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The Theravada Sangha Goes West: The Story
of Amaravati
by Ajahn Sundara ©
For many years
I have been a member of Amaravati, a Theravada Buddhist monastery
in England. The story of how our monastic community came into
existence is an interesting one. My teacher, Ajahn Sumedho,
is an American monk who is the most senior Western disciple
of Ajahn Chah, the well-known Thai meditation master from
the Thai Forest Tradition who passed away a few years ago.
In 1975, Ajahn Sumedho visited London as the guest of the
English Sangha Trust, a body founded to establish a Theravada
monastic order in England. Inspired by Ajahn Sumedho, the
trust members asked their chairman to accompany him back to
Thailand and request Ajahn Chah to send some of his Western
disciples to reside in England.
Ajahn Chah visited England to assess the
suitability of the request. In 1977, with his blessings, Ajahn
Sumedho and three Western monks fresh from the jungle of northeast
Thailand found themselves in a vihara, in an urban setting,
occupying a town house on a busy street in central London.
They started teaching meditation to a few people, and soon
more people came to practice with them and to participate
in their daily life. Eventually the place became too small,
and the English Sangha Trust decided to look for a property
outside London.
Meanwhile the monks continued the tradition
of going on almsround and used to walk through a beautiful
park close to where they lived. One day a jogger who often
crossed their path engaged them in conversation. He returned
with them to the vihara, and after getting to know the monks
made them an offer. He had bought a forest in the south of
England with the wish to develop and preserve it through modern
conservation principles. However, such conservation was beyond
his means, and he felt that Buddhist monks, whose philosophy
advocated a deep respect for all living things, were the ideal
people to take care of it. Thus he offered them the use of
that forest. It was an unbelievable gift: a beautiful forest
of old English oaks and beeches on about 140 acres of land
in one of the most attractive parts of the country.
By a fortunate coincidence, Chithurst
House, a large Victorian house nearby, had just been put on
the market by the rather eccentric old couple who owned it.
The chairman of the Trust made a bid which the couple accepted,
and later that year the sangha moved into what would become
their forest monastery. They spent most of that first summer,
with the small lay community who had joined them, clearing
the place of forty years of stuff accumulated by its previous
owners.
Most of the monks who originally came
to Chithurst had trained in Thailand with Ajahn Chah. At the
beginning of this century, Buddhism in Thailand had turned
more into a social institution and lost touch with its roots.
It had become the domain of priests and scholars. In reaction
to this, some monks chose to return to a way of life close
to the one led and advocated by the Buddha. This revival movement,
known as the Forest Tradition, brought new breath into Buddhist
monasticism in Thailand. The forest monks lived a simple and
austere life according to the Vinaya in solitude in the forest
and devoted themselves to the practice of meditation and the
realization of the Buddha's teaching. It is remarkable that
a tradition so remote from our materialistic Western culture
has been transplanted to the West, and within a relatively
short time, has integrated itself into society. In the towns
near our monasteries, the sight of monks or nuns on almsround
is now familiar.
I arrived at Chithurst in September of
that first year. I had just returned from abroad when a friend
told me that the monks had moved out of London. I was very
busy, but three days later I traveled to Chithurst, curious
to find out what was happening at the monastery. I was then
a lay person more interested in meditation than in Buddhism
itself. Earlier that year I had done a retreat with Ajahn
Sumedho, and at the end, when someone had asked me if I wanted
to be a nun, I had replied that maybe, when I was seventy
and there was nothing left to do. With that frame of mind,
I arrived at Chithurst, talked with Ajahn Sumedho, and told
him that life and the world were great. Sure the world was
full of problems, but it was challenging and that's what I
loved about it. He just said, "Yes, but it depends where
the world is." Something in me stopped. I had read numerous
times and been told that the world originated from the mind,
but I was living my life as if the world were "outside."
At that moment the understanding lasted just a millisecond.
I did not become conscious of the profound effect his insight
had on me until three weeks later I realized that I was still
at Chithurst! Many doubts had fallen away, and I felt an incredible
confidence and inner freedom. I was aware that I had choice:
the world was not "out there," so it was up to me
to live my life the way I wanted.
