PART THREE: LOTUS FRIENDSHIPS

Chapter 38: Temple Forest Monastery, November 2013

Good morning beloved reader and Happy New Year!

Please find below the first chapter in Part Three of The Rising of the Divine Feminine and the Buddhist Monks Across the Road: A Memoir.

Part Three braids two narrative threads that embody the theme of Lotus Friendships — again using the metaphor of the Lotus flower to recognize we blossom because of, not in spite of our “muck.”

When we recognize we need our ‘muck’ from which to grow, the Lotus metaphor also reveals that we no longer need to demonize or condemn others, just as we no longer need to idolize nor put others on a pedestal.

When we understand that we all have both gifts and challenges, we can simply focus on bringing out the best in each other.

The two narrative threads I weave in Part Three are Lotus Friendships between:

1. Jamie and me and our Buddhist monk neighbors in Temple, New Hampshire: 2014-2020, and 

2. Meeting my soul partner Jamie in Sydney, Australia, 1989-1991

Enjoy!

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Chapter 38: Temple Forest Monastery, 2013

One November morning in 2013 at TreeTops, the last constellations of fire-colored leaves on the trees outside, one by one, floated to the ground. Jamie stood at the kitchen hutch in front of La Valentina — the brand name of a stainless steel commercial grade espresso machine we bought when I turned forty. It amused me to think of TreeTops and La Valentina as names that cheered me — as though they were friends. Since moving up here just three years prior, we didn’t yet have any long-term local friends.  We’d met some people in the area, but unfolding friendships take time. 

I sat on a stool next to our kitchen’s soapstone island countertop, while Jamie pulled the first shot of espresso. The smell of the crema teased me, before the scratchy, bubbly sound of the milk frothing assured me my latte was nearly ready. Jamie handed me mine, and we wandered into the living room with lattes in hand, ready to watch the morning news. Taking a seat on the couch, Jamie picked up the clicker. But before he turned on the TV he looked at me and said,

“What would you think about living and working in Boston? Then it’d only take one-and-a-half hours to drive here on weekends, rather than the four-plus hours from Manhattan.”

We originally thought we would move to TreeTops to take a year out after Jamie recovered from cancer. I called it “our year in the wilderness,” thinking it would be a one-year sabbatical. But we read the book Your Money or Your Life, experimented with frugal living, and that single year, grew into two, then three. Through emails, social media, and phone calls we kept in touch with friends and family spread throughout Sydney, Byron Bay, Perth, Cape Cod, California, Connecticut, and New York City. 

However, after three years of just the two of us in the wilderness — plus the lifeline of WiFi allowing connection with loved ones who lived far away — we both yearned for more day-to-day local friends and community. 

Perhaps we needed those first few years in solitude as a space for healing. On one level, Jamie’s cancer was a lion’s roar bringing in a new dawn. Perhaps a kind of wake-up call that gave birth to a time of mystical inquiry — a space for a deeper dive into exploring how we may want to live the remainder of our human lives as spiritual beings here in this material realm, living in harmony with Mother Earth. Jamie found a way to connect with the transcendent through his time in nature as he collected maple sap and boiled it down to syrup. I studied world religions for two years in a local interfaith seminary program, where I was grateful to meet like-minded people. But we both still yearned for more friends we could relate to as partners. We’d had ‘couple’ friends in New York City, but of course things changed when they had kids and we moved up here.

I replied to Jamie, “I guess I’d be open to trying out how it may be to live and work in Boston.” 

I’d spent time in Boston, but never truly resonated with the energy of the city. The diversity in New York City was what I loved. Diversity of people, culture, food, ways of thinking and being — the vibrant and alive energy of the place; all of that lit me up.

But Boston is closer.

Right at that moment, the phone rang. We looked at each other, curious about who it may be. Jamie picked up the cordless landline handset. He spoke for a few minutes then hung up.

“That was Bruce Kantner, and you’ll never guess what he told me.”

Bruce and Barbara Kantner, an energetic and vibrant couple I’d guess to be in their 70s, lived a ten-minute walk just up Derbyshire Lane, another dirt road not far from the entrance to our driveway at the bottom of the hill. Bruce was tall and thin with a crown of white hair, while Barbara was shorter, but also thin and had grey curls. At one point they told us that they had moved to the area many years ago for their now-adult daughters to be able to attend the local Waldorf school. Jamie looked at me with raised eyebrows. 

“They’re planning on selling their 250 acres of land to a group of Thai Forest Buddhist monks! And Bruce has invited us to a “meet the neighbors” event in a couple of days.”

