The moon, full, pauses
In coconut tree branches
Crickets sing their bliss.
This account of the ordination of nuns in Sri Lanka comes from a private letter sent by one of the participants to her family and friends. She has consented to our printing excerpts from that letter. Some names have been deleted to protect privacy.
Greetings from Sri Lanka!
I write to you now no longer as a novice (Sāmaṇerī)—but as a fully ordained Theravāda Bhikkhunī nun! My new name is Charlotte Sudhammā Bhikkhunī. (Because many monks in Sri Lanka have shared common ancient names, they need to distinguish among them. Thus it became a tradition to add the name of one’s hometown; my hometown is “Charlotte,” which now becomes part of my name.) My higher ordination ceremony took place on Feb 28th. I apologize for not informing you about this joyful event in advance, but it had to be kept secret due to international politics!!
The adventures I have been having are beyond description! I shall give some details below. Since coming to Sri Lanka, I have been going here and there, visiting various Bhikkhunī nunneries. The nuns receive me with open arms everywhere I go, and they all urge me to “stay longer” at their centers. My home base remains the Sakyadhīta Center, about 20 miles from Colombo.
Sri Lankan Nuns
There are three kinds of nuns now in Sri Lanka: the newly restored Order of Bhikkhunīs (women monks), the Ten Precept Sāmaṇerī (novices), and Ten Precept nuns called “Dasa Sīl Mātas” (meaning “Ten Precept Mothers”). Although Dasa Sīl Mātas keep the same precepts as novices, and though many have been nuns for decades, they are considered junior to novices. They cannot directly receive the Bhikkhunī ordination, for they did not Go Forth (receive pabbajjā) in the proper way like novices do, and are not considered in training to become Bhikkhunīs. Some lay women now go forth as novices and two years later become Bhikkhunīs, thus quickly becoming far senior to even elderly Dasa Sil Matas who have lived as nuns for forty years. This seems painful for everyone.
I recently saw a couple of very senior Dasa Sīl Mātas receive the novice ordination from Bhikkhunīs; they both wept. Because this was too long in coming? Because they are now at the bottom of a hierarchy after having been very senior for so long? Or did they weep with joy? I do not know. It can be a scary move, if only because the government of Sri Lanka gives financial support to ordained people, including the Dasa Sīl Mātas, but not the Bhikkhunīs(!), who most monks do not yet acknowledge as existing.
Another time I witnessed a beautiful 15-year old girl receiving novice ordination and putting on the Robe. I observed this girl novice for a few days afterwards; with her apparently flawless personality and her beauty she surely would have been married before long. It struck me how good it is to provide this option for someone such as her: a life of profound virtue. (Sri Lankans ordain for life.) As one monk said in a speech after my ordination, quoting the great Ven. Ānanda Maitreyya, “These women are not asking for a fancy life, they are asking us monks to give them virtue—and we should give it to them!”
Why The Secrecy?
A great lady and very talented activist in Sri Lanka named Ms. Ranjani de Silva is the one person most responsible for resurrecting the Theravāda Bhikkhunī Order. Ms. Ranjani not only organizes things on a large scale, setting up ceremonies and getting monks to participate and so forth; she also tends to the little details, right down to attendees’ bus fare and purchasing safety pins to keep the candidates’ outfits from slipping during the ceremony. All the Sri Lankan Bhikkhunīs look to her as their mother. She treats them as her daughters, helping them in every way and scolding them when she deems it necessary.
Last fall Ms. Ranjani and the Bhikkhunīs were planning for a large ordination ceremony this spring, to ordain many novices to become Bhikkhunīs, as they did last spring. However, for Bhikkhunī ordination to be valid, senior monks must also take part; the monks who had committed to this year’s ceremony backed out, for various reasons, so the group ordination got postponed to 2004.
Yet one novice nun could not wait for 2004. This was the former Dr. Chatsumarn Kabilsingh, a very famous professor of Buddhism and Buddhist activist in Thailand, now Ven. Dhammānandā. A couple of years ago she came to Sri Lanka and received the novice ordination, making headlines around the world for her bold move in the face of fierce opposition of the united brotherhood of Thai monks. She counted on receiving higher ordination in Sri Lanka at this time. She also intended to bring a Thai lay woman with her to receive the Going Forth and The Robe as a novice nun. Even sympathetic Thai monks won’t give novice ordination to women, due to fear of the other monks.
