We enjoy a cozy sleep in the Opium Den, and wake to nosh on what is becoming one of my favorite savory breakfast items: the Thai chicken and sausage porridge. Taking the wheel of the rental car, I lean forward in my seat to scan the menagerie of traffic I must cross to depart the parking lot.
“Once you escape, head right.” Andrew tells me.
'“Right? Really? I thought the White Temple was West of here?” I say, waiting while a man pushing a cart full of brooms squeezes between the front bumper and a chaotic lane of flowing traffic.
“Nope, it’s right.” Andrew tells me, confident in his choices. While I am the helmswoman, I rely entirely on Andrew for navigation. A brief gap opens and I take my opportunity, weaving around two actual lanes, but what seems like five lanes wide when I account for the layers of pedestrians, mopeds, push carts, cars, busses, and trucks loaded two stories tall with some load it is clearly not designed to carry.
An apt example on a less frenetic roadway.
Soon, I turn a corner and I can see an enormous white Buddha watching over the low lying houses of the valley. “Oh, there he is, we must be going the right way.” I say.
Upon arrival, we are welcomed by an enormous white Buddha, White Dragons, and a pure white temple. We hike the hillside, and land at the foot of many stairs. There is a glass pagoda at the bottom, at which you are intended to light an incense stick and offer it to Buddha. I climb the stairs to the Pagoda and in an awkward fashion, do Buddha's bidding.
We climb the stairs flanked by two long dragon tails with scales that strike a contrast against the sky. Our minuscule size in the grand ethos is exaggerated at the feet of this enormous cement sculpted Buddha.
Flanking Buddha in a circle at his feet is a series of sculpted men: one rail thin with bones showing through paper thin skin of stone, another fat and jolly, another that middle-point of svelte health. These sculptures depict the phases of experience undertaken by Siddhartha, the man who first reached enlightenment.
All of them have their eyes upturned toward Buddha.
“Will you buy a bag of rice to donate to the hungry?” We are asked as we approach the door. We do, but a bag of rice cannot be offered without leaving the appropriate spirit in its depths. Andrew kneels as instructed and offers up his bag of rice.
Next, we are invited into an elevator that carries us upward. When I realize where we must be going, I am quite jazzed. “Are we going to the top?” We are going to the top.
The elevator doors open into a level behind Buddha’s eyes. Pure white sculptures of flowers and warriors, bears, and beautiful women are etched into the walls. I stand at the center of the room behind what would be the bridge of Buddha’s nose and….Hazzzah! The genius of it!
I am experiencing what it would look like to be Buddha’s Observer during one of Buddha’s meditations!
The Observer is a concept in meditating cultures. I’ve heard it discussed in both Hindu and Buddhist Philosophy, as well as during class at the Yoga Barn. It is our consciousness. It is that part of our selves that can watch us think or feel or act. What is that part? It cannot be your brain/mind as your mind is doing the thinking. It cannot be your heart as your heart is doing the feeling. No, it is a separate concept: it is consciousness or otherwise known as “The Observer”.
The Observer can only be in so many places at one time. So, when we meditate, we try to reduce sensory input and turn the Observer away from the outside world and toward our selves: maybe we focus on our breath. Maybe we focus only on the sounds we hear. As my Taxi Cab Guru Wayan explained, when we are meditating we really are not supposed to have our eyes completely closed. Instead, our gaze is softened, lowered as if our eyes are just relaxed and barely open, looking just beyond the tip of our nose. I have practiced this 10, 20, 30 minutes at a time, so I know what it is to look through my own eyes the same way I can look through the giant Buddha’s eyes now.
Buddha sculpture’s eyes are lowered in slits, the only clear and open view is through Buddha’s “third eye,” the one seated in the same place Hindu people place their red jewel - the “eye” that is meant to absorb scenes directly into the mind to bring enlightenment and better understanding of life.
“FanTASTIC!” I tell Andrew.
Andrew observes one particular sculpture/carving set into the wall. “Now, that is a proper man-bun.” He admires.
Next, we climb two sets of stairs encased entirely in the silver shimmer of mirrors and a bright red carpet. This takes us even higher, into the top of Buddha’s head. Mirrored reflections of the world outside enters the space through small windows and bounces along a smooth, round marbled surface. As a matter of artistic principle, this temple wins them all for me. To stand inside the MIND of Buddha! To see the world as Buddha would have seen it.
If only enlightenment could be reached by elevator.
Next, we head over to see the actual temple. We pass gold leaf spheres, with the requisite offerings being paid for, peeled off their backing and carefully laid in place on one ball or another. Sometimes, they fail to stick, and razor thin gold paper flutters on a puff of wind to settle on the floor. I pick one up, it is so thin, it is almost a paste on my fingers.
“I wonder how they make this!?” Andrew pokes his nose closer to my finger and inspects.
Inside the temple, the White Theme continues, accented by colorful flowers and crystal droplets glinting in sunlight that angles through a line of open windows, hits a polished marble floor and reflects back. As I swing my camera around for different angles, I note something very disconcerting: I do not see Harry Potter! Or the Incredible Hulk. Or Morpheus from the Matrix. “Hmmm…”
As we exit, I turn the corner and it dawns on me: that pagoda is not white!
“Andrew! I don’t think we are at the White Temple!”
He looks around, and smirks a little bit. “You are always exactly where you are supposed to be.”
“That’s not funny. Seriously, we can’t come to Chiang Rai and not see the White Temple!”
“Gratitude is the language of the Universe.” He says.
“But, we will likely never be back here again!”
“You must turn your mind to the present moment.'“ Andrew continues.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“You know what! Stop it!”
He blinks at me and smiles his flat lipped smile. “You shouldn’t let others steal your peace.”
I glower at him. I turn and watch a monk leading a group of local Thai people in a meditation. We admire three perfectly polished wooden carved Buddhas. Then, Andrew heads toward the exit. “I think that is enough Temple-ing for me today. We have to get on the road or we won’t have time to enjoy the hot springs!”
He’s right, so I relent. We climb back in the car and I point our bow toward the exit of town. The air in the car is warm as I breathe it in, the seats heat my legs, bottom, and back as though I’m sitting on a hot pad. Andrew flicks on the air conditioner and it fights to break a cold crack in the dense heat. I think to myself as I drive. “Ah-HAH! Thailand is like the perfect representation of the Buddhist experience. The layers upon layers of its identity are exactly like the layers upon layers we all must experience, understand, and release over the course of our lifetime….or lifetime(s) if we accept the notion of reincarnation….hmmm….” I savor this small moment of awareness, the pleasure of absorbing a new knowledge like a golden, glowing drop of honey on my tongue. Andrew fiddles with the travel speaker, plugging it into his cell phone and scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. A pang hits me in my stomach, my fear of missing out reminding me of the White Temple we failed to see. Just before the music drowns out any further mind-muttering, I think to myself: “but, what experience could possibly compare to standing inside the mind of Buddha?”
And, I decide I am satisfied.