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| Dharma Realm Buddhist Temple, just steps from our apartment, decorated for their highest holy days -- Chinese New Year. I meditated, chanted, and prayed there every other day. We went to eat to eat their outrageously cheap lunch every other day too. You can hear the neighboring mosque during prayer, while you meditate, representing the cross-section of religions in Malaysia - Buddhist, Hindu, and Muslim. The Buddhist temple is a rarity in downtown Kuala Lumpur -- every other old building has been plowed down and replaced with high rises. But, this beloved temple is largely populated by Chinese- Malaysians who adore it, packing it while on their lunch breaks from Petronas Towers nearby, and jamming it during Chinese New Year services. It is alive as early as 4am with monks housed behind it til 4pm when its gates close. I would go running by it at 7am, listening to 7am chanting services and inhaling the incense. After my run, I would sit, listen to the chanting in Mandarin, breathing to the beat of the rapidly pronounced chants. Then, I learned to pray like a Chinese-Malaysian Buddhist, which involves a lot of kneeling and waving your hands up and down while they are in prayer position. Like the locals, I would rotate to pray at each of my favorite statues. |
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| I took Becca by my temple in February, 2011, and we were surprised by the Chinese New Year services which I had never seen in action. I was so blown away by the majesty of the services and the huge numbers of congregants, who often pray overnite during Chinese New Year, that I started to cry a bit next to Becca. I felt such a strong pull to "my congregation" even though I stood out like a very white sore thumb. I made sure I came back the next day when the services were in full swing. The middle-aged female Chinese-Malaysian ushers immediately grabbed me, put me in a prayer spot, found the spot on the transliteration for me in the Mandarin song book, and I proceeded to sing Mandarin Chinese New Year Buddhist chants and songs along with them. Something about the singing was completely uplifting and spiritual for me, even in Mandarin. It was like there had been some dopamine pathway in my brain that had not been tread, but had been waiting all my life for me to walk it. My Dad loves singing in church, so maybe it's genetic. The ushers watched me fumble my way through the songbook and my prayers and soon assigned a knowledgeable, excellent teacher of a 60-year-old Chinese-Malaysian women to stand next to me. She would correct me, with a no-nonsense manner. When I dropped to the prayer kneeling position then dropped my head to the ground, she grabbed my butt and pushed it down saying, "Drop your bottom when you pray!" With no shame, she repeatedly pushed my butt down to the ground, when I'd forget proper Buddhist prostate position in front of Buddha this special Chinese New Year week. |
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| On my way to the temple, I would pass a homeless guy sleeping on the pedestrian overpass every day. |
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| My favorite Buddha to pray to -- The Laughing Buddha. I'd picture him in my head the rest of the day, when I needed to laugh at myself. |
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| Ok Tan is on the left, and he is a "civilian" non-monk volunteer who helps with the daily noon chant session. He is an avid, nearly-rabid dedicated member of the temple, volunteering all of his time largely to improving the building. |
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| Boom's near-daily lunch at the temple, usually with Ken. On the left, you can see his "pork." Every day, they would ask us if we want pork or fish. And, they really tasted like pork to us. We believed they were pork. On our last week in KL, my Chinese-Malaysian friend said "There is no meat or fish at the Buddhist Temple, it's all fake." I didn't believe her and said I'd consult with the nuns, thank you very much. I told the nun that my friend said the pork was not meat. And, she said, "Your friend was right! It is gluten." What a gluten it is. Ken was shocked, who'd eaten Abraham's leftovers for months, relishing his "pork." |
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| Vegetarian salad that Ken and I would get. We would feel SO good afterwards. Every 15 days there was Lunar calendar special food of Nasi Lemak with fake stewed meat and yummyness. |
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| Our favorite friend named Lee worked at this counter, serving us special soups and salads. We were regulars and she adored Boom. |
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| The cashier loved Boom too, and would bring candy for him on a regular basis. He's holding up one of her candies. |
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| Ken's favorite - Green Tea soup! |
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| Jack fruit - Ken and my favorite. I tried to get Jack fruit at local markets, peeled and ready like at the Buddhist temple but none compared to the tangy delicate state of this Jack fruit. |
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| My favorite lunch at the temple -- eggplant, some root vege, and faux fish, on the left. |
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| My favorite nun, on the right. Her singing and chanting always felt heartfelt and present. Some of the other, especially older male monks, often seemed like they were going through the motions when leading early morning chants. |
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| Yes, shocker! Boom eating a green vegetable. Only the temple could get him to do that. |
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| Boom and Ken's favorite activity every other day - eating at the temple. As the only white people eating there, we gained a lot of attention. And, after going there so regularly, all the workers knew us, with us becoming friends with a couple. During holidays, the workers would have special cookies and cakes for themselves to eat after the lunch rush, and they would always bring a plate with extra over for us. They ADORED Abraham. He was our umbilical cord to our local Chinese-Malaysian community here, where everyone usually only spoke Cantonese or Mandarin to each other and wouldn't have paid much attention to me and Ken without Boom around to charm them. Chinese-Malaysians are all-business, until a young adorable kid, especially with his blue eyes and curls, brings out their more tender, very loving side. |
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| I walked this path nearly daily between the temple and the outdoor, covered breakfast and lunch area. |
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| Side dining area, with a nun meeting with civilians, planning some temple activities. They also have their own bookstore and publishing company, since there are no publishers in Malaysia, which makes publishing through another country's publisher exorbitant, so they just started their own publishing company, giving away most of their books free. Most of their books are in Mandarin. |