I loved the lifestyle of the retreat I
had attended previously: eating one meal a day, getting up
early in the morning, and meditating throughout the day. I
also valued the silence, the reflections on Dhamma, and having
time to think for myself rather than to read books or listen
to others' ideas. So I thought, "Why not carry on in
a similar environment for a while?" I still did not think
of becoming a nun, but I was confident that spending a few
months in a monastic environment and keeping the eight precepts
could only be beneficial. I wanted to understand my mind and
how it was possible to make peace with it. I had a taste of
this during a previous retreat and realized that even for
a short time, not contending with myself or the world around
me had wonderful effects on my life. At thirty-two, I felt
that it was time to find out how I wanted to spend the next
fifty years, for it seemed that life was going very fast and
there was a real sense of urgency.
Thus I decided to stay at Chithurst. However,
this new situation was quite a challenge. Three other women
had come to live there also. We did not know each other and
came from different backgrounds and different countries. I
must confess that even though I had good women friends, I
did not like women very much and in general got along much
better with men. Also, living within the restraint of the
eight precepts, I could not eat after noon or sleep as long
as I liked. A great part of the day was spent in Chithurst
House which was then a busy work site-cold, dark, and dusty.
My temperament was to love beauty, comfort, and clean places!
Cooking had never been my favorite pastime, yet I found myself
cooking for twenty-five people almost every day in a marquee-a
large tent that had been turned into a kitchen. It was full
of wasps, and normally it took only one to get me really agitated.
But somehow they did not bother me, and I was very happy in
spite of all the new challenges, or more likely, because of
them.
Shortly after arriving, we became anagarika,
or eight-precept nuns. A special ceremony marked our "official"
entry into the community. Wearing the traditional white robes
of Thai maechees (nuns), and with our hair cropped-we started
shaving our head a year later-we formally took the eight precepts
in the presence of the monastic community and some friends
and were given a new name in Pali. The community consisted
then of six monks, four nuns, and a few laymen.
The forest at Chithurst was extremely
beautiful and quiet. In the early years, even though we had
periods of silent formal practice, most of our energy was
spent working on the house that had to be rebuilt inside almost
from scratch. In those days a pioneering energy gave the community
great impetus and strength to go through difficulties and
obstacles with faith. Our daily schedule was in many ways
similar to that of Thai forest monasteries. We got up at 4:00
A.M. and walked in the dark from our cottage to the main house
to attend morning puja. During the morning we worked in the
kitchen, the garden, or the office. The monks continued the
tradition of going on almsround while the rest of the community
was busy building or working in the forest. Our main meal
was at 10:30 A.M. Afterwards we had a rest period and worked
all afternoon. After a hot drink and a short break, we gathered
for evening puja. Once a week we had a quiet day, a kind of
Buddhist Sabbath, which was followed by an all night meditation
practice. This schedule has remained more or less the same
up to the present, although now there is less physical work,
and lay people help us to run the monastery so that we have
more time to focus on "inner work." Initially, just
keeping pace with the schedule was a difficult discipline.
Having been a dancer, however, I was used to strong physical
training. Interestingly, I felt more energetic than before
because my energy was not wasted in endless distractions.
Ajahn Chah would tell people who were lethargic in meditation,
"Sleep little, eat little, and talk little." How
true this is!
Entering into Practice
When I came to the community, I did not
know the Buddhist scriptures. I was mainly interested in living
my life with integrity so that when it ended I would have
no regrets. This motivation has given me great incentive throughout
my monastic life. Before long I saw, even at a modest level,
that it was possible for the mind to abandon negative habits,
be truly peaceful, and respond to life from a place of freedom
and compassion. This encouraged me to investigate and understand
the mind at a deeper level. Training of heart, understanding
of Dhamma, and working to realize liberation were clearly
ongoing processes, a lifetime's work that could not be done
in just a few months!
