Simple But Enough: Wat Pa Tam Wua, Mae Hong Son, Thailand

“True liberation, the end of suffering, is not in trying to make the mind permanently happy or peaceful, but in seeing the nature of the body and mind as impermanent suffering and not us—and then letting go.”

— excerpt from Walk To Be The Knower, handbook at Wat Pa Tam Wua Monastery

In the four days we spent in the quietude of Wat Pa Tam Wua, we learned about, challenged, and then held close these ideas of impermanence and letting go. By the end, through our own meditation practice as well as through the unique lens of observing Buddhist monks in their daily lives, we left with a couple important realizations that we hope to carry with us for the rest of this trip, and hopefully into the rest of our lives: just how little is truly needed to be content in this world, and the mindset that all things are surmountable because all things are temporary. Deep down, we already knew these things to be true, but as they say, the best coaches and mentors are those who lead you to the answers that your heart already knows, but that your brain wants validated. Wat Pa Tam Wua was that mentor.

Wat Pa Tam Wua (meaning “Forest Cave Monastery,” or similar) is a Buddhist monastery located in what felt like an enchanted forest in remote Mae Hong Son province in northern Thailand, about three hours from Pai toward the Myanmar border. We only heard about it the week before we went, when a fellow San Franciscan traveling around the world told us about it when he saw that we were nearby. Both of us have been wanting to develop better meditation practices while on this trip, and we were even more interested after talking to a monk about it in Chiang Mai. While we have both practiced regular yoga—which itself is a type of moving meditation— on and off for the past twelve years, we know that we can continue to improve the way we apply mindfulness, awareness, and presence into our daily lives that will allow us to respond better to work and life, friendships and relationships. Thus, the idea of an isolated meditation sanctuary both intimidated and intrigued us; the fact that it is located in the lush mountain forests and caves of Thailand held extra appeal.

As an active Buddhist monastery, the handful of monks who live at Wat Pa Tam Wua teach and lead meditation lessons to anyone who shows up at their door, no reservations required (in fact, no reservations are accepted). One does not have to be Buddhist or Thai, as they welcome everyone and anyone who comes, regardless of religious background, meditation experience, or ability to pay. They do not charge a single baht for the housing they offer, the great food they feed, or the instruction they provide; the only requirement is that visitors fully participate in the same scheduled sessions and rituals as the monks, and that we do so with respect to them and to each other. (And of course, they accept donations, which most people are more than happy to give after their experience there—but there is no obligation.)

Off we went, happily leaving Pai in the back of a rickety yellow songtheow headed toward Mae Hong Son. We asked the driver to please make a stop along the way at the dirt road that led to the monastery. Having clearly transported many foreigners like us to the monastery before, he happily took us the entire way down the dirt road to the entrance.

We didn’t know what to expect when we arrived. Michael had fears of a glum monk sternly reprimanding us as we tried to meditate, so we were pleasantly surprised when a joyful, smiley monk—whom we later learned was the head Abbot of the monastery—happily greeted us when we hopped off the minibus. He led us through the beautiful, zen-like grounds that lie at the base of a misty mountain, past a couple of lagoons and a stream that run through it, to the spacious, open-air, Dharma prayer hall and common eating area. At the front information desk, another jovial Thai man named Dr. Pong greeted us (not a monk). Dr. Pong runs the administration team at Wat Pa Tam Wua, and he’s awfully good at it. He gave us a quick rundown of the rules of the monastery.

While not stern, it is important to note that Wat Pa Tam Wua is also not a meditation retreat or spa. We came to know this right away. First, Dr. Pong directed us to a room where sets of freshly laundered white shirts, pants, and long skirts were hanging out to dry, and instructed us to pick out our own loose, all-white outfit to wear during our time there. Everyone donned these clothes— no colors or differentiation to stimulate the mind or flatter the body. Then, they handed us bedding that was similarly austere—only a thin mat and thin blanket—and sent us on our way toward gender-separated dorms that were essentially empty rooms with no furniture. For all intents and purposes, we slept on the hard, wooden floor, as the thin sleeping mats did not really provide padding so much as mild warmth from the cool ground. This is how monks sleep, as the Buddhist Precepts (rules) do not allow them the comfortable luxury of a bed, so this is how everyone else would also sleep. At the same time, there are a surprisingly large amount of bathrooms throughout the property, all with western-style flushing toilets, and good hot water for the showers. Having stayed in many rural accommodations throughout Asia and seen the inside of many local homes before, all of this was already more than we had anticipated. Simple, but enough.

