasp body-mind more rigidly or desperately we are more anxious and fearful in our approach to life. The 'classic hits' perhaps correspond to what are called the seven underlying tendencies (anusaya): sensual lust, resentment, views, doubt, conceit, lust for further existence, ignorance. You may recognize some of these classics continually recurring in your life. In fact, when the newest tune is playing see if you can find its place in this list of classics? Very likely you can recognize that it is really one of these classic themes with just a new melody. And how does it relate to your theme song? Yes, notice the connection.

So what if your self is playing an unpleasant tune? Even though it may be difficult to listen to, it is very important to hear it. That tune is playing in our life anyway, whether we know it or not. If we can listen to it then we are no longer being sung by it unknowingly – we can become the listener rather than the tune itself. We then have a choice to sing along with it, find a new tune or listen to the peaceful silence.

With some consistency of listening we may come to realize that we, as listener, are ultimately none of these tunes. Although it appears that we are playing these tunes, in truth the tunes are playing us. When the tunes end what is left?

Further on the Path

In my previous writings I mentioned various ways in which we may wander off the path. To be more complete I should have also mentioned that any distractedness of attention may be a cause for us to loose the path. And, our wanderings off the path depend upon how long the distraction lasts. Thus it might be a helpful exercise to investigate the particular kinds of distractions which we are prone to. Of course, these may also change over time.
We all know of the 'telling yourself a story' distraction, the 're-writing the past' distraction, the 'reviewing the to-do list' distraction and especially the sensory distraction. A few weeks ago when I was going for alms in the village next to the Mekong River, as I crossed the upper plateau a spectacular sunrise unfolded with orange and pink clouds filling the morning sky. It was a scene hard to ignore, however, I was just navigating a new path across a very uneven, rocky landscape which required some careful and focused attention and thus could only glance momentarily at the sky. It was quite clear, however, just how absorbing each of the two scenes could be.
There is also what I would call 'dhamma distraction'. On one section of easy path I was reflecting upon 'appropriate attention (yoniso manasikara)' when I wandered off track! Thus thinking about dhamma (too much) rather than practicing it can be a distraction.
How about you? What are your usual distractions? Rather than ignore them and go back to the breath or, worse case scenario, react negatively to them, perhaps it may be useful to investigate them further. For example, are we constantly reviewing some incident from the past? Maybe there is some unresolved issue there which needs attending to. Especially useful can be looking at the 'bigger picture' of what is causing this distraction, what is triggering it and what is prolonging it, with whole body-mind awareness. All things arise from a cause.
 

Something else I have noticed is the effects of familiarity or habit. Having now been over the same path many times in a variety of weather conditions, I am becoming increasingly familiar with it. One result is that I don't need to pay as much attention to it as when I was new to the path, except when the path is particularly challenging. And then the rest of the mental energy not used up by attention goes into mental dialogue! Thus there is more internal activity with less external attention. This is one reason why, at least on the return trip in daylight, I usually try to take a different route. Partly this is to develop more attentiveness to the new  landscape but also it does sometimes bring up new perspectives from seeing from a different angle.
On the positive side I notice that with increased familiarity with the path I am feeling much more relaxed on my journeys. Even when I had to make the trek through the worst weather so far -- steady rain and gusting winds -- I was not at all tense, except as I approached the bridge which could have been submerged by the heavy run-off. Fortunately, although the flood was roaring through the gorge with flickering tongues of white water, surging over larger rocks and splashing against the rock walls, it was still  about one meter below the bridge.
On the further side of familiarity is over-confidence. One morning I was crossing a section of upper plateau which has many small gullies and depressions. Since it had rained in the night these were full of water. So to keep from splashing through them too much I decided to follow some higher ground veering off to the left of the path. However, after a few minutes I realized that I had lost sight of the path marker stones. Since I thought I knew where I was, it occurred to me to just continue in this direction and eventually meet the path to the Mushroom Rock which I could follow back to the junction with the main path. In another few minutes I noticed that the ground was sloping increasingly downhill to the right -- not a good sign! Stopping to re-orientate, I suddenly realized that I was now on the right side of the path and not the left side as I thought. This was not a big danger at this point, however, further along where the path enters 'The Labyrinth' winding around massive sandstone blocks, three over-confident steps in the wrong direction can lead over a 4 meter drop.

