SAI-SIN. The Thread of Life
Bangsakun Bhen
Born in any culture, from any country, rejoicing of a new life is an event to celebrate, congratulate, and applaud for joining the world of civilization. And every year, on each anniversary we celebrate birthdays by blowing candles on a cake, giving gifts, and wishing the celebrant many more anniversaries to enjoy. It reflects our appreciation of life, yet absent is not facing life’s finality. Ideologies make us repent, to lead a redemptory life either by confessions every Sunday to abate our sins or improve ourselves in softening our karmic principle of cause and effect.
In this transitionary period of my life, my country is going through a slow process of evolution, juggled with set-backs and fast-forward leaps; disturbing the forces and forever trying to equalize with the rest of the world’s progress. Catching its breath as each sanction of bribery unfolds, going through the cleansing ritual for the next generation’s headache. Karmic principles of balancing have been lopsided for some time, now awaiting self-equilibrium.
A Buddhist rebirth ceremony sanctioned by prayers, conducted by monks, lustral water infused with magical powers of blessings, splashing droplets over the head, the most sacred part of the body by dipping in the long flapping bamboo sticks, symbolizes the cleansing of sins may have the answers. The circle of thread looped over heads, like a crown known as ‘sai-sin’ links to the monks, as prayers are chanted, the thread circling Buddha images and beyond, the circle a symbol of continuation as it is in re-incarnation.
This ceremony was a little rushed by temple staff, lots of jostling, giving instructions that were confusing. I initially felt the disappointment of the temple’s commercialism over spiritualism. This feeling quickly dismissed as chanting started, and my initial training of capturing small detail of exits, numbers of people within immediate space, ceiling to floor strength, was replaced by slowly slipping into a hypnotic meditative state where anxiety disappeared.
The renewing of life, by washing away previous mistakes, begins after long prayers, chanted by monks, with required repeats. We struggled, as Sanskrit or Pali was not part of my nor my friends’ linguistic skills. After what seemed like 45 minutes, in a meditative state, I followed as directed and stepped into the open coffin. Adjusting my small body in a very narrow space, a small ineffectual pillow, indicating the importance of where the head should be, stretching out holding onto unlit joss sticks with a bunch of flowers facing outward; while my tall Aryan, Indo-Persian physique friend crushed his body to fit, his knees visible in anguish. Lying in a coffin as more chants audible in the distance, while the symbol of purplish cloth covers (death) and then quickly swiped over with a clear white cloth (re-birth). The ritual over in only a few minutes.
Allow me to extract a fraction of a moment in the coffin, in slow motion, and describe the fleeting sensation. As my head hit the empty unstuffed pillow, the hard wood sensation was surprisingly comforting; my soft, top-of-the-line, expensive mattress at home is instinctively against the well-being of the spine. The bright blue sheath covering inside the coffin reflected from the temple’s neon lighting above casted a glow of unreality. Instead of instilling calm, the on-edge excitement of my wild imagination but real echoing energy that the coffin walls were draped to hide stains of previous use. The whiff of wooden polish among one’s own breath mingled with other’s last exhale was intriguing. Trying to let go of any tension, I automatically went for ‘life’ by replicating Wim Hoff’s breathing techniques I perfect on a daily early morning ritual, inhaled, and exhaled with force, capturing humidified oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide, initially to calm the nerves.
It was a brief moment of grasping the beauty of death.
I felt the calm of an ending. Much like a door closing. Even if the ending was caused by uncontrolled forces; a crash, or an ending from a bullet, the silence or even the pain of happiness is complete stillness.
It was a compelling force to emerge from a bizarre ritual for a better me. The truth lies in acknowledging that my previous life existed by a remembrance of my last meal, not found in this country. I held the key to happiness in this life because of the precious one I left behind; I had kept my promise. Karma tends to explain it all but how to explain this in my limited knowledge, to myself, is an impossibility. My friend flew in to join in the rituals had little knowledge of the many obstacles in conducting this excursion. It was not meant to happen and yet every barrier in my pathway was cleared by mysterious reasons.
How does an atheist who counters every existence of the Almighty, explain this knowledge. To anyone I casually mentioned my eminent voyage; there were gasps of disbelief, curiosity and questions to what my purpose was in trying to replicate what everybody leaves untouched. Even questioning my mental state of recent widowhood or if I had succumbed to a cult. Questioning even my invitation to a stranger I just recently met to join in a very personal quest. I always remained quiet and smiled at every countenance but offered no explanation. I just didn’t have one.
Would I recommend this to everyone? My unequivocal answer would be ‘only when you are spiritually ready’. How would you know at what point spirituality will be in your life - only you would know that. Maybe you will never be ready. No one, absolutely no one, should have the gumption to tell you that you need it. And being ‘spiritually ready’ does not mean that you are backed up by a religious faith, or encouraged for a medical remedy, or even your close loved one says so.
It just means your stark-naked soul requires it.
This is not a one-sided gift. No priest or God has the ability to bestow rebirth without your commitment in conceding to instill a new habit or losing a bad one, performed until the day of your last heartbeat. This should be practiced sixty days before the ceremony. It is to honor and prepare your rebirth so that human failings are kept accountable. Throughout the course of your life, if you happen to fail on the promise to yourself, the rebirth goes back to square one, much like it never happened. No one should know of what you've committed to giving up, in doing so, the failure or success is only on you, no one else. You and only you carry that sack of burden.
Holy water, with jasmine and rose petals floating, mixed with candle wax droplets filled the plastic 300ml water bottle, to take home, sprinkling for continued blessing, supposedly to last out until the next annual temple visit. A character trait of going against the grain surfaces whenever rules or instructions are placed in front of me. Morning shower the following day, in style, cap opened, and in one flick of the wrist, my naked body received the full bottle of holiness from head to toe, underlying an unconscious need of a repeat ceremony.
See you there my friend.