Ven. Dhammānandā intends to get the Bhikkhunī Order going in Thailand, despite the extreme opposition she faces. This is one brave and determined woman! I’ve gotten to know her well from close association during the past couple of weeks. She does this not to be a feminist troublemaker, but out of her vision for the future of Buddhism. She wants to strengthen the foundations through which the teachings may continue over the coming centuries.
Waiting another year would have caused this Thai nun problems, for she has a lot of plans in the works and everything depended upon this ordination. Therefore Ms. Ranjani went to work, brilliantly overcoming every obstacle, including internal politics among supportive monks and nuns, to create a small, “quiet” ceremony just for this one novice.
Ms. Ranjani and I had made plans for her to host me here in Sri Lanka; she had told me of the planned group ordination, and then told me the sad news of its cancellation. Later, to my surprise and joy, she confided to me about the private ceremony and suggested that I may join Ven. Dhammānandā. Increasing my joy, Bhante Gunaratana (the master who gave me novice ordination in America several years ago) sent his blessings. We kept the ceremony secret so that the news would not reach the populace of Thailand and perhaps cause so much pressure on the venerable monks giving the ordination that they might reconsider. The secret got out anyway but did not stop the ceremony after all.
The whole thing got even more controversial than anticipated, for in the last week before the ceremony the monks ushered in a couple of Burmese novice nuns to join us for Bhikkhunī ordination. Ms. Ranjani and her people did not want to take on Burma!—not yet anyway, and certainly not in Ven. Dhammānandā’s personal ceremony. Already she may face excessive negative press in Thailand; outrage coming from Burma seems unlikely to help Ven. Dhammānandā’s cause in Thailand. The brotherhood of Burmese monks opposes Bhikkhunī ordination passionately.
However, the great compassion of our senior Sri Lankan monks who give ordination to women, knows no bounds. They remain fearless even of the power of Burmese monks. (Burmese and Sri Lankan monks have close ties of friendship, which is less common among Thai and Sri Lankan monks.) Since the monks seemed willing to go ahead with the ceremony, these Burmese nuns were allowed to join us.
One Burmese nun is elderly and will return to America, where she has citizenship, so she remains safe. The other nun, however, is a pretty, young-looking, extremely learned nun whose name is well known in Burma. Police and government officials harassed her terribly after she returned to Burma from Sri Lanka as a novice; her Bhikkhunī ordination may provoke more forceful confrontations. Let us all send her our blessings!
The whole thing got even more controversial than anticipated.
The night before the ceremony we had an all-night blessing chanting (paritta chanting) by a group of about a dozen Bhikkhunīs at the home of Ms. Ranjani de Silva. The event marked both the ordination ceremony and the 5th year anniversary of Ms. Ranjani’s husband’s death. The chanting event happened in grand traditional style, with drummers, and a little special hut made of decorative paper (exquisitely cut into lacy designs) that the nuns sat inside while chanting. The beautiful little hut sat in the center of Ranjani’s living room; devotees sat on mats on the floor around it. There were coconut flowers in vases on the floor beside the hut, with little oil lamps balanced on top of the flowers; delicate branches of betel leaves, hanging down, decorated the top of the hut.
The Ordination Ceremony
Usually only monks do this kind of important ceremony, but now that the Bhikkhunī Order has been revived, these nuns have authority to do such things too. How impressive the Bhikkhunīs looked as they walked in ceremoniously, single-file! They entered following a fellow who carried on his head a cloth-covered golden stūpa (a bell-shaped casket) containing sacred relics, with drummers beating shockingly loud drums. (I did not dare cover my ears—surely an insulting act by a nun in such a formal setting—so I just resigned myself to donating some of my hearing ability to the cause.)
Ordination day started with the conclusion of the chanting ceremony. Then we Bhikkhunī candidates donned lay persons’ white clothing and drove to the monastery for the ceremony. We had to start all over, beginning with Going Forth from lay life to novicehood again! I felt vulnerable, almost naked, without the Robe on, after nearly four years of constantly wearing it. When our van stopped en route to let someone purchase a needed item, I watched people passing by on the crowded sidewalk with great interest. Would they stare at me as they do when I am in robes? Usually Sri Lankans gape at me, from up to 100 feet away, even when I zip by in a speeding bus or van. But as I sat there in traditional white clothes, even with my head bald, folks walked right alongside the van without much interest in my appearance. Amazing difference.
