The World Within

Will we be born again in a different form based on what we do in this life? Are we what we are because of our previous karma? Is it true that we women, who cannot become monks, have no chance of making higher merit and most devote ourselves to making offerings? What is higher merit anyway?

How could my grandmother, as a woman herself, discriminate against other women?

My grandmother taught me to pray in front of the Buddha image. Together we took refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha and then sent merit to all beings. I barely understood the verse I was chanting. I just kept repeating it, and after awhile it became a routine. It did not occur to me that beyond prayer, offerings, and good deeds there might be another part of being a Buddhist.

I joined a Students’ Buddhist Club. There was an unmistakable energy among the members. They were serene relative to the student activists and seemed to talk more slowly and to smile more often. The activists thought that these people were politically naive and not interested in social justice and what was going on in the secular world. But after participating in their morning prayers and meditations, I discovered that the Student Buddhists were very socially conscious and aware of problems and injustice. They spoke with a compassionate tone when they described these problems and talked about the suffering of mankind instead of the suffering of the poor. Though I was still drawn to participate in the social movement, some mysterious energy kept me going back to the Students’ Buddhist Club. I thought I could make sense of the world by associating myself with those who prayed.

I developed a big-brother/little-sister relationship with the leader of the group. I had not learned how to juggle classes and social activism, and I maintained borderline grades. I probably looked exhausted when I sat down to participate in the morning prayers and meditation. The big brother gave me a smile and said, “How do you like school? Is it overwhelming?” I admitted that I was tired. “Learn about the world around you,” he said, “but don’t forget about the world within.”

Nobody had said anything like that to me before: don’t forget to look within. My prayer sessions with Grandmother had not given me any chance to look within and investigate my mind.

I thought meditation was for Buddhists who wanted to leave worldly worlds behind. I thought meditation was a trance state—a stillness and peace that might somehow extend to reading another being’s thoughts. I never believed it was for me, my grandmother, my mother or any other household Buddhists. But I was ready to sit down and meditate. For the first time I became aware of my breath. Short. Long. I began to look closely at my feelings, my thoughts, and my history.

[These nine pieces, edited slightly by Murph Henderson, are part of Jip's partly completed book about three Thai women of different generations. She would have turned fifty today.]