Meditation was and still is the foundation
of this life. It gave me the clarity with which to look within
and see the mind as a mirror. The practice is focused on the
teachings of the Four Noble Truths, which in the Theravada
tradition is considered one of the most important teachings
for realizing nibbana, the goal of the Buddhist teaching.
Through awareness of our suffering and understanding of its
cause-the first and second Noble Truths-the Buddha teaches
that we can let go of the basic illusion that we are a self,
an ego. As we keep watching inwardly-thoughts, feelings, the
body and its sensations, perceptions, and mind (the five khandas)-we
need not be limited or bound by our identification with our
body or our mind. By observing again and again how impermanent,
painful, and empty of self they are, we can let go of our
attachment to and identification with them. Actually, it is
more correct to say "there is letting go," because
we cannot find anyone that lets go. This letting go experience
is called the third Noble Truth and must be realized. The
development of the path is the fourth Noble Truth or Noble
Eightfold Path. It is a detailed guide to practice, which
is quiet inner work, nothing dramatic. Sustaining mindfulness
and a clear vision of the experience in the present moment
is important, practice focuses on all aspects that generate,
strengthen, and sustain mindfulness. This brings about the
wisdom that can break through the delusion of the mind. Outwardly,
we use the monastic ethical standard to guide our verbal and
physical actions. Slowly, we harmonize the energies of our
mind and body by not recreating unskillful behaviors, which
are the main sources of our inner conflicts. It is not enough
to know that the Four Noble Truths exist. For them to become
the Truths that the Buddha realized, we have to gain profound
insight into the nature and reality of the mind.
I was amazed that in the midst of a real
intense and painful situation, my heart could often remain
joyful. Meditation taught me that the suffering I experienced
was not a trap anymore but a source of learning. I now had
the necessary tools to transform this human experience of
greed, hatred, delusion, and selfishness. By looking directly
into the mind at the nature of that experience-its impermanence,
unsatisfactory nature, and selflessness-it was possible to
let go of the blind habit that kept grasping it. Why do we
hold on to suffering? Because at some level we do not understand
what it is and how it affects the heart. If we knew, we would
drop it straight away. As I observed again and again how little
control the mind has over its suffering, it became obvious
that pain is not "mine." What a relief it was to
discover that we do have a method to get out of our predicaments!
Prior to joining the community, I avoided
the unpleasant sides of life and did not talk about anger,
frustration, and selfishness. Harmony, love, philosophy, and
art were so much more interesting to me. But, practicing Dhamma,
I had to look at the ugly things in myself. People living
with me became clear reflections of my mind, and without the
social screens we usually put up to alleviate pain, there
was no way to hide any more. I kept bumping into this self
with its selfishness, anger, pettiness, fear, impatience and
so forth. Previously, I thought I was kind, open-minded, and
easygoing. But when I looked, I saw how critical and judgmental
I was. What a surprise that was!
It was Buddhism's practicality and relevance
to everyday life, not its philosophy, that appealed to me.
The practice and the material I was working with were tangible,
and I was not interested in reading books. Monastic life was
so much more alive than anything I had ever encountered. Often,
nothing much seemed to be happening externally, but inwardly,
I would be going through a powerful cathartic process. Without
a deep commitment to the practice and to the Buddha, Dhamma,
and Sangha as refuge, it would have been difficult to transverse
those times.
The style of training in this tradition
is very appealing to me. Initially, we do not need to study
a lot. The monastic environment itself demands that we be
alert and mindful. We rapidly learn how the law of cause and
effect works at a grassroots level. We discover that if we
are not careful, we receive the results of our actions immediately.
Also, in community, although we no longer have the usual outlets
for our creativity, we discover that this creative energy
continues in the most mundane situations and activities. When
we were novices, for example, cooking became the field of
our artistic creations! My imagination would go wild as I
prepared an elaborate meal in no time. But this was not the
way to peace! When others cooked, I witnessed my critical
mind: "These people can't cook! They are hopeless! They
can't even cut carrots properly!" In that environment,
all my buttons got pushed, and I could be so righteous. I
had to train myself to repeat a mantra-"Let go, let go"-all
morning while working in the kitchen. I had to concentrate,
because in just one moment of heedlessness I would lash out
at someone. Sometimes greed would fuel my energy. In that
situation the absurd was so obvious that I could clearly see
my attachments and how miserable they made me. We need a good
sense of humor to recognize and let go of these things.
