I had been working in Zhejiang province in a small village called Shi Ta Wan part of the way up the winding road which hugs to the mountainside like a streamer attached to a Christmas tree. The entire mountain side is clothed in bamboo forests. There was a heavy morning fog and I decided to delay my trip into Zaoxi for supplies and placed a pot of water to boil over the fire for some tea. As I was coming from the warmth of the kitchen I heard the sound of car doors closing. Maybe I had visitors. Looking out of the window I saw one of the monks from Guang Jue Temple with two local people. I welcomed them and congratulated them on their good timing as the pot was on the boil for some hot tea.
The local grocery store keeper-cum-taxi driver talked about the unseasonably cold autumn. I agreed. The young monk broke into the conversation: “Would you like to meet a hermit monk? He lives the other side of the mountain in a small hut. He is very secluded.” I was immediately struck with intrigue and wondered why they thought I would like to meet a monk who perhaps wanted to keep to himself and not be bothered with some foreigner. “The Abbott thought you should meet him”, continued the young monk whose name I have forgotten. He seemed to pre-empt my question.
We all got into the little van and began to wind our way up through the altitudes. My mind kept wondering about this fateful meeting. All of a sudden we hit unmade road and mud. The little van snaked its way along sliding through the mud as our driver made no speed compensation for the road conditions. Finally we came to a stop at a bend overlooking the misty valley far below and rows of rice and vegetable terraces. The young monk led the way along a track off the road that seemed to suck us deeper into the bamboo forest.
It was not long before I caught the aroma of wood and charcoal burning and an old wood and stone hit appeared through the bamboo.
I could not guess the age of the hermit monk. His shiny moon shaped face beamed a welcoming smile. We entered his hut and drank tea according to the custom. He offered us some home grown nuts and dried sweet potato to eat. As the young monk and the local grocer shop owner spoke to the hermit in local dialect (the other chap stayed with the van to smoke cigarettes!) I tuned out and looked about the interior of his hut. A bed in one corner with a rough cover neatly folded. An antique looking cupboard, a worn large basket half filled with rice and then my eyes came upon a beautiful alter with the Amitabha Buddha flanked by Kuan Yin and Mahasthamaprapta Bodhisattva and a coil of incense burning near the front door. The conversation came to an abrupt stop. I could hear birds in the trees. “We must be going now. We will leave you and pick you up in a day or so.” What?!! I hadn’t come prepared with a change of clothes or something to offer the hermit. “But I am not prepared, Venerable. I did not bring anything.” I softly protested. “Excellent” replied the hermit. “We are rarely ever prepared and the fact you have brought nothing is a good beginning.” He laughed with a refreshing joviality. He seemed to answer my protests at some deeper level. What was I in for?
We had seen my companions off when I turned to the hermit. “My name is Malcolm, Venerable.” “And my name is Meiyou Minzi.” “Nice to meet you Meiyou Minzi” I replied. Then it hit me as my Chinese is not so fluent. Meiyou Minzi means “No Name.”
The Venerable was a monk of the Pure Land Sect but had come to this side of the mountain to practise Pure Land Zen in solitude. He lived on what he grew in his garden and with the help of some occasional provisions brought by the monks from the monastery at Zaoxi.
My three days with the Venerable No Name were to turn my thinking upside down as he spoke to me about mantras and healing the body and mind – but more specifically the mind. As he told me, all disease has its origins in the mind.
I was awoken the following morning with my nose feeling like an icicle on the edge of a branch with the sound of tinkling bells. Through the candle and kerosene lantern light and haze of wood-tone aroma incense I saw No Name chanting the morning ritual. It was only 4:00am. I joined in the portions I could remember from chanting in the Temple. His voice seemed to reach out to the darkened forest about us and embrace eternity. It was a moving and emotional moment watching this monk who made this his life.
After a silent breakfast I asked him why he had committed himself to this life. “What else have we to commit ourselves to? To buying things, to make money to buy the things that will eventually rot? . . . To heal myself of my sickness. . . the sickness of attachment.” I told the Venerable I worked with people with mental illness and mentioned this illness is difficult to heal. He looked at me with a glint in his eye and an almost cheeky smile. “Because you do not know the cause. You only look for results. You never look at the causes.”
No Name spoke at length about Karmic Causes and imprints and the ripening of causes in this lifetime. He spoke about the need to create new causes and conditions. “We cannot grow the right plants if we do not prepare the soil. People neglect preparation nowadays. We must make the right causes and conditions then healing takes place by itself.” “But what of methods, Venerable? What methods should we use to heal?” He reflected with a serious look on his face: “What use is looking for methods when you cannot find yourself. Let’s meditate”. “How should I meditate?” I asked. “Sit still and breathe. Do this and nothing else” came a quick reply. “And the thoughts that come into my mind to interrupt?” I inquired. “Just as I said”, came No Name. “Sit still and breathe. Give them some tea and send them on their way.” No Name seemed to talk in parables and I wished I had pen and paper to write carefully all what he said. Instead I had to rely on memory.
The hut fell into a deep silence only broken occasionally by the sound of the wood crackling in the fire. It seemed like an eternity and I ran out of tea sending the thoughts on their way as I contemplated the numbness in my crossed legs entertaining the thought of getting a dreadful thrombosis. What if I could never move my legs again? OK. Breathe. Just breathe. Gradually all melted away into a deep tranquility. Nothing else mattered.
Time seemed to stand still. In fact there was an old dusty clock on the wall of the hut but it did not function. Apparently someone gave it to No Name as a gift but it required batteries which he never purchased. It remained there as a reminder that time is an illusion and of the New Cultural Revolution of Materialism.
“There are five essentials” came No Name as he was digging up some clover vegetables in the garden. “Our Spiritual practise, Mindfulness, Relationship to everything, how we sustain the body and mind for the journey and how we sustain the movement of life within us. When all these are in harmony then there is harmony. The Right Causes are set in motion.” No Name spoke at length about the plants relying on interrelations to grow and bear fruit.” The picture began to form like pieces being put together in the jigsaw puzzle.
My two days with the Venerable seemed like two years. No Name waved us good bye and then disappeared into the bamboo. Later back in the village I pondered and wrote on the Five Foundations as I called them and tried to put together the story of healing from the parables, the meaning of the silences between the sentences and the deep silence of the meditation. For the story comes together as equally from the silent interludes as it does from the mesmerizing mantra. I remember his last words to me: “What is the name of the person reciting the Buddha’s name?” I felt in a cheeky mood that morning and replied: “No Name, Venerable.” “Hmmm” he muttered to himself. “Then No Name must be All Name.” He broke into a spontaneous laughter.
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