Winter Break

I've decided to take a little "winter vacation" from posting and will return in January. I've certainly got no shortage of ideas and things to write about, however, I do have a shortage of time at the moment. I'm looking forward to being back!

A slice of the Alps, as viewed from Hohensalzburg Castle, Salzburg, Austria.

The Bright Side of the Moon

Statue of Augustus the Strong, King of Saxony and later Poland.

When I first moved to Germany, I had a goal of visiting every state in the country. Given that there are only 16 of them (with Majorca unofficially being the 17th), it didn't seem like a difficult task given Germany's wealth of cultural and historical offerings. By the autumn of 2011, there were only two more states I had yet to set foot in; the eastern regions of Saxony and Saxony-Anhalt. It was time to head east. 

I took this chance to visit some friends in Berlin, by far Germany's coolest, most bad ass city, and after a fun-filled weekend, went off to Dresden. Departing from Berlin's sleek main station, I arrived comfortably in Dresden a couple of hours later. The city has a centuries-long reputation as a royal capital and as one of Europe's leading cultural and artistic centers. Although Dresden's classic beauty made it known as the "Florence on the Elbe", the area around the central rail station left much to be desired. The dull concrete buildings and a rather soulless pedestrian/shopping strip (Prager Straße) didn't particularly impress me. But then again, who judges a city it's ugly areas?

My hotel was situated on the western edge of the old city center (Altstadt). The room was cozy enough and had somewhat kitschy wallpaper. It did, however, offer a great view of the Yenidze, one of Dresden's (many) architectural landmarks.

I couldn't have asked
for a more Saxon room.

The Yenidze building.

When I first saw this building, I was a bit shocked to see what looked like a giant mosque in the middle of the Saxon capital. Complete with a large dome and minarets, the building has everything you'd expect from a mosque except any religious function whatsoever because it is not at all a mosque. The story goes that a tobacco company in the early 1900s wanted to build a cigarette factory in Dresden. The people of the city, concerned that an ugly factory would blight the beauty of the city's famous skyline, opposed the project. After some negotiations, it was decided that the company could indeed build its factory in the city on the condition that it didn't actually look like a factory. As Orientalist design was popular at the time, the factory was built to look like a mosque. The name "Yenidze" (modern Genisea, Greece) refers to the area of the then Ottoman empire that was famous for its tobacco. Nowadays the Yenidze is a office building. After getting settled in my hotel room and watching a bit of a Polish medical drama, I set out to explore the city. I could write a great deal about the many things that Dresden has to offer but will only focus on a few of my favorites.

The neighborhood to the north of the Altstadt, on the northern side of Elbe river, is known, in a typically literal Germanic fashion, as the "new city" (Neustadt). Although separated by just a river, the two areas couldn't be more different. While the Altstadt is basically a giant, outdoor museum filled with art galleries, royal palaces, performance halls, and indoor museums, the Neustadt has a more relaxed yet slightly more posh feel to it. Unlike the Altstadt, the Neustadt section survived the Second World War mostly undamaged. The result is an abundance of classy, old buildings. Aside from that, the numerous cafes, restaurants, and bars further added to my feeling that the Neustadt was Dresden's living room. In the middle of the Neustadt is the lovely tree- and sculpture-lined street, the Hauptstraße.

Hauptstraße in the Dresden Neustadt.

The Augustus statue in Neustadt.

No discussion of Dresden's history would be complete without mentioning the man who turned what was just another royal town into one of Europe's cultural centers. Friedrich Augustus I was also known as Augustus the Strong, on account of his great strength. It is said he could break horse shoes with his bare hands. Augustus was also known for his love of women; various stories say he fathered anywhere from a few dozen to few hundred children. While not showing off his strength, either at the court or in the bedroom, Augustus was busy transforming the Saxon capital into an opulent Baroque paradise. Many of Dresden's landmarks like the Zwinger Palace, city castle, the Old Master's Gallery, and most famously, the domed Frauenkirche, where either built or rebuilt during his reign.

Hokusai on the Elbe.