Every week we practice sitting and walking
meditation through the night. Imagine what the mind can conjure
up at the prospect of not sleeping all night! It plays every
possible trick to justify going to sleep or it creates good,
even inspiring reasons to justify the validity of staying
up. Sometimes our pride keeps us awake because we have energy
to check on others and criticize them, "Look at that
one dozing off! How disgusting and shameless!" The judgment
lasts until we find ourselves exhausted and join the sloth
and torpor lot. Monastic training does not allow us to lie
to ourselves for long time because we are in an uncomfortable
environment, where people often drive us up the wall and our
basic survival mechanisms are challenged. In this setting,
the teaching is a constant encouragement to observe our reactions
to life with gentleness and love. We discover that just changing
our attitude enables us to develop qualities that strengthen
and liberate the heart. We tap into an extraordinary reserve
of energy when we live this life wholeheartedly. After a while,
we experience the mind when it is not preoccupied with itself.
It is free, even for a short time, of its inner turmoil; it
becomes bright, filled with peace and love.
Women in the Community
More women joined our little community
at Chithurst, and by 1983 we were eight anagarikas (practitioners
with eight precepts). We came from different European countries
but shared a similar strong aspiration to practice the Dhamma
within a monastic form. In Thailand, Ajahn Sumedho hardly
had any contact with nuns. Having women in Chithurst and teaching
them was a new experience for him. I don't think he quite
knew what to do with us at first, so we took responsibility
for our own training. We were keen on the discipline, which
we knew played an important role in transforming the mind.
Ajahn Sumedho could see that we were serious about pursuing
this way of life and began to consider how women in the West
could further their training beyond the traditional form of
Thai maechees. In Thailand, women who wish to live in a monastery
shave their head, take the eight precepts, and support themselves
materially. They are in a rather ambiguous situation: although
they are nuns, they do not benefit from the advantages and
support traditionally given to the ordained sangha. They primarily
support the monks' community, especially by cleaning the temple
and preparing the monks' daily meal. Currently, however, new
models for Thai nuns are emerging that allow them to learn
the Dhamma and to train and practice outside the traditional
maechee role.
Seeing that European women were serious
about practice and would benefit from training similar to
that of the monks, Ajahn Sumedho asked permission from the
Elders in Thailand to initiate the ten-precept ordination
for women. He received their blessing to do so, and in 1983
the four of us who had joined the community in 1979 received
the ten-precept ordination in the presence of the bhikkhu
sangha and hundreds of people who came to witness this auspicious
event. We received a set of brown robes-the robe material
being offered by Thai lay supporters-and a beautiful ceramic
almsbowl. The latter came as a surprise, as we did not know
that we would use a proper almsbowl and were delighted at
the thought of going on almsround.
The ten-precept ordination was a major
step. It opened to women in the Thai Theravada tradition a
way of life and a training quite similar to the one followed
by the nuns during the Buddha's lifetime. This monastic form,
based on the ten precepts, made us totally dependent upon
the generosity and kindness of others. Through the years this
form has evolved in an organic way. There were no models,
no precedent to follow. The bhikkhuni order established by
the Buddha had died out in the Theravada tradition some fifteen
hundred years ago. Thus no lineage had remained for women
who wished to live and train following a way of life based
on alms-mendicancy, which in the Forest Tradition implies
the relinquishment of money and thus of independence on the
physical level. On Ajahn Sumedho's part, it was a true act
of faith to establish this training for women as many "reasonable"
questions could have prevented it from coming about: Would
this traditional form be suitable for Western women? Would
it be accepted by the society? Would women monastics in the
West be supported as monks have been for the last twenty-five
centuries?
