here, feeling slightly braver, I notice a line-up of several other young monks entering another of the minor temples and I follow them too. They file inside and then sit cross-legged in rows on the mosaic tiled floor facing an ornately decorated altar filled with flowers and fruit.
Behind the altar is an enormous golden statue of Lord Buddha himself sitting serenely in the lotus position and with a look of tranquillity on his very beautiful face. Between all the gold, the saffron-wrapped monks, the gently burning incense sticks, and the candles, the entire room and everyone in it appears to be glowing.
With a cue from a leading monk, all the young monks begin to sing.
I feel every hair on my body stand on end. It is all so incredibly beautiful.
Wanting to listen to more of their singing and to their prayers, I sit quietly on the floor at the back of the chapel, along with several other visitors. I’m not religious or spiritual in any way. I’m an ex-protestant turned profound atheist, and I’ve never really had time to think about faith or my lack of it before – but I am captivated with the passion of the hypnotic chanting. I’m sure, from the serene expressions of those around me, that everyone feels just as I do because there is just something about these amazing temples, these fascinating multi-faceted deities, and these monks who live surrounded by priceless jewels and tonnes of gold without owning anything of their own except the saffron robe that covers them.
I close my eyes to concentrate on the incantation.
My soul stirs and my heart soars as I listen.
Then my busy mind quietens and I feel my heart slow to a tranquil beat.
Any bitterness inside of me seems to melt away. I realise I’m meditating.
It is a truly wonderful feeling.
When all the monks stand to leave, I open my eyes and stand to leave too. I’m just on my way out of the door, when I happen to notice another statue set into a shrine in the wall. It catches my eye because it’s so joyfully colourful and because it has so many garland offerings around its neck and lit candles at its feet. It’s a happy smiling image of a chubby dancing elephant deity with four arms, and human hands and feet, joyfully holding up what looks like a conch shell, a bowl of grapes, and a lotus blossom.
In contrast to the scary lion of earlier, this one isn’t at all intimidating and, with his free hand, he’s holding up a decorated palm as if to say to those who might pass him by: ‘hey, stop and look at me and feel happy!’
So I buy a garland and a candle and I go back to the jolly elephant to offer him my gifts.
Kneeling on the floor in front of him, I close my eyes.
I’m not entirely sure how this works, so I try a silent prayer just like I might in a church.
Dear happy elephant, please help me to find happiness and purpose in my life.
When I open my eyes, I see a young monk has sat down next to me.
‘What do you see when you look at Lord Ganesh?’ he asks me in perfect English.
‘I see true happiness. It’s something I want for myself,’ I confess to him in a whisper.
The young monk smiles at me serenely. ‘Rest assured, if you are willing to open your heart, then Lord Ganesh will guide you. He will send a sign that will lead to your place of happiness.’
The young monk asks for my hand and so I give it to him.
And very carefully, without touching my skin, he ties a small piece of twisted white string around my wrist. ‘This is a sai sin bracelet of sacred thread. You must wear this until you find your place of happiness.’ Then he begins his songful blessing: Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum.
Embarrassingly, I’m moved to tears.
When he sees I’m weeping, he leans forward to speak in my ear in a voice no louder than a whisper. ‘There was once a lady who said to Lord Buddha, “I want happiness” and Lord Buddha told her that she must first remove “I” as that was her ego. Then, she must remove “want” because that was her greed. And then, she would be left with “happiness”.’
I ponder the meaning of his advice all the way back down the three hundred steps.
But at the bottom of the steps, my mind is suddenly filled with confusion.
Surely, in leaving everything behind me, I have already let go of my greed and my ego?
And what will be the sign? Will it be unmistakable, or will it be cryptic?
He also said ‘your place of happiness’.
Does that mean I’ll find my happiness in an actual place or simply in a mindset?
I return my rented skirt. I then notice another Thai lady sitting on the floor at the bottom of the steps with her jars of paste and pens and a small board with symbols on it. I see she’s offering henna tattoos for just a few baht. I immediately notice that one of the symbols is exactly the same as the one I’d seen decorating Lord Ganesh’s upheld palm.
It looks like an elaborate and swirly upside-down question mark.
‘What does this mean?’ I ask her, pointing to it.
‘It means to bring you much happiness,’ she replies.
‘Then I’ll take it,’ I tell her, sitting down and holding out my right palm.
Back at the homestay, several mornings later, after I had avidly explored practically every inch of Chiang Mai and visited dozens of stunningly beautiful temples all over town and received so many blessings that I had a whole collection of white string bracelets on my arm, I’m sitting at my breakfast table in the garden, enjoying tropical fruits and eggs and strong coffee and pondering where in Thailand I should travel to next.
As the tables around me are being taken up, I see there are lots of new people at the homestay today. Up until now, most of the other guests have been young couples or family groups and I’ve felt awkward and self-conscious about being on my own. I’ve honestly never had to have a breakfast at a hotel on my own before this trip. I’ve never been sightseeing on my own before. I’ve never flown on a plane or travelled alone and I’ve found it all rather disconcerting. I’ve thought that other people might be looking at me and judging me in some way for being alone. Silly, I know. But today, I realise, I’m not the only person here travelling solo. Some are younger, but not exclusively. There are one or two who are middle-aged like me. I also get the feeling that no one here feels even the slightest bit awkward for being alone.
In fact, everyone has an attractive aura of confidence and purpose about themselves.
I feel reassured. I don’t have to feel self-conscious or less worthy or invisible anymore.
Today, I feel it is okay to be alone. It is okay to be me.
Not the dull old me – homemaker and housewife – but the new enlightened backpacking me.
I’ve now started introducing myself to people I meet as Lori, not Lorraine.
Having