Ordination involved three separate ceremonies. First the Going Forth as novices, then ordination by the Bhikkhunīs, then ordination by the Bhikkhus. All of it took tremendous exertion, with reciting memorized lines in the Pāli language; many bows down to the floor and back to standing position again and again; a difficult crouching position held for long periods, with hands in prayer position (anjali) above the head; in sweltering heat; in a crowded room (the sīma). And, after the initial part conducted in the white clothes, it was all done wearing unbelievable layers of robe clothing! We wore the bathing robe underneath the underrobe, a long-sleeved blouse, the upper robe, and the remarkably heavy double-layer outer robe folded over the left shoulder.
My arms shook and I contemplated the non-self nature of this suffering body, thereby succeeding in overcoming the intense temptation to drop my arms at the wrong times to rest them. I did not give in even once, no matter how the arms shook. I viewed them as not “my” arms; not “my” problem that the body protested so much. Sweat dripped from my face and hands. The mat upon which I bowed became visibly drenched.
My arms shook and I contemplated the non-self nature of this suffering body
The four of us received ordination together, at the same time, but because I sat in the “senior” position, to the right of the other three, they became junior to me. Last week we debated this seating order. I insisted to Ven. Dhammānandā that she should become senior to me, for she has been a university professor of Buddhism for many years, and a Buddhist activist, she is famous in her country, she is the master of a temple, and she is visibly older than I. For these reasons I find it unsuitable that when I will visit her temple she must bow to me in front of her disciples. She countered that I have been a novice nun for nearly four years whereas she went forth only two years ago, thus I should keep seniority. She added that it will be “good for (her) ego” for me to remain senior to her; I cried out “What about MY ego?!” which made everyone laugh, and there the discussion ended.
Ten Bhikkhunīs and a dozen Bhikkhus gave us our ordination. When finished I could hardly believe it. There were four of us new Bhikkhunīs, and we all seemed dazed. Also there was the newly ordained novice from Thailand, looking resplendent in her newly gained gold robes. We walked as a group straight from the sacred boundary to a large hall filled with supporters, seating ourselves in front. There a couple of the monks gave us exhortations, reminding us not to do any of the eight deeds that will ruin our nunhood, and so forth.
One very venerable monk who came from overseas to attend our ordination begged us not to be aggressive feminists, and especially not to openly reject the eight garudhamma rules (a set of nuns’ rules to which most Western women react badly, and which some scholars reject as not having come from the Buddha.) He said that we may view the eight special rules as not having come from the Buddha, but as more like an Amendment to the US Constitution: something that did not come from Founding Fathers but to be followed nonetheless. He asked us to please follow them and not openly speak against them, at least until we Bhikkhunīs have gained acceptance from the Theravada monks. His points were well taken.
Afterwards A.. .What?
We five and the other nuns and our supporters piled into vans and headed to a reception at Sakyadhīta. Ms. Ranjani had hinted excitedly that she planned something special, and I heard that it involved drummers, but no one told me what it would be. I almost did not want to know. I thought I may die of embarrassment if it would turn out to be some kind of ostentatious ceremony.
En route to the center, the van stopped at the village turn-off, about a mile from Sakyadhīta, and people ordered us to get out. Mystified, we complied. We encountered a large crowd, and people came up to us, bowing. Someone thrust a great, decorated fan in my hands, and the other new Bhikkhunīs also received one each. (The novice got a smaller fan.) The handle of the fan seemed heavy in my hands. Then a senior nun came along calling out orders, sending a mass of schoolchildren carrying colorful Buddhist flags down the road towards the village, walking in formation. Then it finally dawned on me: a parade! Omigod! We are heading up a parade!!
Someone tried to place our famous Ven. Dhammānandā ahead of me, but she scooted behind me, reminding everyone that I am “senior” to her—yikes! Suddenly I realized it is not us but it is I who shall lead the nuns in the parade!! Cameras pointed at us. Then the senior nun cried out to us, “Go! Go!” We marched forward, with some dancers and drummers just ahead of me. A small boy carried a long, decorative pole immediately in front of me; people held large, gaily decorated yellow parasols over each new Bhikkhunī.
A large group of Bhikkhunīs, novices and Dasa Sīl Mātas followed us new Bhikkhunīs—about forty five nuns total (wearing monk-robes of varying shades of orange, yellow or gold). What a great sight this long line of nuns must have been!
The whole village turned out of course, and others came too I imagine. As I walked I dwelled upon thoughts of blessings for these poor but good villagers, wishing them prosperity, freedom from violence, and every kind of blessing I could think of—blessings for them, their land, even for their animals… I felt the power of the good things that had happened that day like a wave of light pouring through me, and outwards, all around. I barely smiled, which is unusual for me, but my face, my eyes, crinkled upward with joy. I felt absolutely radiant.
