Sak Yan Temple Tattoos/Buddhist Magick

THE LIFE AND TEACHING OF CHAO KHUN MONGKOL
THEPMUNI AND THE DHAMMAKAYA

CHAPTER I

It is not uncommon for a great spiritual personality to be born in poverty in remote villages out in the country and to emerge from it gradually into the wider scope of the world at large. In any case, whether such circumstances and nearness to nature deflects such minds to the investigation of life and its meaning, is of no ultimate significance, for a great personality is something more than just the circumstantial background from which he springs, and natural conditions may leave their impression the character or they may not, as the case may be.

0n Friday 10th of October 1885, in the village of Songpinong, Supanburi province, Sodh Mikaynoi, as he was named, was just another bundle of helpless humanity issuing into the world. Nevertheless, the intelligence and strength of character of this helpless bundle manifested itself even at an early age. One day when he was a year old, Sodh started to cry for some cakes, asking for his mother. The relative, in whose charge he was, tried to comfort him by saying that his mother had gone to work in the fields. At this he suddenly stopped crying. His mother (thought he) had to go to work in the fields. This meant only one thing. That he had been born in a family which was poor. From that day forth he never cried for cakes again.

If Sodh had set his mind to achieve anything he would get down to it and not leave off until it had been accomplished. In his chore of helping his parents on the farm, it so happened that the baffaloes often strayed off to mingle with the buffaloes of the neighbouring folk. Little as he was, he would make off and not return until he had tracked them down, which often enough took him into the dark before he ended the quest, leading them back through the night.

His compassion for animals was great. Another of his chores was to help his folk plough the fields each morn. As it neared eleven o'clock, he would gaze up into the sky to note what time it was. His sister often took him to task for this, accusing him of only waiting for the moment to take time off. However, the old folk knew that this was not in his mind, but rather the old proverb that eleven kills the buffaloes', which was for him a grievous crime. He worked according to schedule, and no matter what anyone might say, stuck to his belief, of not working the animals after eleven. If he saw that they had been overworked and were terribly tired, he would lead them off for a bath before he let them loose to graze at freedom in the fields.

In this fashion he helped the old folk until the age of nine. His uncle having become a bhikkhu, his mother sent him to study under him at the village temple of Wat Songpinong. In those days, when bhikkhus were the only teachers and there were no public schools, it was customary for a bhikkhu not to take residence in one place for long. Thus, after only a few months his uncle moved to another temple, and he followed. The bhikkhu next moved to a temple in Thonburi, across the river from Bangkok. As this was quite a distance from his native village, the young boy did not follow him, but was dispatched to study at Wat Bangpla in Nakorn Pathom instead.

He was at that time eleven years of age. He remained there for two years, and increased his knowledge of Thai and Khmer. After which he returned to Songpinong. Then, when he turned fourteen, his father died. The responsibility of administering the family business of farming fell on his young shoulders.

The family possessed two river boats manned by a few laborers, whose task was to float the rice-produce down to Bangkok two or three times a month. Young Sodh displayed efficiency in the handling of his charge, and was loved and respected by his employees as a person of strong character and great energy. Once, when the boat was anchored at Bangkok, an employee of his brother-in-law stole a thousand baht. He went to the police and together they pursued the thief by boat all night until dawn. Sodh spied the thief at one of the windows of his house and the officer was informed. However, before the boat could come to shore the thief had hid himself. Noticing that the man left traces with his wet footsteps, he told the police to wait in front while he himself tracked him down. He found the man hiding in the haystacks, who as soon as he saw Sodh coming dived into them. But the police having been informed, he was pulled out and handcuffed. They then retrieved the cash.

Young Sodh supported his family up to the age of nineteen in this way, without misgiving, until a certain incident occurred. As he was returning to Songpinong with an empty boat, after a successful trip to Bangkok, he came to a spot where the river was in full spate. No headway could be made, and to evade its onrush the boat was forced to turn aside into a side canal. This canal was a small one and short, but it had the reputation of being infested with bandits. Those vessels which could pass through this canal without being attacked considered themselves blessed.

As it happened, Sodh's boat was the only one in sight. Thus, as he turned into this canal, the first intimations of fear began to take possession of him, and as a consequence considered the possibility of making himself scarce. And how? By changing positions with one of his employees, and letting the man steer whilst he went forward. For it was the usual procedure for these bandits to attack the steersman first, it being taken for granted that the steersman was almost always the owner of the boat. If he went forward to the prow he had the opportunity to defend himself and make his escape.

