Reading swiftly the history of Venerable Bhikkhuni Giới Hương on the website huongsentemple.com, I got the feeling of something familiar, yet not exactly.
She was born in Bình Tuy district, Bình Thuận province.
Oh, she is a disciple of Master Hải Triều Âm, who is a great Bodhisattva.
Yes, it was a place that haunted me during my childhood, when my father was the director of a country bank on the dry land of the sandy sea that is called Hòa Đa, not far from Phan Rí Cửa. A narrow road runs through the lonely town of the Kinh and Chàm people, who lived there silently during wartime.
Sometimes I attended middle school (without having attended primary school) in Phan Rí, but I often stayed at home to take care of my younger brother or went to the market to help with errands for my mother. At night, I slept in the kitchen, separated from the upper house by a narrow covered corridor. By the bamboo hammock, there was a dimly lit kerosene lamp, enough for me to see the curls on each letter. I tried to cram in knowledge and brainstorm using my sister's math problems, which she brought home from school. Because I had no basic or continuous education, I faced a lot of difficulties, but I did not know whom to ask for instructions. Late at night, my mother came down, and when she saw me lighting a lamp to self-study, she immediately picked up the kitchen stick, smacked my head, and scolded, “You eat food more than I can feed you, and now why do you consume more of my kerosene?”
***
So, the land brings a little bit of the sea breeze, and year-round there seems to be sadness under the shadow of the tamarind tree. My youth was spent with bitterness spreading on the gravel, from Huế to the south. Every two years, my family moved in the province, like a caterpillar slowly moving to a stop. I found a temple in which to hide. I went between temple and house often, like a shuttle. At home, it was not settled, and the temple also was not secure. The last time my family moved to Phan Thiết, my destiny pushed me out of my family: my life became one of wandering.
Three o'clock in the morning, after stirring the milk bottle for my young sibling, I wrote a few words to say goodbye to my family. I frantically headed for the train station. The rusted iron bridge was protruding on both sides of the rock, and I watched the gloomy light reflected on the water surface, the river leading to the seaport, each fishing boat undulating. Looking at the city to say goodbye to my family, a little longing to see my young siblings arose. Craggy rocks lay on my path; my hot blood was enough to spare my life, or will it spread out to sea, and after that, must I choose a meaningless death? No, I cannot end my life in the darkness, there is light in the future! I climbed the railing fence and hid in the toilet whenever I saw the ticket clerk.
***
I felt hungry and thirsty in all of the coming days. With distress and yet courage, I gave a cold look at busy passengers eating and drinking. Downtown was too strange, with colored lights, cars, music, and people more fashionable than in my hometown. The train station located at Bến Thành Market was the last destination. I hugged my clothes and hat, bewildered, watching the scene of higher society.
Suddenly, I heard a voice: “Where are you going?” I turned to look at the tall man.
“I don't know where to go.”
“I'll wait to see the owner of the bus, I'll ask for the bus cleaner. Give me your clothes as a deposit, and we will have dinner. Tomorrow morning, I will get money from the bus owner, and I will redeem you.”
A few hours passed, and the figure of the tall man and hope of enjoying a plate of rice or a loaf of bread disappeared before midnight, which desperately covered me like darkness falling on the life of an unfamiliar child. A white-shirted police officer took me to the market to search for my clothes, let me stay overnight in the garrison, and called my home, but no one would accept me. There was one place that cheerfully accepted me: the orphanage in Gò Vấp. A nun took my name and then sent me straight to the orphanage branch in Thủ Đức.
Although my family was poor, I had my younger siblings to have fun with; the pagoda was gloomy and serene, but there were also two chanting periods to transform sorrow. Where else could I have the first experiences of life as a ten-year-old child? It was buried in the mass of collective orphanages, where every corner was gathered in the center. In the field, a few cows grazed on grass—they did not know their shepherd was lonely and without a future!
***
Causes were created, grace comes, fruit will mature. Ms. Chánh Thọ, a leader of the Youth Buddhist Association, visited the orphanage and asked me, “Where are you? The way you touched both hands to greet me, yet you are an orphan or a miserable child. I know you are not a Christian like the ones here.”
“Yes, sister, I escaped from my family to become a novice of Ngũ Hành Sơn Temple at the age of eight.”
“I will send you to the temple.”
The temple was deep in the alley of the stranger Saigon City, free from my mother’s strict eye. The Huong River of my grandma’s hometown, known for the gentle, silky-grey áo dài (dress). The warm temple bell sounded, but my soul was soaring in the sky. I grew like sprouting grass, thirsty to go to school, but the temple did not have the conditions to support that. At that time, Buddhism was engaged in movements on the streets, and my dream of learning grew distant. The monastics who had support from their masters could join school, but a boy like me who stayed in the temple without knowing about my master, how could I have had such good conditions? However, luckily, the temple respected Ms. Chánh Thọ, a leader in the Youth Buddhist Association, and accepted my stay, but they did not choose a teacher to take care of me. I also did not care for it; it was enough for me to have a peaceful and safe place. I was proud enough to be wearing old Buddhist clothes with many holes, like a longterm public laborer, with the two cute hair pads of a young novice. When Bồ Đề School at Cầu Muối District opened, every day I walked from Tân Định to attend the basic Buddhist class for youth. There is a saying, "Money means nothing, but all spending is only solved by money." The administrators reminded me of payment for school fees, so I had to leave school due to being penniless.