I immediately thought of our first experience with Buddhism in April 2001 when, to celebrate the 10th anniversary of our elopement, we traveled through Nepal and Tibet on a tour organized by Shambala Publications. We even took some meditation classes in Kathmandu and Lhasa. I also thought of favorite books by Pema Chodron and Thich Nhat Hanh. 

What we didn’t know then, but would soon learn from our neighbors-to-be, is that there are actually three major schools of Buddhism: Vajrayana, the main tradition of Tibet in which Pema Chodron is ordained; Mahayana, predominant in Thich Nhat Hanh’s native Vietnam; and Theravada, dominant in Thailand, Burma (Myanmar), Sri Lanka, Laos and Cambodia.

We would soon be introduced to the teachings of the Theravadin Buddhist monk Ajahn Chah, one of the late, great luminaries in the Thai Forest Buddhist tradition, and we would learn how many people revere his teachings. 

But never in our wildest dreams could we have imagined that a Thai Forest Buddhist monastery would take root on 250 acres across the road. 

~

The evening of the “meet the neighbors” event, Jamie and I were running late, so instead of walking, we drove a tenth of a mile up the dirt road to the farmhouse built in the 1700s where the Kantners lived. Even though we’d met and spoken with Bruce and Barbara several times, this was the first time we’d visited their home. 

Parking was easy with ample space around the multiple buildings on their property. We found the front door of the main house and entered. 

Standing just inside were two middle-aged, Caucasian/white American monks, with shaved bald heads, bare feet, and wrapped in saffron robes. I offered my hand to one monk to shake in greeting. He smiled but told me that monks from his lineage were not permitted to shake hands. He didn’t say “with a woman,” but I would later learn they’re not allowed any physical contact with women, ever. They’re not even supposed to hug their mother. 

Feeling embarrassed with my extended hand rejected, I pulled it back. I then moved my hands to a prayer position and bowed my head. Jamie did the same. Other people were arriving behind us, so we kept moving in to the living room. The original features of the old farm house had been preserved: our socked feet walked across the antique-wood-floors while above us were low ceilings with rustic, dark-brown ceiling beams, set against white plaster. About fifteen folding chairs had been arranged in a circle. Jamie and I took a seat and relaxed back into the support of the chairs.

A few minutes later, the two monks sat across from us. After most of the seats were filled, Bruce sat in the remaining seat next to the monks. He cleared his throat and asked for quiet. 

“I would like to introduce Ajahn Jayanto as the would-be abbot of the prospective Temple Forest Monastery.” Ajahn Jayanto had a kind and gentle energy about him and looked to be about my age. I later learned I’m exactly five days older than he is — we were both 47 at the time. Bruce continued with the story of how he’d been searching for the right buyer for quite some time. He spoke of the synchronicity of how he first met the monks at the Insight Meditation Society in Barre, Massachusetts, where he learned they were looking to buy a property in the North East to establish a monastery.

Ajahn Jayanto addressed everyone in the circle, “For those who may not know, Ajahn is a prefix used by many monks, and roughly translates to teacher. I also have a friend who told me that Jayanto sounds like Giant Toe.” The mnemonic worked, and I never forgot his name. He spoke for a while longer then asked everyone to introduce themselves. 

Only a few of the sparse residents in the area knew each other. Introductions moved around the circle from a Quaker couple in their sixties who lived off the grid; to the owner of Touchstone Farm, a pony farm that offered summer camps and equine therapy to veterans and disabled kids; then to various other neighbors. Introductions going around the circle reached some Buddhist lay people (i.e. not monks or nuns) who were not local residents. 

We learned that Mark and Gricel lived in England near the Chithurst Monastery, which was the first Thai Forest Buddhist monastery established in England in 1979. Mark was a tall, thin, pale-skinned Englishman with bright, blue eyes and wavy blond hair. Gricel, from Peru, had dark hair, olive skin and deep, brown, compassionate eyes. When they stood up, I grinned. Gricel nearly fit under Mark’s armpit. The two of them had an appealing ease between them. They told everyone that the monks had invited them here as ambassadors to help the local community get more of a sense of a Buddhist community. Then it was my turn to introduce myself. 

“I’m Camilla Sanderson from across the road, and married to Jamie Jones,” I said turning to look at Jamie and then turned back to face everyone. Smiling I continued, “And I have to say that I love that it’s taken a group of Thai Forest Buddhist monks moving in, for us to meet all our neighbors!” Laughter bubbled up around the circle. Jamie then introduced himself too. 