With few distractions, a serene setting, and no connection to the outside world, we were left to focus on meditation. Dr. Pong told us that once, a monk from this temple meditated inside one of the nearby caves for seven years, before reaching nirvana and passing away in there. We’re not quite aiming to get to that level, but for four days, we did meditate more than we ever had before (or since).

We spent our days as everyone else spent theirs, along the following schedule:

o 5:00-6:15am Morning meditation on own

o 6:30-7:00am Alms/rice offering to monks

o 7:00-7:45am Breakfast

o 8:00-10:00am Morning Meditation

o 10:30-11:00am Alms/lunch offering to monks

o 11:00-11:45am Lunch

o 12:00-1:00pm Free time

o 1:00-3:00pm Dharma talk and Meditation

o 3:00-3:30pm Optional Q&A with monk/teacher

o 3:30-6:00pm Free time / clean monastery grounds and help with any communal tasks

o 6:00-8:00pm Evening chanting, Dharma talk, and Meditation

o 8:00-10:00pm Free time / Meditation on own

o 10:00pm Lights out (often earlier)

For more details on the schedule or the monastery, visit its helpful website here.

When people look at this schedule, the first reaction is usually, “Why is there no dinner?!” followed quickly by, “That’s a lot of sitting still in meditation.” Both observations are correct. Again, per the Buddhist Precepts, monks do not eat after 12pm each day, so neither would anyone else there. In reality, if a guest is not feeling well and really needs to eat, the monastery does not prohibit them from nibbling on their own snacks purchased at the small convenience store down the road. As for the two of us, we fell into the rhythm of the day rather easily, and as tempting as it was to head to the convenience store, we surprisingly did not feel hungry at all at night. We were fine waiting till breakfast, 19 hours after our last meal. Discomfort, if any, was impermanent.

Having said that, the days were not necessarily easy. In fact, the amount of physical and mental energy exerted in order to meditate for six hours a day surprised us. First of all, there are three types of meditation practiced— sitting, walking, and lying down—and each of our morning and afternoon sessions involved all three types. We both really enjoyed the walking meditations, which led us around the serene property with the entire group of about 80 people in a measured, single-file line, intentionally placing one foot in front of the other as we focused on breathing steadily in and out. Sometimes, obstacles got in our way (including a snake once!), or the heat of the pavement pained our bare feet, but we always maintained our path, behind the person in front of us and guided by our own breath. This type of meditation, achieving calmness of mind through intense focus on a single point, such as one’s own breathing or placing one foot in front of the other, is called Samatha meditation. In Samatha, our minds become quiet because we shut off everything else when focusing on a single object.

We like walking meditation because it most reminded us of real life—as we move through this world, we can simultaneously acknowledge all the sights, sounds, smells, touches, movements, and clutter all around us, while also moving past them, without losing our calm or focus. No one needed to scream at the sight of the snake, and after we stepped around it, all was fine and we simply moved on. For the most part, this usually works the same for life’s other snakes. Walking meditation can also be applied anywhere—to daily commutes, walking to the bus stop, walking the dog, or even exercising. In fact, we can be in Samatha whenever we are in deep focus and fully present for anything—even if that is working on a task at work, playing an instrument, or being “in the zone” during sports.

Sitting meditation was another story. For the two of us, sitting meditation became opposite struggles of physical and mental fortitude. Many people starting to practice meditation find it extremely difficult to sit still in one position for long periods at a time, and Michael was no different. Sitting upright and staying put for even just 45 minutes turned his limbs numb and brought forth every body ache that had been holing up and hiding over the course of his life. After a meditation session of sitting still, he got up feeling like he had been hit by a truck. These physical challenges are highlighted during the first half of a meditation session, when one is guided to scan each inch of the body with the mind (a helpful and widely taught meditation technique that helps focus and hone awareness). Meanwhile, though, his mind felt great. Michael felt the soreness so acutely that his mind didn’t have the space to wander or get lost. He was fully present in the pain of the moment.