I took a stroll across the bridge spanning the river Elbe and came across a surprising sight. A cutout of a wave, taken from Hokusai's famous "Great Wave off Kanagawa" was on the bridge. Far from being a random homage to one of Japan's most famous artworks, the wave sculpture was actually a memorial dedicated to the Great Flood of 2002, which caused severe damage throughout eastern Europe and the eastern regions of Germany. Dresden in particular was also flooded, with many areas and famous landmarks (like the opera house) being badly damaged.

Crossing the Elbe bridge, I soon made my way to the Theaterplatz, which is a lovely open space surrounded by no less than four of Dresden's famous institutions; the Catholic Hofkirche, the city castle (Residenzschloss), the opera house (Semperoper) and the Zwinger palace.

 

The Semperoper. Aside from it's prominence as a
performance venue, it's also prominently featured in
advertisements for "Radeberger Pilsner".

The courtyard of the Zwinger Palace.

A dog like that goes perfectly
with palace courtyard.

After spending some time in the lovely Zwinger courtyard, I decided to partake in a traditional late-afternoon German ritual known as Kaffee und Kuchen (coffee and cake). I absolutely adore old style cafes and luckily there happened to be a very traditional looking place right on the Theaterplatz. How traditional you might ask? In this case, traditional enough to have been designed by the famous Prussian architect Karl Friedrich Schinkel. Any neogothic or neoclassical buildings you might see in Berlin, for example, were probably designed by Schinkel. After the waitress with a lovely Saxon accent brought me a slice of cake and a latte macchiato, I flipped through my trusty guidebook, further planning my time in the city. While I personally found the Saxon dialect to be rather melodious and pleasing to the ear, many others do not agree. It turns out the Saxon dialect is considered the most disliked in all of Germany. 

The Hofkirche is on the left (with the small green dome), the city castle in the center (with the larger grey tower), and Cafe Schinkelwache is the smaller building on the right with the three large windows.

 

I suppose you can't name a cafe
after Karl Friedrich Schinkel
and not have a portrait of
him somewhere inside of it.

Interior of the Hofkirche.

After finishing up at Cafe Schinkelwache, I popped inside the majestic Hofkirche, the largest Catholic church in the mostly Protestant Saxony. Just opposite the Hofkirche is the mighty Fürstenzug (Procession of Princes). This large mural lies on an outer wall of the Dresden city castle and was started in the late 1800s. Paying homage Saxony's various rulers from the middle ages all the way up to the early 20th century, the Fürstenzug is made up of over 20,000 pieces of exquisite (and locally produced!) Meissen porcelain. The small, cozy street containing the Fürstenzug, Augustusstraße, was my favorite in the whole city. 

The Fürstenzug.

A view of the Fürstenzug looking
toward the castle/Hofkirche.

Walking a past the Fürstenzug gave me my first, full-blown view of the what is undoubtedly the symbol of Dresden, the Frauenkirche (Church of our Lady).

Behold the Frauenkirche.

The cherubs are even
cuter up close.
(Wikimedia)

In the days to come, I would spend a lot time time in the city's legendary museums. While I especially liked the New Masters Gallery since it was packed full of Romantic era paintings from Caspar David Friedrich (a personal favorite of mine), it's perhaps the Old Masters Gallery that really blew me away. The fact that the gallery is actually housed in a wing of the Zwinger palace should already give you an idea of its splendor. It's obvious to any visitor after one step on the staircase leading up the galleries that the collection is fit for a king (and literally was). The gallery itself is a fantastic masterpiece of design and that's exactly what I loved about it. That and it also is home to Raphael's famous Sistine Madonna.

One evening, a couple of days before I would leave Dresden, I took a walk at dusk along the Elbe. After days of museum visits, day trips to other cities in the area, and taking in so much history and culture, a nice leisurely stroll was just what I needed. It was wonderful. The Elbe was flowing peacefully, some people were walking their dogs, others were jogging, friends were meeting up, people were heading home from work, and some were sitting on the grass and relaxing.

A relaxing sunset along the Elbe.