As soon as this idea took possession of him, he loaded his gun with eight bullets and went forward, ordering his employee to steer. During this exchange the boat was floating down into the most secluded part of the canal. It was only then that he began to be plagued with doubt about his project. After all, this man whom he engaged earned only twelve to thirteen baht, whereas he was not only the owner of the boat but the cash as well. Was it fitting, therefore, that he throws the risk of death upon him? It was indeed a bit too much!

These thoughts brought great disgust, even as compassion took its place, for it was only fitting that if anyone was to be slain it was he who should bear the brunt, letting the man escape if he could, for he still had a wife and child to maintain. With this decision, he ordered the man to return, whilst he retired to his former position at the stern, gun in hand.

By that time, however, the boat had drifted on and was approaching the mouth of the canal, where many cargo vessels were anchored, preparatory to crossing down the canal as soon as the waters rose. The vessels were congested that each one could make little headway, and the merchantmen were shouting among themselves. The danger of being attacked, therefore, had passed.

Sodh realized that the moment of crisis had been crossed, and was indeed a boon. This business of earning a living, brooded he, was a heavy load indeed. Bathed in sweat just like his father before him. His father had grown ill on such a trip like this, and as soon as disembarked grew worse, and finally died, and no efforts of his could save him from that. And he took nothing with him, his body just died. Not one of them had died with him, he had died alone. That too would be his fate, there was no escape from that. Always looking for money, no time to rest. If one did not hurry up and earn, one was considered a low fellow, without respect in the community. Whenever one associated with others one was ashamed of one's poverty. It was so from of old. His forefathers had lived like this, countless of them, down to his father and himself. And where had all of them gone to now? Dead, even as his father. And what of himself? Also, the same thing would happen without anything to show for it.

Brooding in this way after the strain of his escape, made him grow cold. Until he got so depressed that he lay down in the back and made believe that he was dead. That his ghost was wandering about seeking for his dead forbears and those friends he had loved. But they couldn't see him. And why? Because he was a ghost. So he threw clods of earth and sticks at them. But they thought that a ghost from the forest had come. And why? Because they couldn't see him. Drifting on seeking this one and that, but no one could see and take notice...

He forgot himself dreaming in this style. As Soon as he got to his senses, he hurriedly lit incense-sticks. And made a vow: Let me not die. Let me become a monk. Once a monk let me not disrobe. Let me be a monk all my life...

These thoughts were found written amongst his papers.

The responsibility of supporting his family, however, rested on his young shoulders. It was not until three years later, when he was twenty-two, therefore, that he had the opportunity of entering monastery.

In May of that year, after having loaded the boats with the rice harvest bound for Bangkok, he appointed one of the employees to take charge, while he himself made his way to Songpinong temple to prepare himself for ordination.

The second day after his ordination, he got down to the task of studying the Pali scriptures. He memorized the mantras and the Patimokkha. However, while memorizing the scriptures he came to 'avijja paccaya', and wanted to know exactly what this meant. But he could get no explanation from his fellow bhikkhus. Even his teacher could not explain, saying instead:

"Good man, they never translate these things, you know, they just recite them. If you wish to know what it is you must go to Bangkok..."

It was thus that he decided to head for Bangkok.

After only seven months in Songpinong temple, therefore, he went to his mother to request for permission to proceed to the capital. She was far from anxious to do so, but he persuaded her in the end, although she agreed with only half a heart. He asked for requisites for the trip, and resolved never to do so again.

He left Songpinong village and made straight for the temple of Wat Bodhi in Bangkok. Taking residence there, he was eager to learn all there was to know. Astrology, occult lore, even alchemy were in fashion, and he experimented with them all, since there was nothing to lose. He did not depreciate others' knowledge as not genuine, on the contrary recognized that there was some truth in it. But he was dissatisfied. Finally, he abandoned them, giving away his books on the subjects, and devoted himself to Vipassana.

He had brought along a younger brother of his from Songpinong to study and practice. But in his fourth year as a bhikkhu, Candassaro as he was then called, fell ill and was removed to another temple to be attended to, his brother going with him.

He had a vision. A man appeared and offered him a bowl of sand. He took a pinch. When his brother was offered some, the boy took two handfuls. A few days after this vision the boy grew seriously ill. He himself suffered an attack. However, as soon as his illness died down, he took his brother hurriedly back to Songpinong for a cure. But the boy of eighteen did not recover, and died.