The Path

My usual morning schedule is to meditate early in the morning. However, as those of you who have read the previous blog know, these days from 4am to 5:15am I am journeying down the path from my hut on the mountain to the main hall where we meet for almsround. This activity, as well as the fact that it requires considerable mindfulness and concentration to negotiate, in the dark and sometimes rain, the twists and turns and continuously changing conditions, means that the experience of the path is very much in my mind.

It also occurred to me that journeying on a physical path has close analogies to journeying on the spiritual path. Thus, for example, on my early trips down the path I made quite a few wrong turns. I then noticed that this usually happened when I was paying too close attention to my immediate steps in order not to hit a rock, step into a dip or misplace my footing. The problem was that I was not taking into account the intermediate shape of the path, its numerous twists and turns.

On my next journeys I took this into account but still made a few wrong turns. Reflecting upon this I realized that I also needed to consider the ultimate direction of the path as it went up over the plateau heading south and down the valley heading west in order to arrive at the hall in the southwest. Thus in order to keep to the right path it required keeping in mind the three aspects of immediate steps, intermediate direction and ultimate end of the path.

It seems to me that it is also necessary to keep these three aspect of the path in mind while traveling the spiritual path as well. Sometimes we may become over-focused on our immediate practice -- the proverbial, 'Live in the present moment' syndrome. This is all very well, however, as we are enjoying the immediate gratification of that strawberry ice cream, what are the intermediate effects of over-eating or the long-term effects of increased cholestrol?

Sometimes we may become over-focused upon the intermediate goal. We plan to go to Burma for a month-long intensive retreat in order to get our meditation practice together. However, what about that immediate thought of greed for mental peace in the mind right now? Or what will be the long-term effect? Will this give a boost to our spiritual practice or is it a 'spiritual holiday' acting as a substitute for everyday practice? What is the ultimate aim of spiritual practice? Where is it ultimately heading?

Thus, if we can keep some perspective on all three of these aspects of the path then they can support each other in helping us arrive at a more balanced and integrated approach to spiritual practice.

I have learned a few further lessons recently while journeying down the mountain. A few mornings ago I had my most difficult journey as it was raining and windy. While I am aware that rain makes the rocks extra slippery I was not prepared for the fact that the rain also made the path especially hard to see as well. The composition of the path is a combination of dark-coloured rock and light-coloured sand and pebbles. The rain, however, had darkened the light-coloured portions so it was more difficult to distinguish the constantly changing contours. Thus straining to see the way, being extra wary of slipping and holding the umbrella which was buffeted by wind on the exposed rocky plateau and caught on branches through the forests, I had to depend more on my memory of how the path weaved through the landscape then attend to the path directly. I then made several wrongs turns. I realized that this was due to following my assumptions of how I thought the path should go. Yes, how often have we gone astray by following our false assumptions? Of course, we often need to rely upon assumptions, but perhaps we forget that they are only assumptions and not the real thing. Then we only know them as false after the mistake.

The other lessen I learned this morning was that when I was following a way which was more easily walkable I often wandered off the marked path. The direct path is often not always the easiest. And while a few easier steps off the main stream can relax the journey, we need to be alert that we are not wandering off too far from the right way.

Tomorrow I will be following a different path as I will be going for alms at the village beside the Mekong River for some weeks. Fortunately the almsround begins much later at 6:30 am, nearly 1 1/2 hours after dawn. This is a relief since, even though it is much shorter, the path down is much steeper and difficult. This also includes having to literally crawl down three very rustic ladders (with round steps and no hand rail). The climb back up again carrying a bowl of food on an empty stomach will be great for the appetite.

Oh look! There is a hand rail.

Rainy Season Retreat in Thailand

This year I am spending the Rainy Season Retreat at a remote branch monastery of Wat Pah Nanachat called Wat Pah Poo Jom Gom. It is situated two hours drive NE of Ubon city next to the Mekong River. A place some 10 kms away has been promoted at the most easterly point of Thailand.

