Spiritual Lessons on the Necessity of Exhaustion.
One of the most wonderful spiritual places that I went on my trip to Thailand was to the Tiger Temple or Wat Pha Luang Ta Bua, which is located in the Saiyok district of Thailand's Kanchanaburi province.
This temple is a fairly regular tourist attraction for one particular reason. In the late-nineties a tiger cub was given to the temple for protection from poachers, and a tradition followed of other communities that did the same. As of 2012 the temple had over 100 tigers, and it became known as a place for tourists to come and see these animals, get their picture taken with them and even sit on their backs for an few thousand Baht.
There is quite a lot of controversy about this temple regarding if their methods of tiger care is good for the animals or not, and several conservation groups are fighting against it as a "glorified petting zoo". But, regardless of this controversy, this space is still a fully functional temple where people come to worship, pray and experience spiritual occurrence.
We did not go to this temple to see their tiger population, but instead went as pilgrims to climb the 1237 uneven cement stairs all the way to the top of the mountain to reach the smaller temple right on the very tip. The process of doing this made me think very hard about the necessity of challenge and exhaustion in reaching a spiritual space or as a method of learning.
This small pilgrimage wasn't even close to the most difficult thing like this I have ever done. But it did remind me of a process that I find extremely helpful in using to quiet my mind and to reach a place of true thankfulness and openness.
I think that, in this day and age, my generation is so used to everything being quick and easy. If we can't click a link on the internet to buy something, or call someone immediately when we want to change plans, or google something when we're lost and so on and so on, then we don't even bother to do certain things. But I think that the process is more than half of generating understanding and progressing anywhere.
For me the process of any journey goes something like this-
I begin full of hope and excitement. From the bottom anything looks easy, and I am always fully confident in my ability make it to the top. For the first few hundred steps I am thinking about how great it feels to walk, to be using my body, to be trying to accomplish something. I am buoyant, seeing the end goal as closer than it is.
Soon however, my breathing becomes more laboured, my steps not as quick. I sober up a little and remind myself that I knew that this would be difficult, and now it is time to be serious and think about why I am doing this. I begin to start to focus on the journey and what it is teaching me. I think of all the monks who made this path to begin with, how difficult it would've been for them to be making these concrete steps one by one, hauling all of their materials up the side of the mountain. I am grateful for those who came before me, who had a more difficult journey than mine in order to make mine easier. I feel proud to be thinking these thoughts, thinking that I am getting the most out of my journey and am learning something.
But then there is the point, and it comes for me in anything that is difficult, where you can't see where you began or where you will end. You are alone, beginning to truly tire. And it is then where I begin to ask the question, is it really worth it? Is seeing this temple, or accomplishing this goal, or finishing this project, or furthering this relationship, or so on or so on, is it something I really need to do? I'm tired. The end result probably won't be that great anyway. I don't even know why I'm doing this anymore.
It always seems that it is then, that the points of encouragement magically begin to enter.
The trees part and there is a view so breathtaking that your spirit rises again.
Or there is a resting place where you can pause and catch your breath. Where there is something beautiful you are so glad that you can see, where you can say a prayer and remember your purpose, where there is a kind word from a passer-by.
And then, after this point, becomes what is the real purpose of any journey for me. My head, which is so normally filled with thoughts, words, and ideas, suddenly becomes silent. There is no more energy for me to impose anything other than what is there. I am completely and solidly in the moment. I do not question turning back, there is only up. I do not know when this journey will end, I do not ask. I only know that I must go forward, and one day, I will get there.
And just when I think that I may be climbing for the rest of my life, I turn a corner, and there it is- that thing that I was seeking, right up ahead of me, only one more flight of stairs away.
This is the point where I want to rush ahead, run sprinting towards my goal, but I don't. Instead, I stop myself. I stop myself and I think about all that I have gone through to get here. And gratefulness floods over me, and I learn the lesson that I learn and re-learn every time I go through something difficult- that it is not the end goal that is the point, it is the journey. That without that exhaustion, without that pain, I would not have been open to the lessons I needed to learn, I would not have become quiet and truly listened to the world around me, and I would not be nearly as awestruck or grateful about where I ended up.
And at the end there is always that reward. Where you walk into a new place and see the beauty that is offered to you. Beauty you might not have even noticed if you hadn't have worked so hard to get there. And as you look down your mountain, and watch the sun set, you can clearly see all that you've accomplished. And that is worth so much more, than a simple click of a button, or someone doing it for you, or an easy elevator to the top. It's amazing how I still forget this every time...