After the cremation, he returned to Wat Bodhi.

During his stay here many obstacles had to be overcome. On his early morning rounds for alms, as is a bhikkhus custom, he received insufficient food, sometimes not at all. Once he received only an orange.

The first day of his stay there he received nothing at all. The second day it was the same. Wherewith the thought perplexed him whether one who keep the 227 rules of morality is to perish for lack of something substantial to eat. If so, then perish he would. Because if he failed to receive any rice at all he refused to eat. Better to starve, for if he died all the bhikkhus in the city would have enough to eat. And why? Because the layfolk hearing of the news that a bhikkhu had perished of starvation, would soon feel heartily ashamed of themselves, and out of compassion feed them all.

On the third day at dawn he went out again. After walking for a long time he received only a ladleful of rice and one banana. It was rather late when he returned to his cell, weary after his walk and the empty stomach of two days grace. Without much delay, therefore, he set down to dispose of the meal, discriminating on the food as nourishment for the preservation of life. With his hand on the bowl, he disposed of a mouthful.

Hardly had he done so, however, when he happened to glance up, and saw a dog dragging its steps in the courtyard. Compassion getting the better of hunger, he mashed up the remaining portion of rice into a ball and gave it to the dog, together with half the banana.

Before parting with the food, however, he made an earnest wish. That starvation such as this never cross his path again. Only then did he part with the meal. Although the dog was emaciated and had probably never eaten anything for days, it ate only the rice and left the banana untouched.

Somewhat dismayed at this, he thought of retrieving the banana, but recalled that a bhikkhu does not take back something which he had already given away; it was not fitting therefore to do so. Unless, of course, someone was to re-offer it, with both hands, as is the rule. But at that time and place no such personage presented himself to oblige.

From that day forth, however, he receive sufficient food. Enough even to share with his fellow bhikkhus. Besides this, some layfolk offered to provide him with a tiffin-set of food every day from that day forth.

Nevertheless, as a result of this lesson, Candassaro vowed that as soon as it was in his means to do so, he would establish a kitchen whereby food could be distributed to the monks and novices, without encountering such stringency, saying them all a waste of time going the round for alms when they could devote themselves to study instead.

This was fulfilled much later, after he became Abbot of Wat Paknam, where he established a kitchen and refectory at a cost of 360,000 baht, feeding monks, novices, upasakas, and upasikas of about 900 strong. The upasikas were detailed to run the kitchen. In the beginning, rice had to be shipped from the family farm in Songpinong. Later, however, help came from layfolk and continues down to this day.

In this respect, he was the first bhikkhu of this sort to achieve such a project, fulfilling his old vow. There is this anecdote to throw into focus his ability as a provider of food.

Once, the rice supply in the store had reached its dregs, and there seemed no prospect of a fresh supply for the meal next day. The bhikkhu-in-charge of the store was at his wits end, and went to inform the Abbot. He was told not to worry and to be calm, there would be rice. The bhikkhu, however, had his doubts and returned to his cell to brood on the problem.

That evening, boats filled to the brim with rice came to anchor right in front to the Wat, and sackfuls of rice were unloaded and carried to the store, filling it up, to the amazement of those in charge.

But this was years later. At Wat Bodhi he continued his studies, and did translations of the scriptures. But he did not finish his course. He failed in his examination, and did not continue. He later recalled, that if he had passed it and attained to a high degree of scholarship, the Sangha authorities would have recruited him to work along those lines, to the loss of Vipassana. As it was, whenever he could find time off from the Pali courses, he was practicing Vipassana at this centre or that.

At one of these centres (the fifth he visited), he managed to perceive a bright and lucent sphere, the size of the yoke of an egg, perceived right in the centre of the diaphragm. Which showed that his teacher's method bore results. His teacher testified to his attainment and elected him to teach.

But he was dissatisfied. If he himself knew only this, was he in the position to teach? He, therefore, taught no one. He also abandoned his Pali course.

Considering that it was about time that he become a wandering bhikkhu, he requested his aunt for a forest umbrella under which to sleep, and refused to take one from any one else, wishing her to receive the merit arising from the gift, due to her past services rendered him.

He left for the provinces, returned after a short period, and gave away the umbrella to another bhikkhu. Later, he made a second trip, and got another umbrella from the same aunt. He walked as far as his native village and took up residence in the ruins of an abandoned temple there. As he was there he saw village boys letting buffaloes stray into the temple precincts, and warned them to refrain, because of the sacrilege incurred in stamping over sacred ground. They, however, refused to heed. He therefore told them to dig up the place, and they discovered numerous Buddha images. Which brought him into great respect.

