Arriving At Cittaviveka Monastery

Conscious Of  Being Self Conscious
I have recently had the good karma to have spent seven days at the Cittaviveka monastery in Chithurst. I had been reading about Ajahn Cha and the Thai Forest Tradition and was keen to explore further these very down to earth teachings. After a short bus ride from Chithurst railway station I was dropped off on a busy 'a' road, and following my little map proceeded down a leafy country lane towards my destination. I have never visited a monastery before and was feeling a little nervous and trying desperately to remain present in the moment. One can feel nervous, self conscious and exposed in such a spiritual environment but a good friend with experience of Cittaviveka had told me to relax and be myself , I was determined to do just that. I think that most people who have attempted to explore the spiritual path might relate to the feelings of insecurity and doubt that plagued me as I spotted the monastery sign peeking out from the bushes. I hovered around in the lane trying to take pictures of myself with the sign in the background, got annoyed with myself for cooking up this delaying tactic, packed away my camera and made my way through the gate into the hallowed grounds.

Even the Enlightened Ones have Foot Odour

The Vestibule had a mystical aroma.

It was more beautiful than I had been led to believe by the photos on the website, I could instantly see the harmony that the monks and volunteers had established with nature, the way they had worked in the grounds was so thoughtful, the Buddhist monuments began to appear in front of my eyes, I was in awe. As I neared the impressive mansion that was to be my living space for the next seven days, a monk quietly approached me and asked if I was called Hugh. Pleasantly surprised I said yes and asked him his name, he told me and I immediately forgot, oh god when will I remember to not to do that! I was pointed in the direction of the vestibule and got within sight of the front door where my name and allotted  room number was mindfully written on a wipe clean notice and blue tacked onto the glass. There was a curious smell in the vestibule, not altogether pleasant I might add; probably had something to do with the sixty or so assorted pairs of footwear neatly stacked onto shoe racks. What, even the enlightened ones have foot odour? My lessons had begun. I removed my shoes and added to the already interesting aroma and pensively stepped inside, clutching my room number and dragging my massive ruck sack behind me, being as mindful as possible so as not to break the spell with my lay clumsiness. The hallway was as you would expect any Victorian country house to be, apart from the large brass prostrate Buddha at the foot of the stairs. The dark oak creaky floorboards were cleaned to a shine and everything was spotless. I made my way up to the first floor and was met by another friendly face on the landing. There was a large bell hanging here that was soon to be my alarm clock and a great source of embarrassment to me, but that comes later in the story. The face was a novice in white robes who helped me get to my room. It was a single room with stone port cullis windows, a single and very low bed, a side table with lamp and a desk. Simple. The windows gave a spectacular view of the grounds, a meadow surrounded by forest spread out before me, interspersed with enormous and ancient trees. No sooner had I put my bag down there was a gentle knock and  then an even gentler face popped around the door. It was a young ordained Monk in maroon robes; the thing is with monks they are very difficult to age, I would say this little guy was about 17 years old, but he was probably about 35. He introduced himself as  Anālayo and I promptly forgot it, he was friendly and kind, mystical and fluid-like, we went through some formalities and he showed me where all the clean linen was, then left me in peace. I got settled in and laid back on my bed. I felt welcome, exited and relieved, I had arrived.
Look on-line at Cittaviveka;  http://cittaviveka.org/