Anastasia, an elegant, curly-gray-haired lady, with fine, translucent skin and a gentle air about her, introduced herself next. She was the president of the Jeta Grove Foundation, which she said was the non-profit organization created to receive and manage funds donated to the monastery. The monks were not permitted to handle money, so any funds had to go through this foundation. 

When the introductions were complete, Ajahn Jayanto spoke again.

“It’s wonderful to meet everyone here this evening. We’ve been looking for quite some time for suitable land to establish a monastery in North East America. 

“The main purpose of Thai forest monasteries, is to create a space for the practice of meditation, and for living the Buddhist monastic lifestyle. The monasteries also provide sanctuaries where people can come to join the monastic community for a period of time while practicing meditation and living in a simple way in harmony with nature. They also help to protect forests and the many forms of life they host.”

I later learned how monks in the Thai forest Buddhist tradition had ordained trees — which included a ceremonial draping of saffron colored robes around their trunks — as a way of helping people understand the sacred nature of trees. This symbolic act has supported the prevention of logging and deforestation.

“Since the monastic communities of Theravada Buddhism depend entirely upon the lay community for their material support — as they have for over 2,500 years since the time of the Buddha — the existence of a monastery depends upon the interest and generosity of people who find it to be of value.” My eyes widened in surprise before my brow furrowed as I wondered how dependent they may be on their neighbors. I later discovered I need not have worried. 

I would soon learn of the extensive Thai community in the surrounding area, all of whom deeply appreciate having a local Buddhist monastery and delight in offering support. I would also learn that the origin of this custom is because the Buddha’s intention was for monks to share their wisdom with the local community. When monks are dependent on a community for food, a natural exchange transpires through a symbiotic relationship.

Ajahn Jayanto continued, “We intend to have about a dozen or so resident monks here in Temple, in addition to a rotation of visiting monks from our various monasteries around the world.” I later learned there are more than three hundred Thai forest monasteries. Ajahn Jayanto paused before continuing. 

“I have to add that it makes me smile to have the opportunity to establish a monastery in a town called Temple.” 

Everyone in the circle smiled back at him. He then asked if anyone had any questions. 

I raised my hand and said, “I’m curious about where the women are, in your tradition?” 

“This actually brings up some sadness in me,” Ajahn Jayanto said. He explained that there had been some issues around ordaining women. 

Jamie and I would later learn that in England, women were ordained as nuns at their Amaravati Monastery, which was established in 1984, but it sounded like there may have been resistance from the Thai lineage to women being ordained at all. When Jamie did some research with Google, he learned that a Thai forest monk in Perth, Australia had ordained women without the proper permission or blessings from Thailand, and was then ‘excommunicated’ from their tradition. So it was only later that I learned of the controversy around the question I had asked in innocence.

Anastasia chimed in, “I would also like to speak to your question. I have to say that I’ve interacted with many of the Thai Forest monks and I’ve only ever had positive experiences. I’ve never experienced any sexism or misogyny.”

I thought to myself, Hmmm, it’s interesting to hear your experience, but this does not really address the underlying fact that women are excluded from leadership positions in this faith tradition. 

As this was the first time we were meeting our new neighbors, I kept my own counsel. Although later I discussed this with my own spiritual teacher, interfaith minister Rev. Dr. Stephanie Rutt, who noted that this is a common response in many religions that exclude women from spiritual leadership. That is, to have women themselves espouse happiness and fulfillment — as if to somehow minimize the effects of the lack of female leadership. 

After the Q&A finished, people moved into the kitchen to drink tea. Anastasia approached me and I enjoyed chatting with her. I asked about her background and learned she’d been an anthropology professor, was divorced, and had given up tenure so that she could work as a therapist in Boston. I guessed her to be in her mid-to-late sixties. I also learned that she had lived in Canberra, Australia and in a village in Papua New Guinea where one of her two daughters was born. I appreciated her diverse experience and her open mind. I had a sense that she embodied a strong sense of conscious awareness and presence. 

As we get to know more Buddhist lay people and monks, both Jamie and I continue to enjoy and appreciate their state of consciousness and presence of being. 

Not long after our ‘meet the neighbors’ evening, the monastery asked for letters showing community support, which Jamie and I both happily supplied to the local town planning council. Jamie attended a couple of town meetings where people listened to the monastery’s plans to purchase the land. Not long after that, the zoning board approved the sale. March 25, 2014 money and papers were exchanged between the Kantners and the monastery’s financial board, and the sale was complete. 

Click to read chapter 40 (the next chapter in this narrative thread)