For Karen, it was the opposite. Sitting upright and cross-legged on the floor is reasonably easy for her, and she can hold still for awhile. (As we have since learned, sitting still is made easier and more comfortable after doing yoga. It was nice to harken back to some of our prior yoga teachings, which emphasized that if we are doing yoga just to get fit or look good, then we have missed the point, because the reason to do yoga consistently is to enable our bodies to support our minds in meditation. This could not have rang truer in our experience at the monastery.) However, without much physical discomfort to focus on, Karen’s mental world ran wild, with countless random thoughts and mental images of other people and scenes racing through her mind a mile a minute; she even clearly heard the imagined voices of other people in her head as we all sat in silence. This should not surprise you if you have ever heard the speed of Karen’s talk, or received a long email or text from her, but it’s quite distracting for meditation! As a consummate daydreamer who actually talks to herself out loud all the time, Karen had to focus her presence on understanding the genesis of these thoughts and how to tame them over time.

The good news for both of us (and everyone else) is, we have learned that neither the physical pain nor the barrage of mental thoughts are barriers to effective meditation. The key is in how we notice, acknowledge, and then react to them. Grasping this important meditation principle was actually pretty enlightening, since it is a common misunderstanding that one is supposed to “clear your head” for meditation, and that all other thoughts are bad. What we learned here, though, is that that is not the case for the second and more advanced state of meditation, called Vipassana.

Vipassana goes beyond peace of mind, and aims to seek wisdom. Indeed, it means “insight meditation,” and uses observation to understand the true nature of reality, whether it is ourselves (arguably the most important part), other people, or the way the world works. In Vipassana meditation, then, we train our minds to see our own thoughts, emotions, and physical sensations, and rather than trying to get rid of them or clear our heads, we simply note them— we observe them, try to understand where they are coming from, and then we release them, never getting riled up or attached to any one thought or emotion. It is important to observe our thoughts as if we are watching someone else—as if we are “out of the story,” per the commonly-used phrase of our main monk teacher—because only then can we remove ourselves from the emotions caused by those thoughts, and understand ourselves objectively. We like the analogy used by one of the monks: in science, if we are trying to understand a bird, we don’t think about the bird; we observe the bird—when it wakes up, what it eats, how it eats, what its habits are, how they change in different contexts, etc etc etc. In the same vein, Vipassana takes us out of body to watch ourselves from afar, so that we can observe our own minds and hearts to really know ourselves. It is the combination of this knowledge and distance from self that leads to wisdom and understanding of self.

Now, before we get too far afield and new-age for non-believers (too late?), we’ll admit that we, along with many other people at the monastery, had a lot of questions about the above teachings, even as we were learning to do it. That’s why Wat Pa Tam Wua was so great— they first guided us how to meditate, and then gave us the space to question it in daily open Q&A sessions. In particular, we understand why it may be healthy to separate ourselves from negative emotions (e.g. greed, anger), but questioned why the practice asks us to also separate ourselves from positive emotions (e.g. gratitude, happiness), which seem like they can only do good. The short answer is: both can blind us from the truth, so we need to be able to treat both objectively. A more complicated answer is: in allowing ourselves to feel positive emotions too much, we then desire more of that feeling, whether it be happiness or satisfaction; desire, in turn, is a major source of suffering because we then become upset when we don’t have that which we desire. This resonated with us, and we see it all the time in our current world. For example, if we really enjoy that sushi dinner we had, then we enter into craving another Bali Hai Roll and suffering if we don’t get it; if we have a lot of fun on the weekends and get upset when Monday morning rolls around, joy from the weekend has caused suffering; if we feel happy on vacations and become depressed when they end and we have to go home, then the elation has led to dissatisfaction (guess we’ll just need to keep traveling!). The moment we desire what we don’t have, we invite in the negative emotions of bitterness, resentment, jealousy, depression, and countless others.

We get this and we agree with it, but reconciling it with our real actions and the way we live our lives is obviously much harder—and why meditation takes practice and development. Our interpretation of this is that we just need to be happy, without ever craving happiness. It rings a little bit like not taking things for granted, or not expecting things to always turn out a certain way. If we can do this, we will be happy.