A very full Mekong River taken from Poo Jom Gom  cliff; Laos is on the left bank, the golden Buddha is south of the monastery. 

While the monastery proper is only about 40 acres in extent, a number of bamboo huts and cave dwellings are scattered over several hundreds of acres of National Park in an area of exceptional natural environment consisting of a series of sandstone plateaus eroded into exotic formations by rain and wind. And now with the monsoon rains the area has turned into labyrinth of streams, creeks, ponds and pools. Unfortunately photographs cannot do justice to the extraordinary diversity and uniqueness of the environment.

 One of the bathing pools on the path up to the upper plateau.

While residing here last winter I had stayed in a hut and cave next to the main stream running through this part of the park. I thus thought this time to be more adventurous and stay in one of the caves on the upper plateau. As I have experienced over the years: 'It is very hard to find a good cave'. My first choice turned out to be too hot for comfort with poor ventilation. I thus resorted to the very large 'Tea Cave' nearby. This cave, being a long rocky overhang has very good ventilation, however, due to it being just below a large plateau has almost continuous waterfalls. This is great for bathing, however, not very peaceful!

The 'Tea Cave', with one of the six waterfalls in the background.

Fortunately, a hut is located nearby between the massive rocks left from the collapsing sandstone ledge. Once the grass roof was repaired I then moved there
 in order to have some quiet rest from all the falling water.

The hut nestled in a flat space between massive rocks. During heavy rains three streams converge on the walking path.

The cave and hut are over one hours walk from the main hall. Thus at 4 am I set off in the dark with an extra light, umbrella, drinking water and my mobile phone in case of accident or obstacle and make my way towards the hall for almsround at 5:40am.

Their are two main routes down. The most straightforward one is down the valley, however, this involves some very mindful scrambling over rocks in several places, crossing several streams over slippery rocks and fording the main stream which can quickly become a torrent. The other route, with only one patch of rock scrambling and one stream to cross, has other challenges as it weaves and winds across the plateaus over a variety of terrain. This requires a constant vigilance to be aware simultaneously of each immediate step and the next direction the path takes. However, since this route is mostly open and expansive, this is the one I usually take, even after losing the path on several occasions. The weak link on this route is the foot bridge over the gorge. Fortunately it has been once again repaired after numerous washouts over the years. It now has a metal walkway and strong cables for handrails. Due to the large amount of rocky outcrop the area is exceptionally prone to flash flooding. A week after I arrived we had a two-hour long deluge which sent the stream through the gorge to over the level of bridge handrails. Fortunately though, as quickly as it floods, it also recedes. Near the bridge is a small shelter to await the water level to recede enough for a safe crossing.

The foot bridge over the gorge.

Four monks and three lay women are resident here at present, and we are exceptionally well cared for by the Sompan and Yupin family and Por Chalerm who come every day to cook extra food.

Visit to Bali, Indonesia
On June 30th I arrived in Bali at the invitation of Ven. Vijaya and his family. Ven. Vijaya is a native of Bali who ordained eight years ago in Burma with Sayadaw U Pandita. After one night in Denpasar we travelled to Ven. Vijaya's mother's native village of Baturiti, 45 km north of Denpasar on the main road to Singharaja. We arrived in time for the meal offering followed by a ceremony to bless the creation of the new Buddha Image for the recently constructed Dhammadana Vihara.

Ven. Vijaya's mother and family are planning to build a meditation centre adjacent to the temple and also to create a forest monastery nearby on the edge of the village. The village is in the hills at 800 meters elevation with very comfortable temperatures, although it is said to get as low at 15C in August.
We resided in Baturiti for four days in a small Sangha residence of several 'luxurious' bamboo huts (with attached running water bathroom) in the local Chinese cemetery. Very conveniently the ceremony hall next to the crematorium served as a sheltered meal-serving area and lodging for the two lay men residing with us.
Ven. Vijaya had already resided here for one Rains Retreat and taught the supporting Buddhist families to offer food during the traditional almsround. Thus at 9am we made our way along the busy street where some 30-40 people of all ages waited to make offerings. Needless to say there was abundant food offered, so much so that we need four attendants to help transport the offerings back to the residence.