The parade went down the main street, then down our dirt road… I myself saw nothing of the parade. I just saw the active feet of the dancers and drummers ahead of me, and gold sparkles from the costumes of the dancers; my gaze stayed low as I concentrated on sending blessings. I barely even looked up towards the people gathered along the sides of the road, I just saw them from the corner of my eye. We would walk about ten feet to a casual drum beat, then the drummers would break into mad thunderous drumming, and the dancers would go wild with their dancing, for about a minute. Suddenly the drumming would drop off to a relaxed walking beat, and we would resume walking as before.
As I walked I dwelled upon every kind of blessing I could think of.
The parade carried on, all the way up to the entrance to the Sakyadhita compound, where a crowd awaited us, and right up the steps into the meditation hall. I kicked off my shoes and, still not looking around, continued forward to the very front of the room, then paused, uncertain, until someone waved me into a seat at the front. My new Bhikkhunī sisters and the new novice sat up front beside me, and the other nuns sat all along the sides and back of the room. The great monk who led our ordination ceremony (who, at age eighty five, is a formidable, sharp-minded master), gave a talk. The new Bhikkhunī Dhammānandā also gave a talk, explaining the significance of the day’s events in terms of the history of the nuns’ Order.
Then Ms. Ranjani asked me to give a short speech, so I did. The hall was crowded with women, mostly older lay women, all seated on mats on the floor. So I gave a talk aimed at them. I started off saying I feel joyful today, so I want to talk about joy. I mentioned that most of them probably had breastfed their hungry babies; then I used the sweetness and wholesomeness of breast milk as a metaphor. I pointed out that their children, when older, remain hungry—as do these ladies’ husbands and other relatives—and these hungry relatives look for “food” in unwholesome activities such as watching TV and drinking alcohol. I said that the ladies need to “feed” their families something sweet and wholesome like breast milk, but what? “Joy!” I said.
Then I reminded them of the joy that they feel from offering flowers and so forth to shrines (truly I never saw such pious people in my life!), and said to keep that joy going through mental cultivation (bhāvanā) and morality {sīla). This way they can come home still vibrating with that joy, and thus feed it to their families, who are so hungry for love and joy. Regarding morality I emphasized the need for right speech since these good ladies probably do not engage in other unwholesome activities. Whenever the ladies appreciated what someone said they cried out, “Sādhu! Sādhu! Sāāādhuuu!”
But really I thought that our good elderly monk was going to faint when I started talking about breast milk! He seemed a bit, well, green, for a few moments. The villagers pressed gifts into our hands afterwards, mostly bars of soap—all they can afford, and apparently considered auspicious. I have been given enough soap in Sri Lanka to wash an army for a month.
What little these people had to offer, they wanted to give.
Walking For Alms
The next day a few of us nuns went on alms round through the village. The village had not seen an alms round in decades. The tradition of going for alms has pretty much died out in this country. Elderly lay folks remember it fondly.
The village is mostly arranged along just a few long roads, with all the houses facing the road. Sakyadhīta center is at the end of one of these, so we could simply walk forwards up this long road. People at the first few houses quickly came out at the sight of us, which we had expected, since a neighbor had organized them.
Then something happened that took my breath away as it unfolded before me: the word spread. People came hurrying out of their houses bearing food and bowing to us. After some time we began to ask each other, “Should we keep walking, or turn back now?” Then one of us would say, “Look, there are more people ahead waiting for us; we have to keep going.” We had to keep going. And going, on and on. The further we went, the further word spread, and more people came hastening out with some bits of food to give us. These are poor people. They have little to offer, but what they had, they wanted to give. Some friends followed along and put food into bags as our bowls filled. Still, we could see more people coming out of their houses. Finally we realized that there would be no end to it, so we stopped in the street and let everyone in sight come to us as we waited there; then we turned back, retracing our steps. More people came out with food on the return route.
I still weep to think of the pious old ladies forcing their aged bodies to bow down to the street before us. I also feel greatly moved to consider that we saw not only the old people along the route, but also some children. Thus even fifty years hence, at least some people will remain alive who once witnessed an alms round, seeing such profound piety in action, and there will remain the potential for revival of this ancient and beautiful tradition.
Enough for now.
May you be well, and happy and peaceful!
May you receive your every wholesome wish!
