Day 627 March 21, 2022

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A Prayer for Peace

This weekend my parents visited and we stopped to visit the New England Peace Pagoda in Leverett. After a steep hike up a dirt path, and after passing a few metal shipping containers and rusty old farm implements, one is rewarded by the surprising immensity of the stupa. This white dome rising out of the Massachusetts earth as if one has been transported to a different setting, a different country. There is an undeniable sense of calm and peace, even when moving with the affect of a chilly tourist. 

After walking around outside in the brisk spring air, we stepped into the temple for a little respite from the chill. I walked around the temple taking in the photographs, the offerings of food, the candles, drums, and paper canes. My father sounded out the words he could shape from the calligraphy. I had the overwhelming urge to kneel in prayer or meditation, but I didn’t. I wasn’t certain about protocol, if the pillows set before the altar were for a special person, if there was a ceremony to adhere to. 

I thought about the nunnery on Namsan Mountain I visited and the nun who offered me water even after chastising the other hikers who took water without asking. I remembered how the wooden bell clacked a rhythm that was like a heart beat, but also like a song, as the nuns recited their morning prayers. The nun looked at me like we understood one another and there was kindness in her eyes. The water I drank was water that had fallen from the skies.

I didn’t see any of the monks on this visit, just other tourists, some who seemed more comfortable in their skin than I did. A Japanese woman and her Indian traveling partners. Two men working outside pruning limbs off of trees. A family speaking in an Eastern European language. 

I wish I had kneeled in meditation, in prayer. I think I am in need of such a thing. Maybe I will return someday soon and spend some time there on a pillow and try to let all my molecules disassemble and reassemble and slough off this layer of roughness, this aged skin.



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