Since we were already on the road north, one afternoon we journeyed over the mountains to the oldest Buddhist Monastery in Bali, Brahma Vihara, outside of Singharaja on the north coast. This is a very ornate structure of stone with many carved figures and a newer addition with a small imitation of the Borobadur stupa. This monastery has for many years been used as a venue for meditation retreats by Burmese monks and at the time a Burmese monk was leading a retreat for young people.
On Friday morning we traveled to Studio Bhavana, Sanur for the meal offering and to reside for the weekend of teaching there and at Shakyamuni Vihara in Denpasar. I gave a very well-attended talk to the Buddhist Youth Group at Shakyamuni Vihara, another to the Buddhist Women's Group at Studio Bhavana and then the Sunday morning Dhamma Talk at Shakyamuni Vihara.

The remaining few days of my visit we were very generously hosted in Ubud at the home of one of Ven. Vijaya's friends. There we had Dhamma discussion with various people and two short but much-appreciated meditation sessions.
Before my departure on July 10th, Ven. Vijaya's extended family offered the meal and expressed their appreciation for Dhamma teachings and the opportunity to serve the Sangha. It is very inspiring to see such devotion to Dhamma, and such commitment to generosity, morality and meditation as exemplified by Ven. Vijaya's family, and also by the many devoted Buddhists in Bali.
Many fruitful conditions are already present in Bali. Hopefully the Buddhists there will continue to practice the Dhamma for their increasing welfare and that of all sentient beings.

(Photos 1 & 3 by Sila Tejakalyani, photo #2 by Ko Khema)

I am presently staying at Cittarama in Kuala Lumpur and depart tomorrow for Denpasar, Bali for 10 days, returning to Bangkok on July 10th.

While in Bangkok I will be giving the following talks:
July 11: Aetas Hotel on Rama IV Rd; 6:30-8:30; www.littlebang.org
July 12: 6:30-8:00; "Spiritual Practice with Non-Self"; Suan Moke Bangkok BIA, Vachirabenjatas Park., Nikom Rot Fai Sai 2 Rd, Chatuchak, Bangkok; +66 2936 2800; www.bia.or.th.

Dhammagiri Forest Hermitage, Kholo, Brisbane, Australia
I have been here for over two weeks now. After som initial adjustment to the new situation, I have settled into my usual routine of formal meditation, physical exercise and study - developing spiritual practise in terms of body, mind and spirit/emotion.
There is also a fair amount of teaching/talking which adds another dimension to the practise as well.
I am staying in te Mahathera Room (with a heater for the 10C nights) next to the library. This has given me some incentive to do some editing on the series of talks on the Five Hindrances which friends in Victoria and Vancouver, British Columbia have diligently transcribed, and which may eventuate into another book. This has been a source for my study as well as stimulating some themes for deeper reflection.
The hermitage is in a very quiet, rural setting bordering a huge area of conservation land and a National Park. From the top of the hill there are expansive views of the forested hills of the D' Anguilar Range with patches of Lake Manchester to the west. The main vegetation is dry eucalypt forest which unfortunately is fairly homogenous and notably unexciting. Presumably the area was previously logged as almost all the trees are between 10 and 20 meters high and so evenly spaced that one suspects they have been deliberately planted. Only in the vallies are there trees towering to 30+ meters. However the homogenity of the flora is offset by the diversity of the fauna, especially the exotic bird ife common to Australia. There is continuous bird song of the most unusual variety, from the more familiar twittering and chirping of smaller birds to the screeching and squacking of a range of parrots and cockatoos. And of course there is the outrageous sqaucking laughterof the kookaburras which never fails to bring a smile.

Greetings and welcome to Tiradhammo's Ramblings.
The main purpose of this blog is to notify friends of my whereabouts during my ramblings about the world, and also to share some of my mental ramblings on Dhamma topics and my experiences at the various places I visit. Hopefully this will be of use.

I am presently at Bodhinyanrama Monastery near Wellington, New Zealand.