He, however, returned to Wat Bodhi.

By now he had been in the monkshood for eleven years. He had stopped his Pali course because he had already attained proficiency in the translation of the scriptures, and was satisfied. As for Pali, there was no end to the translation of it. It was enough that he could read and understand. He had fulfilled his wish which he made in the beginning of his studies at Songpinong temple, to be able to translate the Mahasatipatthana Sutta, which he had been unable to do. Now that he had achieved his aim, it was best to devote all his time to Vipassana.

Looking around him, he considered Wat Bodhi with its wide terraces a fit place for meditation. However, recalling the good services of the Abbot of Wat Bangkuvieng, who had provided him with many scriptures, he thought it only fitting that he take residence in that temple for a while, and discourse to the bhikkhus and layfolk there as part of repaying his debt.

It was thus that he went there to reside.

After the season of rains, he recalled that his real purpose in becoming a bhikkhu was to seek the truth, and to remain a bhikkhu till the end of his days. Now twelve years had elapsed, and that truth, that reality, which Buddha knew, which Buddha beheld, he had failed to attain, neither knew nor saw. It was time indeed to devote himself to meditation once and for all. If he perished in the process, then he perished. At least it was better than dying whilst he had been a layman.

It was thus that on the full moon day of September of that year, he retired to the Uposatha with the purpose of meditation. It was already evening and there was no one around. Before commencing, however, he invoked for aid and light. If not complete insight, at least a little portion of the truth which Buddha had beheld, had known. However, if adversity for the Sasana should result from this, then let this opportunity pass from him. But if it should be beneficial, then let this boon be his, for he would be a witness to it for the rest of his days.

It was only then that he prepared himself to meditate in the regular posture, determined that if once he sat down thus and failed to attain to vision, he would not rise.

At that moment, however, he recalled the ants which were crawling back and forth in the crevices of the stone slabs. Picking up a kerosene bottle, therefore, he wet his finger with it to draw a circle round him and thus prevent the ants from disturbing his meditation. As his finger touched the slabs, he recalled that only a moment ago he had made certain vows and here he was already thinking of the ants. The thought of which made him ashamed, wherewith the bottle was put away.

Once having settled himself down to meditate, he forgot the time, and many hours must have passed, although there was no clock to tell. But although all was still and dark in this lonely place the hours had not passed in vain. For it was during this session that he perceived the truth, the reality, the path his Master before him had trodden.

Nevertheless, this realization was not without disturbing thoughts. For the dhamma was indeed profound. If one wished to penetrate it, one had to sink all perception, memory, thought, and knowledge right down into the diaphragm and stop at just this point. But as soon as stopped, it died. As soon as died, again arose. That was the truth. The truth was centred right at this point. If concentration did not sink exactly to centre here, right into the void of the sphere which appeared, then for certain nothing could be seen, nothing at all.

It was only for a time that these thoughts disturbed him. Apprehensive that what already had been gained would vanish by thinking on it thus, he applied himself again.

After a certain interval, a temple came into his vision. He remembered it at once as Wat Bangpla, the temple in which he had studied long ago when a boy of eleven. At that moment he felt himself already inside that temple. Which made him realize that perhaps in this temple there might be someone ripe for this path.

From that night forth, he delved deeper into this technique of concentration. The deeper he delved, the more profound it became. Thus he continued for more than a month. Until the season of rains had passed.

After receiving the Kathin gifts of robes and requisites, as is the custom, he took his farewell of the Abbot, and proceeded to Wat Bangpla, the temple he had seen in his vision, with the purpose of instructing any bhikkhu anxious to learn.

After four months there, three bhikkhus attained to a degree of insight, together with four layfolk. He then took one of the bhikkhus with him to Wat Songpinong.

At Wat Songpinong one bhikkhu attained to a degree of insight.

After the season of rains, in his thirteenth year as a bhikkhu, he proceeded to Wat Pratusarn, the Abbot of which had ordained him. But his old master was dead. He stayed there for four months and during that time many were the layfolk who came, requesting him to discourse on the dhamma. He did so once, to the great satisfaction of all. Again he was invited to deliver a sermon. But he knew that if he did so the present Abbot would be displeased. So before delivering it, he packed his things ready for departure, delivered the sermon, and then went to the Abbot to take his farewell. He then departed immediately, to avoid unwholesome repercussions, making his excuses that he had already arranged to take some bhikkhus to the capital.