In many ways, this made us think about the travel journey we are on. The most common question we’ve received from friends and family back home has been, “So is this turning out the way you expected?” It is often followed by a pregnant pause, because it is a hard question to answer, mostly because we honestly did not set any expectations for how it should look, how it should make us feel, what we wanted to experience, or whether and by when it should change our lives. Many of the places we’re seeing we never read about until just before we arrive, so we don’t get upset if the bus is late or if the viewpoint turned out “less than expected”—because there was no expectation. This is not the case for everything, of course (we were disappointed in Pai and in parts of the Bagan sunrise, precisely because of the expectations we had in mind). But as testament to the Vipassana principle, our favorite experiences and happiest moments are rarely those for which we had cravings or expectations; they have been the moments that have come naturally and unexpectedly, which we could have never imagined or craved. Without expectations, we stop trying to always optimize everything, appreciating the way things do play out rather than hoping that they happened another way.

Watching the monks live their daily lives really helped illustrate how adopting this mindset can bring happiness. Everyday, they deal with “newbies” like us who come in with a curious mind but little idea idea of what they’re doing, often making mistakes in the way we perform their rituals, or even questioning their lifestyle and meditation practices. They take each question patiently, and they never seem to get emotional, whether bored or angry. They humbly accept the same type of food day in and day out, given by the guests who offer up spoonfuls of rice into their large copper offering bowls each morning. They watch as we all come and go—some only staying two days, others staying the maximum of ten days—while they continue to perform the same rituals, chants, and meditation without pause. The monk who was our main teacher has been teaching everyday for ten years, without ever taking a break or getting paid. They need nothing more than what they have. Watching their lives made our four days extremely easy to bear, as less truly ends up being more.

The spirit of meditation also made it easy to perform tasks around the monastery, which mostly just included washing our own dishes and keeping the place clean. Guests spent their free time volunteering around the property, raking leaves, feeding the fish in the pond, refilling the water dispensers and coffee supplies, cutting down bananas or noni from the fruit trees, and putting away dishes in the kitchen. There were no formal roles or requests. Things just seemed to happen, harmoniously. Most guests were westerners from Europe who simply wanted to learn more about meditation, though there were a handful of Thai folks who were repeat guests and made this monastery an annual sojourn as part of their Buddhist practices. Because everyone was there to learn and improve, the aura was one of no egos and genuine humility, and even vulnerability. In fact, some folks experienced intense personal revelations, and even began to question their entire existence. This wasn’t surprising, as we had read that some people who suddenly achieve Vipassana well initially become very scared, because they no longer know who they are; or, more likely, they are finally seeing themselves for all that they really are. Most, though, were just learning to be more mindful.

(Seriously, the intention and intensity with which people raked the leaves made us laugh inside— the meditation book they gave us had advised us to do all things mindfully, “even if they are daily chores like paying the bills or raking the leaves,” and it seems that everyone took it to heart! We both also raked, exchanging silent glances and smiling as we felt the meditation work its magic on us.)

Finally, one of the more interesting aspects of the entire experience was the fact that we embarked on such a personal and individual experience, as a couple. As mentioned above, almost everything is separated by gender— meditation time, making offerings to the monks, bedrooms, bathrooms—so despite both of us being there in the same space at the same time and seeing the same things, we did not actually experience it together. We exited our own rooms in the morning and silently sat down far away from each other in the Dharma hall, maybe catching each other’s eyes just before the monks filed in for the morning offering. About fifty people separated us in line during walking meditation (men before women), as did several rows during sitting meditation (women sat in the back half). We disconnected from our phones, so we did not text or call each other. Even though we were permitted to be together during meals and free time, we did not want to be disturbing, so we didn’t really talk to each other much even then, sometimes sitting next to each other in silence as we read, wrote, or drank tea. It took some other guests three days to realize we were even traveling together, let alone married, because it simply did not come up, nor was it obvious. Indeed, it felt very different to be both together yet apart, at once. It was powerful to feel the contrast of having the presence and support of a partner there, while working through (and watching each other work through) individual questions, struggles, and reflections on our own, without sharing it out loud with the person from whom we’d normally seek guidance and a listening ear. It felt important to do it this way, both as individuals and as a couple.

For a place that evokes such self-reflection, it is interesting that Wat Pa Tam Wua has no mirrors— even in the bathrooms and bedrooms. It was not until we left that we realized we hadn’t really seen our own image for four days, which felt both ironic and appropriate for the place where we most saw ourselves. And while our meditation and mindfulness journeys continue to be works in progress—developing and imperfect—we are happy just where they are.

Karen & Michael, sent from our minds in meditation

Wat Pa Tam Wua, Thailand, November 22-26, 2019