As I too sat down and enjoyed the calm atmosphere, I started to admire Dresden's lovely skyline. But soon, I started thinking about what happened here in the middle of February 1945. In modern times, Dresden is perhaps most well known for the infamous bombing raids that destroyed most of the city. Sitting on the banks of the Elbe, I tried to imagine what the city must've looked like after the destruction. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't imagine it. I just couldn't. Of course, I had certainly seen many pictures of the bombing's aftermath and the toll of the devastation is widely known. Even now, the tops of many of Dresden's older buildings are still blackened by the inferno of decades past. Despite this, I just couldn't fathom that the lovely city I had spent the past few wonderful days in was once a smoldering mass of death and destruction.

Some months before my visit to Dresden, I was reading Kurt Vonnegut's classic "Slaughterhouse 5". The non-linear, anti-war, darkly satirical science fiction novel takes the destruction of the city as its focal point. The story is based on Vonnegut's own experience of the bombing as an American POW being held by the Nazis. He and the other prisoners managed to survive by being locked up in an underground slaughterhouse a few days earlier. Vonnegut would later write that the city after the bombing looked like surface of the moon. As you can see from the famous photo below, there was, quite horrifyingly, no dramatic license in his description.

Overlooking a destroyed Dresden from the city hall. (Wikimedia).

Ruins of the Frauenkirche after the bombing.
A toppled statue of Martin Luther lies in the
foreground. (Deutsche Fotothek).

After the war, the rebuilding efforts commenced and Dresden gradually started to resemble the Baroque gem it once was. The major exception, however, was the Frauenkirche. The government of communist East Germany decided to leave the famous cathedral as a pile of rubble, a testament to the horrors of war and a memorial to Dresden's destruction. For decades, what was once the architectural icon of Dresden remained a shattered silhouette of its former self. Over time, the idea of rebuilding the church slowly picked up steam. After the fall of the Berlin Wall and the German Reunification, support for the reconstruction efforts became even greater.

Though not without scars, the
Frauenkirche stands tall once again.

After a bit over a decade and nearly €200 million in private donations later, the new Frauenkirche, 60 years after its destruction, was reconsecrated and reopened in 2005. The decision was made to incorporate as much of the original remains of the church as possible, which is why some parts of the facade are blackened. Although a few were critical of this choice, I (and many others) thought the mixing of old and new was a fitting way of restoring the city's landmark while also paying tribute the cathedral's destruction. 

My first visit to the Frauenkirche was during my first evening in Dresden. I had just passed the Fürstenzug and came upon the Frauenkirche. It was beautiful. After snapping a few pictures, I went inside. At this time of the day (dusk), there weren't as many visitors as I would've expected for Dresden's most famous landmark. As for the interior itself? It was, in a word, divine. The (new) pure white walls with baroque detailing were a real treat for the eyes. I especially enjoyed looking up at the murals in the dome's interior.

The interior of the Frauenkirche.
(Wikimedia)

Murals on the Frauenkirche's
famous dome. (Wikimedia)

While I enjoy popping into a lovely church, being in the Frauenkirche was much more than a check on my itinerary. On my last evening in Dresden, I went once more inside the Frauenkirche. As I sat in the pews, I thought quite a bit about all the things I had seen, all the things that were destroyed, and all of the things that were rebuilt. When most people, especially older folks, hear the name Dresden, they immediately recall the horrible bombing that reduced the city to ruins.  While we certainly must not forget such events, we also need to remember that the story does not end there. Time rolls on. Dresden is not just a city that has risen from the ashes but is once again a classical city of arts and culture. Dresden and its lovely Frauenkirche live again and in a way, so do the rest of us.

In the Hall of 1,022,000 Eyes

The large Thousand-Armed Kannon.

There are many things that make Kyoto an amazing place to visit. One of them is the abundance of old, beautiful temples. Kyoto has so many old, beautiful temples that I was actually warned not to visit too many in one day, lest I find myself "templed out". Following this advice during my visit there, I took my temple dosage in moderation and successfully avoided any Stendhal-like symptoms. Nevertheless, at the end of each day my feet were sore as hell from all the walking.

Sanjusangendo temple.

On my fourth day in the Kyoto, I visited one of the most stunning temples the city has to offer, Sanjusangendo. The name of the temple means "hall with thirty-three spaces between columns". Dating from 1164, the original building was destroyed in a fire but was reconstructed in 1266 and has remained standing ever since. Aside from from its obvious religious value, Sanjusangendo has also became widely known in (Japanese) popular culture for two rather non-religious reasons.