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| One of my favorite statues to pray too - I think it is Kwan Yin deity who is the goddess of compassion. One of the temple elders showed me how to pray in front of her. You kneel and lay your head in front of her three times. Then you stand and in prayer position you send all the good merits you've accumulated from all your prayers and good Buddhist living to someone who you think needs it. I'd pray there three times then stand and send my prayers and merits to the refugee kids and leaders I worked with, along with my own kids, Ken, family, and friends back home we missed so. Now, back in Brooklyn, I pray and send my merits to the refugee kids and leaders I knew in KL, hoping some good Buddhist vibes will help them in my absence. |
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| Three Buddhas with their hands in different positions would sit in front of everyone as we prayed, chanted, and meditated in the great golden hall. |
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| These flying Buddhist angels were on the ceiling above me as I prayed. |
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| The front door of the temple, decorated with Chinese New Year envelopes that people give to each other on Chinese New Year, filled with lucky money as gifts. My elder temple friend Wong, gave me and Boom envelopes. |
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| Chinese New Year Services. Click HERE to hear the beautiful singing of my favorite singing nun, imported from another temple for special occasions. |
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| The nuns and monks stand in the first row during special services. Then the civilian temple elders stand in their brown robes behind them. Then the lowly plebians like me stand near the back. |
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| Boom with his special Chinese New Year envelope that my friend Wong gave him, filled with some Malaysian ringitts. |
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| The special Chinese New Year salad provided to us by the temple. Ritually, you each take a salad spoons and toss the salad up into the air, with great joy, to eat for your Chinese New Year dinner with family and friends. It works -- with each person tossing, you really feel the festive spirit bringing in blissful feelings in the New Year. |
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| OK Tan up close. OK and I had a relationship that went without words for months, until my last morning coming in for the free breakfast, after I'd run and prayed. During the previous months, he had given me a few disapproving glances of my jogging atire, worn inside the temple. Even though my temple friend Wong said it doesn't matter what you wear, and who cares? It turns out OK Tan and a few other conservative temple members did care. I'd been coming for months, sweating in my running clothes after each run. I couldn't go home and change so it was just more convenient to pray after the run. OK Tan had a woman temple member come up to me and explain to me that I needed to wear something longer than shorts or throw a towel over my legs. After a long explanation, in which I was surprised by how much blushing I did, I returned from then on with a long dishtowel, using it to cover my lap when we prayed at chanting services in the morning. No one complained afterwards, except for OK Tan whose first words to me after months of silence towards me was "It is not right to wear disrespectful clothes just because it is convenient to do so." He then sat and had breakfast with me, explaining in very broken English his Buddhist philosophy, verging on proselytising. He was passionate and became very friendly towards me after I let him rant for a while, somewhat illogically. I asked him his name, and like a typical Chinese-Malaysian, he gave me his English, rather than his Mandarin name -- "OK" and he would hold up his hand, like in the photo above, in an OK sign as he said his name. Later, he walked past me, holding up his hand in an OK sign, as I sadly left the temple for the last time. |
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| A very bittersweet moment for me - my last time seeing Wong and sitting with him at the temple over their free breakfast. I thought of him as my Buddhist yoda - hunched over, wrinkled, semi-toothless, and filled with wit. Wong was warm and friendly to me from the start. He would always ask me early in the morning: "Have you taken your breakfast?" -- a lovely cultural Malaysian tic where everyone shows great concern about food and your food intake. He then proceeded to look at the broken blood vessels on my face, saying "You haven't been to breakfast yet? They have free red bean soup that's delicious. It will get rid of the broken blood vessels on your nose. Cheaper than going to a doctor to have them removed. And, you can still continue drinking Chinese beer!" For our next months together, I would see him every other day, and he was always incisively penetrating in his honesty with me, incredibly attuned to me. I was repeatedly surprised and touched. Once, as I sat exhausted from lack of sleep due to my most stressful period of work and after a very sweaty long run, on the steps of the temple, Wong sized me up quickly and said "You are driving yourself too hard. Working too much. Run less! You need to relax more." No one else said anything of the sort to me there, and I appreciated his honest directness and care, so much in that vulnerable moment for me. I know I probably won't see him before he dies, so that made me especially sad, even though I did my best to console myself, Buddhist-style, that everyone dies. As I left, I saw him backing his car out of the tight, small temple front parking lot, causing the same havoc among pedestrians and drivers that he'd wreaked the entire year I'd come to the temple, leaving me cracking up in giggles on my way out. |
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| Me and OK Tan, who I did my best to charm, despite his having disapproved of my less than respectful temple wear all year, not speaking to me the entire time. |
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| Lee, who ADORED Abraham, with deep dedication. She would feed him his favorite foods at the temple every other day for lunch, speaking to him intently each time, saving his favorite faux egg roll for him, if we were running late, when they ran out of egg rolls. She often bought him a cookie for lunch. On our last morning at the temple for breakfast, we came to say goodbye to her, and she gave him his last, most favorite, cookies as a goodbye gift. She didn't want to let go of him. |
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| Me and Wong, who I adored. |
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| Leek-infused rice for breakfast. |
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| The notorious red bean soup that Wong claimed would get rid of my broken blood vessels on my face. I need to tell him it didn't work. |
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| Breakfast. |
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| You wash your own dishes at the free breakfast at the temple, starting with scrubbing in the soapy bowl, then washing in each subsequent bowls. |
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| The plates and bowls, after we clean them. |
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| Coconut, cut fresh daily for FRESH COCONUT MILK AND MEAT drink that I had each time at the temple lunch. I loved the taste, like I'd never had anything that fresh and amazing to drink before. I miss it almost as much as I miss Wong, the services, and our lunches at the Buddhist temple. |
