I don't remember very well how I ended up there. It was in the 70’s, probably after reading Carlos Castañeda, someone mentioned it. It was a little yellow wooden gate in the middle of the block. You went down to the basement and in the entrance, close to an enormous drum, people removed their shoes and put on sandals. In a small room to the side, everybody sat quietly around a table. After a while, a bald Japanese monk beat the drum and that deep sound was the sign and everybody got up and went in single line to the Zen-do. The Zen-do was an enormous room with benches along the walls. The benches were covered with tatami and, at regular intervals, there were fat blue cushions. Everybody made a bow, sat down on the cushions facing the wall and assumed the lotus position. Silence was kept for almost you hour. When the drum sounded again, this time in a sequential rhythm that accelerated slowly, it was time to leave. There I met Daijú who invited me to visit The Hill. I went. Appropriately it was located in the state of Espírito Santo (Holy Ghost in Portuguese). It was a Zen-Buddhist monastery, the only one in Latin America, I was told, and it had a medieval atmosphere. There, you went to the Zen-Do several times a day, the rest of the time you worked: in the rice plantation, in the kitchen, sweeping the patio, repairing whatever needed repair. Very little was spoken. You slept only the necessary.
01/01/2008
The Yellow Gate and The Hill
I don't remember very well how I ended up there. It was in the 70’s, probably after reading Carlos Castañeda, someone mentioned it. It was a little yellow wooden gate in the middle of the block. You went down to the basement and in the entrance, close to an enormous drum, people removed their shoes and put on sandals. In a small room to the side, everybody sat quietly around a table. After a while, a bald Japanese monk beat the drum and that deep sound was the sign and everybody got up and went in single line to the Zen-do. The Zen-do was an enormous room with benches along the walls. The benches were covered with tatami and, at regular intervals, there were fat blue cushions. Everybody made a bow, sat down on the cushions facing the wall and assumed the lotus position. Silence was kept for almost you hour. When the drum sounded again, this time in a sequential rhythm that accelerated slowly, it was time to leave. There I met Daijú who invited me to visit The Hill. I went. Appropriately it was located in the state of Espírito Santo (Holy Ghost in Portuguese). It was a Zen-Buddhist monastery, the only one in Latin America, I was told, and it had a medieval atmosphere. There, you went to the Zen-Do several times a day, the rest of the time you worked: in the rice plantation, in the kitchen, sweeping the patio, repairing whatever needed repair. Very little was spoken. You slept only the necessary.