Woodcut from the late 1700s showing the
Toshiya at Sanjusangendo. Photo from
the Wikimedia Commons.

Each year, a famous archery contest called the Toshiya, is held at the temple. Originating with samurai during the Edo period, the contest is now closely associated with Japan's Coming of Age Day, with many of the archers being "new" adults.

Woodcut of Musashi battling the Yoshioka
School. Source unknown.

Sanjusangendo, or rather the area just outside of it, was also the site of a duel between the legendary samurai Miyamoto Musashi and the leader of the Yoshioka martial arts school. Musashi himself is a prominent figure in Japanese culture and gained fame not only for his tactical skills but also for his philosophical writings. For anyone interested in learning more about Musashi himself, the Edo period, or just a plain fantastic story should check the novel "Musashi" by Eiji Yoshikawa.

I wondered if they offered a discount
to anyone buying all of the charms at once.

During my time in Kyoto I stayed at the guesthouse of Shunkoin temple, in the northwestern area of the city. It's tucked away from the city center yet still well connected. I took a train to Kyoto Central Station and from there hopped on a bus. I thought the bus was extremely crowded and exploding with passengers but I'm sure all the Japanese folks thought it was a normal, everyday experience. After I got off (or rather was launched out of) the bus, I found myself standing right in front of Sanjusangendo. As I soon as I entered the temple grounds, the first thing that caught my attention were various signs hawking all sorts of gaudy trinkets and dodgy "spiritual" services. 

Fortunately, the signs didn't distract at all from the temple itself. From my earlier temple visits in Kyoto, I learned that it's best to visit as early as possible since the crowds will be far thinner. It's not possible to actually beat the crowds in Japan since it seemed to me there were always people around, all the time, and everywhere. While outdoors, I was never by myself. Although I walked quickly to the entrance, got my ticket, and walked quickly the main hall, I started to walk much slower as soon as I got to the entrance. After rounding a corner, I peeked in and was greeted with one of the most amazing sights of I've ever had the fortune to lay my eyes on. There so many golden figures, beautifully adorned, meticulously detailed golden statues almost as far as I could see. Look at the photo below for a bit before you continue reading on.

Shot of the main hall of Sanjusangendo. Photo from the pamphlet "National Treasure
Sanjusangendo"

Perhaps the best indicator of the hall's sheer beauty came not from my own amazement but from someone else's . A bit further down the (very long) hall was a tour guide accompanying a sharply dressed, aloof German businessman. As the guide explained the history of the temple and the details of the statues, the German guy, now standing with wide eyes and an obvious expression of awe, could only say "Wow". While this reaction might not seem like much, one must keep in mind that German folks are a quite a reserved bunch who are usually hard to impress. The "tough crowd" may very well lie among the multitude of German inventions but having seen the gentleman's initially icy demeanor melt away into reverent astonishment in a matter of moments was a wonderful thing to see.

Photography is not allowed in the temple, which was just fine with me since I couldn't possibly hope to capture the atmosphere well with my little (albeit appropriately named) Canon camera. I did manage to find some web sites with fantastic professional photos, one of which can be found here. Another site with great pictures comes from a very talented flickr user. All the photos from the inside of the temple on this post are from a pamphlet I picked up.

The main hall is basically a long corridor with a narrow walkway. Most of the space in the temple is taken up by 1,000 wonderful statues of Kanon bodhisattva. Some of the statues date from the original structure but most were made when the temple was rebuilt in the 13th century. The figures of the bodhisattva are carved from Japanese cyprus and painted in gold. As I walked slowly down this long hall, gazing at all of the statues, I stopped for a closer look. I soon noticed that far from being mass produced copies, the statues were actually not the same at all. In particular, the facial expressions were all just different enough to be noticeable. And in the center of the hall was a large, seated Kanon figure. 

Large Kanon statue in the center of the main hall. Photo from the
pamphlet "National Treasure Sanjusangendo".

