This is for you, Neighbor
I want to take a moment to be personal here, and in being personal, to touch upon some themes that may resonate for others. To do this, I want to begin by tracing my own inner journey this month.
When the coup first broke, I broke along with it. I was fearful and anxious, leading to a kind of paralysis and numbness. I didn’t sleep or eat much, and sometimes I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing or who I was with at any given time. I was liable to literally break down at any moment as well— as podcast listeners probably know by now— which was all compounded by experiencing a kind of second-degree trauma in hearing from close Dhamma friends who were facing a terror unimaginable even in the worst B-rated horror movies. Soon after, I cut myself off from any friend who wasn’t living in my parallel emotional reality, and could only really relate to those similarly trying to ward off the apocalypse and keep us away from doomsday, one day more.
Funny enough, it was a photograph that played a key role in lifting me out of this funk. The picture was sent from my neighbor, and I post it above, with just a small cover I put over his face for safety. This picture both broke my heart and hardened my resolve.
But first, let me explain a little about my neighbor.
Soon after I moved to the house next to his, after discussing Dhamma one day in my rusty Burmese, he smiled and said, “now we are like family, and I will take care of you as family.” I smiled back, thinking it was a nice thing to say, little realizing that he actually meant those words literally. In the years that followed, he would do more for me than anyone else unrelated by blood, and in fact did a whole lot more for me than even most people who shared the same bloodline.
Even in the best of times in Myanmar, so many things go wrong. There’s no water or electricity and you have no idea why, a snake is hiding among the cutlery, the roof or windows are leaking water during a monsoon, a local official needs something I can’t understand, and on and on. Anytime a new set of problems came, our neighbor was right there fixing to solve it. He would drop everything to come over as soon as our mishap occurred, and stay the duration until all was resolved, checking back several times later. Any entreaty we made of offering something back in return fell to deaf ears. We were family after all, and his support was always one-way traffic.
The series of mini-crisis we endured would have surely crippled us and ended our stay in the Golden Land had he not intervened so often, and yet he was always extremely circumspect in his behavior towards us, never assuming anything. For example, one time we bought grass for our lawn, and had a few squares left over after having planted everything. Carefully, he asked us if he could use them in his home, and then went about trying to pay us the $3 cost of these. Horrified that someone who had been offering us literally priceless service now felt indebted to pay us several dollars for an item we didn’t need anyway, we did all we could to insist that he just take the grass freely.
Our association together went far beyond the worldly, however. Over time, he helped to establish several rooms in a nearby monastery where foreign meditators could stay when passing through Yangon. Surely those who took advantage of these rooms, and are reading this post now, remember my neighbor. With his help, we were able to provide a Buddhist living environment for pilgrims and meditators, helping them to avoid commercial hotels and the ensuing social scenes that would disrupt their spiritual trip. One rather important donor asked if we could help his distribute a very large sum of dana, and my neighbor joyously went up and down the country offering the specified sum at the monasteries, nunneries, and meditation centers stipulated.
Photos are funny. Sometimes they capture a rare moment of truth unseen to the naked eye. Sometimes it’s all an accident, and the framing or mid-second facial expression gives a certain impression to the image that is not exactly representative to that moment. In this particular photo, I don’t know which is the case. All I know is that when I first saw it, and when I went back to look at it time and again, a tenderness overtook me. Let me try to explain why.
First, it should be said my neighbor is quite non-political. His abiding passion is following the Buddha’s teachings. It’s what gives him the most joy, whether he is studying, meditating, or serving others on the path. So to see him away from his house with a host of political signs written in a language he can’t understand, and for an audience that probably won’t be much swayed by what he’s doing anyway, was somehow heartbreaking for me. He is simply doing the one thing he can do to announce his right as a human being to count for something, even if no one’s listening.
There’s something in the framing of the photo that gets me too. Somehow he comes across as very small and very alone, which is to say very fragile and very vulnerable, especially as you come to understand the wanton violence taking place across Myanmar now. This fragility is highlighted by something else you can’t see from the image I’ve displayed, as his eyes are gazing downwards, seeming lost in reflection.
As I began to reflect more on the image, I realized that my reaction was actually about more than just my neighbor alone. After all, his qualities exemplified the best Dhammic traits that I had witnessed among many of my Burmese friends. And as unique as he actually was, I also knew that he was also a kind of representative of the very best parts of Burma Dhamma, exemplified in a single individual. Over my time in the Golden Land, despite the endless frustrations of an imperfect society, I was fortunate enough to come into contact with other such individuals who brightened my path, and by whose association continue to make this country stand apart to me even today.
So when I look at this photo, I see not only the image of my neighbor— alone, small, fragile, and yet determined. In addition, though him, I see the vulnerability of every other Dhamma friend in this country who has helped me along my path, and who has given unconditionally and with joy. Not only did these friends not expect anything back, but they would flat out reject anything I ever tried to offer. They were always there to help me, at whatever time, for whatever problem, however long it took, and whatever personal sacrifice or cost it took for them.
And so this gratitude built up in me, all the time knowing there was no real way to pay back how much was given to me, aside from passing it on to others, which I always tried to do. Yet when I saw this photo, that all changed. Here was the first moment in my life where the roles were revered, and they were actually in need of me, and where I could actually return the gifts I’d been bestowed.
I mentioned before this photo both broke my heart as well as hardened my resolve. It did the former because it showed how clearly these people were now at risk and without any protection as they tried collectively to keep the crack of freedom open. But it also did the latter, because it immediately took me out of feeling sorry for myself as I saw now what work there was to be done… and who I was doing that work for.
On that note, I went on to print and frame this photo, and it hangs now in my office for me to see every day. Whenever I feel tired, scared, irrelevant, powerless or anything else, I just look at this picture and it’s enough to go on. My neighbor was there for me no matter what the need, and even though he would never ask, now it’s time for me to be there for him.
A final note. Some readers have benefited from the Dhamma work I have done from Myanmar. Maybe you saw the Webu Sayadaw documentary, or used the meditator’s guidebook, or attended a pilgrimage, or read my blog throughout the years, or sat in on a presentation I gave, or follow some social media account or another that I manage, or listened to a podcast, or stayed at the monastery we furnish, or simply asked me for advice on messenger or email. Whatever I have been able to provide, was done so on the shoulders of giants like my neighbor. So however you have benefited from this platform, although you may not know it, you have people like my neighbor to thank. I am putting a face with it now— although not much a face, sadly, for safety.
Although it’s tiring to say, every day is still so critical. Analysts say that any hope to keeping this crack of freedom open needs to happen at the outset, and the longer we go on the harder it will become. And however small or inconsequential my own actions are, how can I leave anything on the table when this man, and many like him, were always so ready to help us foreign practitioners bumble our way through their spiritual traditions?
So this is where a big source of my own passion, energy and commitment come from. And if you’ve been touched by the Golden Land in any way as well, directly or indirectly, I hope you also can recognize that this is the one time in their history that they are not in a position to give to us, and even if they are too humble to ask directly, they need something from us.