Every time the sunset approached and the cold air poured in, my chronic coughing began again. I coughed frantically as if my intestines, liver, lungs, and all internal organs were about to spill out. Throughout the night, I tossed and turned with persistent coughs inside the cold and damp “nest.” Outside, the earth and sky were white from the dense fog. Looking at the clock, I suddenly realized it was already 2 am, nearing the time to leave. I gathered my belongings and prepared to hit the road.
 
Before leaving the temple, the foot-traveling Sangha circumambulated the temple ten times, chanted protection suttas, and shared blessings to express our gratitude for the overnight housing. The monks at the temple prepared hot ginger lemon tea for us before we departed and handed each of us a cup as we walked out of the temple gate. After drinking, we broke the cups on the ground, reminiscent of the Liangshan Heroes. Are you thinking that the Sangha is not only well off but also disrespectful by damaging the temple’s property?
 
The comparison is entirely metaphorical. I used to think that and felt wasteful about breaking the cup! Despite the scarcity of material possessions in this area, the cups used for drinking milk tea are made of clay and meant to be used once before being discarded. Whether we break it or leave it, it will end up in the trash. After finishing our tea, we walked along the road toward the Nepal border. We still had quite a distance to cover. It got colder when daylight came. The cars moving at this time all had turned on yellow flashing lights and were going at a reduced speed because of the dense fog.
 
As we crossed a long bridge, the sound of rushing water filled our ears as though a waterfall lay just beyond our sight. The foot-traveling Sangha slowed their steps, momentarily distracted. A thought crossed my mind: if the bridge was damaged, we might fall into the water and bid farewell to our walking journey. It was no joke, ladies and gentlemen. Earlier, we had passed a broken bridge with large chunks of concrete missing, creating holes that one could easily fall through.
 
As we approached a residential area, the sight of houses brought a welcome feeling of warmth despite the milky white sky. Suddenly the sounds of dogs barking filled the air. Sổ and Āloka rushed across the street to confront them. Then, a car approached at high speed, its soft lights obscured by the thick fog. Boom! Yelps followed the sound of a crash and then silence. The car continued and disappeared in the fog, leaving the Sangha in shock. The calls of the monks echoed in the gloomy space: “Sổ… Āloka… Sổ!” It appeared that Sổ and Āloka had just been hit.
 
 

#chuahuongdao #chuahuongdaotemple #sbsstupas
#buddha #buddhism #Dhutanga #dhammajourney
 
Source: Dhammacetiya