$30 Enlightenment

Going to one of the holiest places in Burma after 40 hours of travel turned out to be pretty discombobulating. Shwedagon Pagoda is a feast for the senses, a buzzing spiritual carnival of sorts. Looming gold cones, finely detailed archways, and ancient, gnarled trees lend an air of enchantment. Innumerable Buddha statues flash with Las Vegas-style light-up halos. Spaces seem so open, the outdoor air mingling unabashedly with indoor air, walls serving to hold the roof more than to create a boundary. The tiled ground beneath my feet is cool, then warm. Children run past me, exuberant on a sacred full moon night. People chant, meditate, and splash water over themselves and the Buddha statues.

I find myself suddenly alone in the center of this dizzying scene, equally aware of my fatigue and my desire to really take in the experience. I already feel shaken because earlier I'd been asked to make a $20 "donation." "Five, right?" I'd asked, thinking it was the entrance fee. I later had to pay the actual $5 entrance fee. The twenty really was just a donation, going right into the pocket of the military dictatorship. The government spends millions of dollars re-covering the surfaces of the Pagoda with delicate gold leaf every few years, only to have the precious metal sheets wear away again and again. [The Military dictatirship's crimes are much much more malevolent than simple extravagance. As i've learned in the years since traveling to Burma, the military is involved in genocyde of the Rohingya people of Burma. They are committing heinous war crimes and have imprisoned the elected leader Aung San Su Kyi. i wasn't nearly conscious enough of this reality during my travels in Burma.] A streak of resentment shoots through me. "I need to be more careful," I think. "I need to watch out for people who are trying to take advantage of me." Watching this armored reaction of my mind, this cultured mistrust- or is it appropriate cautiousness?- I wander slowly through the grounds.

A monk approaches me and asks where I'm from. Small talk progresses and "Guru" walks me through the site, providing semi-comprehensible information about this tradition and that statue. I feel special: He chose to show me around! I feel wary: I do not like being in dark places with strange men. Feeling the need for a good, grounding sit, I suggest we stop to meditate. Guru shows me to a meditation "cave"- a tiny, linoleum-tiled room with a flashing Buddha at the back. I sit a bit awkwardly on the hard floor. I close my eyes, take a breath and feel the rush of my monkey-mind: "Do I get enlightenment points for meditating with a monk?- Wow those lights flashing behind my eyelids are tripping me out- How long has it been?- This is torture, I need to sleep." Deep breath, deep breath. My legs fall asleep. I meditate on suffering. On exhaustion. Something runs across my leg. "Don't open your eyes. Observing reaction, observing curiosity, breathing, breathing." I open my eyes. It's a cockroach, presumably also in a state of suffering. I close my eyes for an unbearably long stretch of time. I know it's been more than twenty minutes. I make some noise. Guru opens his eyes as I try to stand without falling over. "Donation?" he says. I hand over a five, too jet-lagged to really protest.

I'm so far from home, sleep deprived, out 30 bucks. I want to cry. Peter, a friend from the group, reminds me to "stay with it" and then let it go. You can only manage your own karma, not other people's, he reminds me. Ok, so what if I've been taken advantage of, I think. That's their problem to deal with more than mine.

Back in the hotel, I reflect on my first night in Burma. I have a lot to learn about generosity, about stinginess and what I feel is "mine." And about being a savvy traveler. This is an opportunity.