For the first year after taking the ten
precepts, we followed the traditional Theravada training of
a samanera. However, unlike the expansive Vinaya for bhikkhunis,
the ten precepts did not deal with many areas of our life.
We realized that to live together as a group, we needed to
have a common understanding of the precepts, the use of requisites,
and many other practical aspects of our daily life. Therefore,
we gathered materials from various sources with the help and
guidance of a senior monk, Ajahn Sucitto. We selected rules
most appropriate to our life from the samanera training and
the bhikkhu and the bhikkhuni Vinayas and rewrote them in
modern language. In this way, we prepared a Vinaya book and
a recitation of the training rules, which we do fortnightly.
We also formulated the procedure for clearing the transgressions
of our precepts. In this way, we researched the nuns' monastic
life and found that the bhikkhuni Vinaya developed twenty-five
centuries ago deals with issues and behavior relevant to our
community. Using this discipline to train our body and our
speech has proved very effective in helping the mind to relinquish
its self-cherishing interests, delusion, greed, hatred, and
the idea that we are a permanent self. The discipline also
promotes harmony because we follow agreed-upon standards.
Instead of spending hours discussing the best way to do this
or that, we turn to the Vinaya for advice and benefit from
the wealth of experience and wisdom of this discipline.
By 1983, our cottage at Chithurst had
reached its full capacity, and several other women were waiting
to ordain. Plans were made to find a new place, and a year
later Amaravati Monastery was established in Hertforshire,
England. In 1984, the nuns moved to Amaravati. To celebrate
this auspicious event we decided to go there on foot, following
an ancient practice of Buddhist renunciants called tudong
in Thailand. This practice is usually undertaken by monks
to face new challenges and test themselves after their initial
period of training. In England, this has become a regular
feature of our life, and every year monks and nuns go on tudong.
We walk, carrying our bowl and a few belongings, around Britain,
Ireland, or other European countries. Sometimes we go in a
group of two or three, accompanied by an anagarika or a lay
friend, and other times we travel on our own without money.
We depend on whatever people offer us for our daily meal and
material necessities. It is a journey in faith, we never quite
know what the next day will bring and are instantly brought
into the present moment. Although it may be difficult at times,
many of us have found this experience to be rewarding and
joyful. In addition, most of the people we meet on the way
are friendly and are inspired to see monks and nuns still
living on faith.
Our tudong to Amaravati took three weeks.
Upon our arrival, we were welcomed by the sangha and the lay
community who had come to join in this happy occasion. Our
new dwelling place was located on top of a hill under a vast
open sky. It had originally been a school and was a large
complex of wooden buildings. Like Chithurst, it was in a very
attractive part of the country. Large enough to accommodate
many people, it offered an excellent situation for hearing
and practicing the Dhamma and for a wide spectrum of activities.
We now have a retreat center, a large library, summer camps
for families and children, regular meditation workshops, seminars,
and interfaith gatherings.
After receiving guidance and Vinaya training
from Ajahn Sucitto for a few years, we nuns became more experienced
and confident in using the ten precept form and took responsibility
for the running of our own community. This was an important
shift, for until then we had been emulating of the male community
and had adapted a hierarchical model. When we became more
autonomous, we learned to work together in tune with the needs
of female monastics. We had to assume many responsibilities,
a challenging process as none of us had much experience in
this way of life. For the last few years, the senior nuns
have overseen the training of the junior members and offered
them guidance and support in their Dhamma practice. We have
also managed the affairs of the community and shared the administrative
duties and responsibilities of the monastery. We regularly
receive invitations to teach and to lead retreats in England
and abroad. By 1986, seventeen nuns and novices lived in the
two nunneries of Chithurst and Amaravati. Recently, a third
place-the first experiment of a totally autonomous nunnery-has
been established in Devon.
It is still too early to anticipate how
our community of nuns will evolve in the future. We have learned
that this is always wonderfully uncertain. But the seed has
been planted and through the deepening of our trust in the
Dhamma, it will continue to be nurtured and will bring many
fruits for the benefit and happiness of all beings.
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