By: Kim Cermak
During my recent travels to Thailand, I was invited to visit a Buddhist Forest Monastery in the northern part of the country. A longtime mindfulness practitioner, I was looking forward to being in a “sangha” (community) of like-minded sojourners from around the world to witness and experience daily life among the monks.
We (five US Americans) arrived about an hour before the 4PM official ”Welcome” which we assumed would provide thorough guidelines and instructions for our 3-day 2-night stay. As silence and quietude are part of the retreat culture, very little was said to us prior to that time. After a brief stop at the outside desk where we checked in, provided our passports and were given a key to our ”kuti” or dorm room, a staff-member appeared and led us to pick up our bedding and white, modest clothing if we didn’t have our own.
For the next hour, we settled into our accommodations, put on the appropriate clothing if needed and wandered the grounds to get our bearings. Ahhh. 4:00. We will finally get all the information we need to provide structure and predictability.
We sat on the concrete floor and listened carefully as the ”welcomer” spoke. She sat on the same floor, legs folded under her, spine straight, body still, and began to tell us her story, for what “felt” like a journey on a very long and winding road. A native Thai -speaker, her English was good, but at times a struggle to understand. She shared pivotal moments of her own life and how the practice and sangha have become her central grounding force. A few “what to” and “what not to do’s” were expressed and then we were dismissed. It was at that point, I knew I would learn much more than what it was like to practice with the monks. I realized I was having a complete cultural immersion in a “high-context” culture.
We quickly ascertained that the only thing to do was watch what everyone else was doing and try our best to follow along. Eventually, we discovered a chalk board high on the wall in the open-air dining hall/library, just adjacent to the stunning, breezy meditation hall with the daily schedule.
About mid-way through day two, I noticed the need for clarity about anything (literally) had begun to dissipate, and found I was able to relax more into the present moment, without anticipating or prejudging what was going to happen next. The exhausting mental gymnastics had started to slow down, and I was increasingly able to ”be” where I was.
Having led many silent gatherings over the years in the US, I always felt compelled to prepare the participants with as much information as possible, making sure every question was answered so they felt more at ease from the start. But as I reflect on the simplicity and purposefulness of the process at Wat Pa Tam Wua, all the information we needed was available if we just paid attention.
For years I have been fascinated by the intersectionality of mindfulness and cross-cultural competence, as both disciplines draw upon the importance of slowing down and opening body and mind to a vaster, more nuanced context for which to interpret your lived experience.
But what I had been missing was how I continued to approach a high context situation with a low context mindset. What is the timeline? What is the sequence of events? When is the first break? What do I need to bring? What do I need to do to prepare? The list of questions goes on and on.
At Wat Pa Tan Wua, the rhythm of the routine provided all the needed structure and guidance to participate fully and add value to the group. My favorite “aha” was the afternoon monastery cleaning sessions. No tasks were assigned nor directions given. It was your responsibility to contribute to the best of your ability where you saw a need. Within minutes visitors from all corners of the world were moving in harmony, raking the grounds, hauling leaves, sweeping the dharma and dining hall floors, refilling cup racks, wiping down dining tables, and collaborating on tasks that required more than one person. It was at that moment I realized how little I knew about “high context” living.
A product of the US system of education, my autopilot mind moves in a linear fashion, in a forward motion, missing much of what is right in front of me. Although I have travelled extensively in high context cultures, lived internationally and work in the cross-cultural field for several decades, this experience profoundly deepened my understanding that you can not be useful and helpful in a high context culture if you are working with a low context mental operating system.
Learning to let go of what is no longer needed in any situation is an invaluable skill for thriving wherever you are. “What you think about, becomes the inclination of the mind.” Buddha