Sanjusangendo, which is a part of the Tendai school, is dedicated to the Thousand-Armed manifestation of Kanon bodhisattva, known in Sanskrit as Sahasrabhuja arya avalokiteśvara. While the thousand-arm motif can be seen everywhere in the temple, the statues themselves don't have a thousand arms. They actually have forty, which brings us to some number crunching. As just mentioned, each figure has 40 arms and, according to tradition, the bodhisattva can reach into 25 realms of existence, giving (40 x 25 =) 1,000. The math doesn't stop there, however. It turns out this form of the bodhisattva also has a thousand eyes (and eleven heads). As the bodhisattva foremost in the practice of compassion, the idea is that Kanon can see all (eyes) and also help all (hands). Factoring in Buddhist teachings about the bodhisattva, I made the following calculation to determine the number of eyes at the temple:

1,000 hands/statue (see above)
11 heads (for the Thousand-Armed bodhisattva)
2 eyes/head
1 eye/hand (see above)

Which gives:
[(1,000 hands)(1 eye/hand) + (11 head)(2 eyes/heads)] x 1000 statues = 1,022,000 eyes

On a much less abstract level, one thing I enjoyed very much was the size of the many Kanon statues. They all seemed to be roughly my height (~5' 7", 170 cm). During my time in Japan, I'd seen many giant sized statues and also many small ones but the life-sized figures in Sanjusangendo made an unexpectedly humble impression on me. Perhaps their human-sized stature made them seem less otherworldly and more human. 

 


When I reached the end of the main hall, I turned the corner to find a long (literally!) exhibit about the history and significance of the temple and its art. Afterward, I set about exploring the rest of the temple grounds. There were a couple of small ponds and elegantly arranged gardens.





Just opposite of the main hall stood a tiny shrine built around a small natural spring that had ladles available for visitors to use. A sign explained the spring was discovered shortly after the temple was built and was named "the spring crying in the night" because of the way the water sounds. I didn't think it sounded like crying at all. Perhaps that's because I was listening to it during the day?

 

Like all temples, Sanjusangendo also has a rather large and impressive bell. There was also a large and impressive sign asking visitors not to strike it.





What I found most interesting was an unpainted, stone torii gate that lead to a shrine dedicated to the Shinto spirit Inari. I've always found it interesting how Buddhism has influenced and has been influenced by the many other beliefs and cultures it has encountered. It makes me wonder what sort of changes will occur now that the dharma has come West.

Inari shrine at Sanjusangendo.

Later that evening, while getting ready for bed, I thought very much about what I had seen at Sanjusangendo. The image of so many golden bodhisattva statues stayed in my head all day and it also made me think about what the idea of a bodhisattva means to me. There are many who revere bodhisattvas for various reasons. For many people, veneration takes on an almost theistic quality; prayers and offerings to a celestial being in exchange for good fortune. It has never been and will never be like that for me. Whenever I see fantastic, golden images of bodhisattvas sitting or standing on giant lotus flowers, I don't see an unapproachable, cosmic entity demanding offerings. Nor do I see mythological religious constructions manifested to ease primitive human desires and fears. I prefer to look past the fantastic adornments and academic write-offs to see instead models for the human spiritual potential. It is taught that those golden beings on the lotuses were regular people like you and I. When far along enough on the spiritual path, perhaps we too will sit on lotuses with golden halos, dedicating ourselves to helping all living beings.

Photo from the pamphlet "National
Treasure Sanjusangendo".

Tang Dynasty, New York

Chuang Yen Monastery on a crispy winter day.

I first heard about a place called Chuang Yen Monastery from a group of friends. They were planning to visit for the occasion of the Lunar (Chinese) New Year. I was quite interested in tagging along and after making the plans, we made the trip there. It was January 2004.*

The trip from NYC took about two hours. The monastery is normally closed during the winter  months as the often treacherous weather can make traveling a bit tricky (and dangerous). The monastery does, however, open for the Lunar New Year. Once we were on our way from the parking lot to the temple complex, I was astonished by what I saw.

Before my eyes, in the middle of a scenic, rural area in upstate New York, was a large series of temple buildings built in the traditional Chinese style. I was immediately filled with a sense of bizarre wonder. To me, it almost felt as if the buildings were copied and pasted straight out of Tang Dynasty China.