He returned to Songpinong and took four bhikkhus with him to Bangkok to study Pali at Wat Bodhi.

Wat Paknam, of which the Chao Khun later became Abbot, was erected during the period when Ayudhya was capital of Thailand, some five centuries earlier. Forty years ago, when the Chao Khun first arrived there, it was deteriorating in neglect. Discipline among the resident monks and novices was lax, after the decease of its Abbot, and also because of lack of student facilities. Due to this state of things, the Chao Khun was detailed to go there and take over. Thinking at first that he would reside there for only three months and then return, he, however, was ordered to hold fast and warned that unless the earth quaked he had better not return. Which was tantamount to a sentence.

As soon as he took over, he saw to it that the resident monks and novices did not remain idle, but that they either study the scriptures or meditate. By his stern measures he thereafter became unpopular, not only among the bhikkhus, who came from families in the district, but also among the layfolk, who began to spread unwholesome gossip. The layfolk who respected him were in the minority.

The situation deteriorated to such a point that drunks got intoxicated in the temple precincts and misbehaved, even going so far as to think of plunder and murder, as the bhikkhus were meeting in conclave.

Then one night eight men came along with the intention of disposing of the Chao Khun altogether, even as he was in the meditation room. One of the bhikkhus on watch went out in defence. Hearing of the disturbance, the Abbot went out to prevent him, saying:

"We bhikkhus must never fight, nor run. This is the only way to win at all times."

The ruffians seeing that things were not so good, bashed off into the dark.

These obstacles did not dismay the Abbot, because he considered them to be occasions for the augmenting of merit and parami. Despite the obstacles the teaching spread. And as he divided his time to administering to the affairs of the temple, he continued to delve deeper into Vipassana.

The news of his activities spread to the ears of Somdech Vanarat (the late) who had once been his teacher. One day the Somdech called him to task, saying:

"Don't be crazy, old fellow! Don't you know that nowadays there are no more Arahattas in the world? Better come along and help us to administer the Sangha!"

That his old teacher wished him well he knew. But this dhamma was profound, and if one did not perceive its profundity it was only natural to be without faith. Thus he listened in respect. And continued his Vipassana.

This brought him into great disfavor with the Somdech. When the old man fell ill, however, the Chao Khun dispatched some of his disciples to cure him by meditation techniques. It was only then that the Somdech thought it worthwhile enough to read the Chao Khun's sermons on the 'Dhammakaya' meditation, which had been compiled and published by layfolk. In his study of this meditation he was assisted with advice from the Chao Khun himself.

As a result, the Somdech began to believe and in fact became rather keen. So much so that he sent for the authority in charge, and ordered him to prepare the necessary papers for electing the Chao Khun as an ordainer of bhikkhus. To which the authority replied: 'Sadhu! signifying his good wish.'

Regarding his healing powers, the Chao Khun was always being implored to heal layfolk, who did not have to do anything, not even come in person, but just post a letter stating name, time, date of birth, and the illness, and that was enough. There would be long distance healing by mind. No trouble and no fuss.

When he first came to Wat Paknam, there were only 13 bhikkhus and novices, together with a few nuns. Keen, however, that all should do something, whether it be the study of Pali or Vipassana, the temple was soon established as a seat of learning. Until in 1939 a three storied edifice, 60 metres long and 11 metres in width, costing about 2.5 million baht, was built up as a Pali Institute. Which up to this day about a thousand bhikkhus and samaneras frequent, not only the resident monks and novices but from other temples.

In 1955 the Chao Khun was bestowed the title and ecclesiastical rank of Phra Mongkol Rajmuni, which was later followed by Chao Khun Phra Mongkol Thepmuni.

As the teaching spread, bhikkhus and nuns carried the message out into the provinces. Among the hundred thousands who at sometime or other practiced the method, a few thousands attained the Dhammakaya's degree of insight.

Parallel to this activity, open to the public at large, the Chao Khun supervised day and night relay meditation teams comprised of bhikkhus devoted to Vipassana research. Another term of nuns, walled off in a separate recess did their own meditation, also in relays, twenty fours, day in and day out. The Chao Khun once in a discourse exhorted the bhikkhus thus:

"You bhikkhus, try hard to attain the Dhammakaya in the first place. Then I will teach you for another twenty years, and still there will no end to that which can be learned."