In 1966, the Buddhist movement was continuously happening, the monks who participated were all exiled, so once again, we wandered. Everyone looked for his/her living on the land to take refuge. Several monks went to study abroad, the number of whom could be counted on the fingers. The battle was chaos, and the people were scattered.
***
After the day of reunification, it was also time for me to leave the home of the Three Jewels. I spent ten years of hard labor at the age twenty-eight in prison. I had never held a shovel at the temple in twenty-eight years. A thirty-eight-year-old person suffering from the cold and hard work in the deep forest without relatives, friends, teachers, or students to visit; like wild grass, I still flourished in the middle of the wilderness without knowing what sin I had commited. Perhaps in past lives I unjustly imprisoned animals!
After I was released from the prison, the temple did not dare to keep me because society was still unsettled. When night fell, it was time for policemen to suddenly conduct inspections at midnight. Life always has a spectacular turnaround. There was a single woman who opened her arms to take care of me in her home after her parents died early. She worked as a laborer whose wages were not enough to pay for breakfast. To make a living, every early morning, I borrowed a bicycle to transport oil cakes to a pagoda in Nhà Bè District to make soy sauce. I also earned money by pumping gas into lighters. The sidewalks become a familiar address that was six kilometers away from home; every day, I sat to enjoy lunch with a can of salted rice and beans. Life began to stabilize and proceeded in order, like the daily life of a buffalo.
***
Writing genes began to rise in me well, although I did not have basic education. Before 1975, I constantly wrote for many magazines, such as Khởi Hành, Tiền Tuyến, Phổ Thông, Phương Đông of Priest Hoàng Sỹ Quý, and so on. I purchased an old computer and got used to manipulating it. I started to write for Giao Điểm and websites; sometimes I received an invitation to write presentations. Strangely, the news companies in society offered big salaries, but I failed to write for them, while newspapers of the “temple” sometimes did not have enough money for gasoline, but I felt happy because at least I still had the sacred communication cord, like a kite that did not stray from its destination. Therefore, my form is secular but my heart is supersecular. I have written thousands of articles in all Dharma genres, which might show my deep gratitude to the Three Gems, where once upon a time in my life I had taken refuge at the temple!
Now I have received an invitation to write for Hương Sen Temple in USA. I feel something strange yet still familiar. Perhaps the words “Hương Sen” used to affect me somewhere? And Giới Hương is definitely different from Ven. Bhikkhuni Hương Nhũ. And the letters of venerable bhikkhuni nuns are very much familiar to me. There are some scholar nuns, such as Venerable Bhikkhuni Trí Hải, who was the only one at that time among the nuns gaining a high degree and serving Buddhism. Since 1990, the number of Mahayana and mendicant nuns gaining high academic qualifications are too many to count, and among them is Venerable Bhikkhuni Giới Hương. To compare the ages of Venerable Bhikkhuni Giới Hương and me: the gap is too far, how can I get used to her? To compare our education, I am the type with muddy hands who earns a living by sweat, while she has attained a social position and is a university teacher. To compare our location, I am in central Vietnam, while she is in America. Although we are far from each other, we meet in cyberspace in a Dharma relationship. . . Well, life is not lacking in strange things! It is a strange thing that we have been in the six realms without being face to face and now we have a connection! Are we predestined to have a literary relationship or Dharma brotherhood? Only the Buddhas can clearly see the flow of karma. For the Most Venerable Hải Triều Âm, in 1967, Minh Mẫn was present in Đại Ninh. During the time she had not yet come, Bhikkhunis Phùng Thăng and Phùng Khánh left Vạn Hạnh to stay in Đại Ninh for a while. Their retreat on the slopes of Pongour Waterfall was occupied by a Christian pastor, because they returned to Saigon in 1970 and worked under the Most Venerable Thích Quảng Độ.
Anyway, regardless of my many questions, I must start to write. I walked slowly into the land of Hương Sen to enjoy the scent of the lotus variety for offering to the Buddha. I respect Venerable Bhikkhuni Giới Hương, who has strong ambition, holds in her hands a PhD degree gained at a young age, and continues to learn forever, expanding knowledge for the sake of Buddhist culture and passing on to the following generations. It is to repay the debt of gratitude to the Buddha and other beings. It is also her vow since the time she became a nun, as the patriarch taught: “Phù xuất gia giả, phát túc siêu phương, tâm hình dị tục, thiệu long Thánh chủng, chấn nhiếp ma quân, dụng báo tứ ân, bạt tế tam hữu.” This means once we became monastics whose appearance is different from secular people, we must remember our ideal to spread Buddhism, transform evil, repay the four debts, and save the three worlds.” That is her ideal, and her service to Buddhism has continued for more than forty years in this world!
Saigon, the end of 2019
Yours respectfully,
Buddhist Journalist Minh Mẫn
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Please read all articles and view all photos:6.11.Our_relationships_-_Minh_Man.pdf
