Chitta
A former housemate and good friend of mine is a monk at Bodhivana Buddhist Monastery in Warburton in the Yarra Valley outside Melbourne. He has taken the name ‘Chitta’, meaning ‘mind’.
I need to visit him more often.
Chitta belongs to the following groups:
All Things Poetic, Artistic, PhilosophicalI walk behind him along a winding path through the forest. He is slow and deliberate; walking tall wrapped in his brown robes, his mind undoubtedly like calm water. I am distracted by beams and flickers of light in the trees, my shoes squeaking because of my orthotics, stopping constantly to frame every chance at a shot I see. We get to his small, Spartan wooden hut and enter. Inside there is very little – a mattress on the floor, some candles, pictures on the wall of decomposing skulls and an open anatomy book on a squat little table.
He sits on the mattress and I sit on a cushion that barely hides the hardness of the floor. I ask him about the pictures and the book and he tells me they are to remind him of the impermanence of the body. If anyone was born to be an ascetic, it is Jason. Towering thin but elegant, his shaved head houses big, dark brown eyes of thought, his aquiline nose curving to full down turned lips. We used to sit on the back step in the sun, observing the vegetable garden and majestic old gumtree in the back yard. He was always disciplined and minimal. I was always – and still am – ploughing though some mess, drama, disaster, change or other.
He listens mindfully as I pour out my latest stories. He floats the metaphor that sometimes people become so caught up in things that it’s as if they’re trapped in a burning room, and if anyone else enters they too are devoured by the flames. I imagine my friends and I trapped in a house made up of our rooms, wandering around and around, crossing paths and colliding randomly as we burn, desperately painful. I fight back tears that threaten to well up in my eyes and my mind starts to slow.
He gestures at my camera, sitting for a moment dormant on the floor as I struggle not to pick it up again out of respect for his space, which I feel I am already violating with my messy life. He tells me that it is a weapon. It can be a weapon for good, or a weapon for evil. I feel questions bubble and rise in me and the hairs on my neck bristle as I realise the responsibility that comes with capturing slices of life in any medium.
When we walk back down the hill to the monastery through the forest, I ask this time if I can take his portrait. He stops still and straight as the trees behind him and stares intently with his brown robes draped sculpturally. He asks that I not put the picture up on a website.
I’ve printed it for myself, and take it out sometimes to remind me about purpose.
Rhana Griffin
Extremely thought provoking writing Chris.
It is my experience that no circle of friends is complete without at least one who is adept at using a fire hose. But it is not just a case of point the hose and hope for the best. They must be able to control the pressure so as to be able to not only quench the fire, but wash away the charred exterior to reveal the pink freshness of new hope below.
animo
this story speaks volumes to me chris. life, purpose… distilled : )
Cathie Tranent
I too have a friend who exudes peace, tranquility and quiet purpose, and they are a balm to the soul.
As for not putting his picture on the internet, these words have painted him as eloquently as a photograph ever could.
Beautiful piece
Melinda Kerr
I remember you mentioning this bloke Chris. Sounds like a great contributor to your life. Which is one of the great things, great friends do.
I think this line is cool…’his space, which I feel I am already violating with my messy life. “
Jessica Tremp
there is nothing like a friend you can visit to take a deep breath and find some clarity with
cisco
This is great, I am printing this out Chris, there are artists out there, whose work has this left kind of impression on my life. It’s like having a corner of your life dimly yet beautifully lit up by what they can bring to the world. What a gift…
Andrew Bosman
Everyone needs a friend like yours Chris, someone to show us balance.
You are lucky you have one.
Suzanne German
Chris this IS terrific! The line about the floating metaphor * says it all!*
The solace and comfort in your friend’s wise and soothing words….and the peace and tranquility that you are left with reading this….lovely.
I guess – you have presented a portrait into Jason’s mind and soul that the camera may have omitted to capture – purely because it is much more than skin deep…..even with good photographic equipment…..
Yes I think you did present a protrait here Chris – and an excellent one at that!
well done!
transmute
Thanks to :
Rhana: everytime I speak with him my eyes open wider
Naomi: thank you for seeing the purpose
Cathie: I’m glad you can see him
Mel: you’ll have to come out there sometime with me
Jess: I admire his clarity
Paul: high praise from someone whose art does the same
Boz: I am lucky, and remiss for not visiting more
Suzanne: believe me, sometimes I wish i could share the photograph here, it’s my favourite portrait.
Damian
Great Chris, sounds like a wonderful friend to have. I enjoyed this, and his comments to you – quite a way to see the world!
Melissa Vowell
This made my eyes well with tears and my heart fill with hope.
transmute
Damian: he is definitely a unique and special person to know
Mel: I feel the same everytime I re-read this and recall the conversation
Lisa Jewell
I felt a deep sense of stillness and acceptance whilst reading this, Chris.
Such an extraordinary experience….you’ll reflect upon frequently, I’ve no doubt.
I feel you’ve shared a very precious gift….
Danny
i’m sorry i missed this
this is a fantastic refelective piece
almost the story from a sermon.