The Great Buddha Hall of Chuang Yen Monastery.

My friends and I weren't there simply for a leisurely visit, however. We were actually volunteers for the day and would be helping out with the various tasks that needed to be done. Lunar New Year is one of the most important festivities in Chinese culture, a fact that doesn't depend on geography. Even in the middle of a frigid winter day in New York, the place was buzzing with (mostly Chinese) devotees making offerings of various sorts. As my Chinese language skills were (and as of press time, remain) nonexistent, I was assigned to a post that didn't require much Chinese: the kitchen.

Working with a dozen other volunteers to prepare food for literally hundreds of people was quite a fascinating experience, to say the least. The whirlwind of jovial chopping, boiling, frying,  and baking left a lasting impression on me. The image of one fellow stir-frying a massive amount of vegetables with a shovel in the biggest (~1 m/3 ft) wok I'd ever seen is not something I'll soon forget. My experience in the kitchen wasn't so much profound as much as it was just damn fun. I resolved that I would learn how to cook and, unlike my halfhearted desire to learn Chinese in the ill-defined future, I eventually did learn my way around the kitchen.

After lunch and cleaning up, my friends and I were basically finished with our tasks and we had time to explore the environs of the monastery. Before describing the rest of my visit, however, I should probably explain just how a large, Tang Dynasty-style temple complex in the middle of New York came to be.

Chuang Yen ("majestsically adorned") monastery, is the home of the Buddhist Association of the United States (BAUS), a non-sectarian Chinese Buddhist organization. With the help of Dr. C. T. Shen, a prominent figure in the establishment of Buddhism in the U.S., construction began in the early 1980s and was finished in 1985.

A view of the Kuan Yin Hall.

One of the main buildings is the Kuan Yin Hall, which, as the name implies, is dedicated to the bodhisattva Kuan Yin. Used for smaller-scale ceremonies and as meditation space, the hall contains a number of artistic treasures. Centrally placed on the main altar is a porcelain Kuan Yin statue dating from the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644 CE). To the left of the this statue is a large wooden statue of Kuan Yin that actually does date from the Tang Dynasty (618-907 CE). I don't know the exact story surrounding this statue except that it was donated to the monastery and required much restoration work. These days, the calm, effortlessly blissful expression and the elegantly postured figure make a powerful impression on those who view it up close. When I first entered the hall, I was all alone and it was very quiet, which made the experience even more calming.

The porcelain, Ming Dynasty-era Kuan Yin.

The wooden Kuan Yin, which really does
come straight out of the Tang Dynasty.

The Bodhi Path facing the
parking lot.

The stone Bodhi Path (also shown as the second image in this post) guides visitors from the main parking lot to the Main Hall. Statues of the Buddha's arhat disciples flank the route. The path ends in front of the entrance to the Buddha Hall. One of my friends and I walked the path and paid our respects to each enlightened master. The fact that it was freezing cold and a bit slippery didn't both us all that much (I think).

The Bodhi Path facing the Kuan Yin Hall (right) and the
Great Buddha Hall (left).

The Great Buddha Hall is as massive as it looks in the pictures. Visitors enter it through side entrances since, according to tradition, the main entrance in the center is reserved for special guests as well as for the abbot of the monastery. Although I was technically indoors, I definitely felt a sense of expansiveness. Perhaps it was because there are no columns standing in the middle of the hall which would make one feel cramped.

Inside the Great Buddha Hall.

The buddha statue that is the focal point of the hall depicts Vairocana Buddha making the vajra mudra. This statue is also thought to be the largest buddha statue in the western hemisphere. The pedestal on which the buddha sits is adorned with reliefs of various bodhisattvas, all of which display the blissful elegance that characterizes much of Buddhist art. Directly opposite the reliefs is a colorful mural showing various buddhas in a heavenly realm surrounded by celestial beings and bodhisattvas. On top of this mural lies a host of 10,000 small buddha statues. In contrast to the vibrant and other-worldly images on and directly opposite the giant buddha's lotus pedestal, the artwork facing away from massive statue gives a very different impression.

The path below the great
buddha statue.

Some of the 10,000 buddhas

Manjushri Bodhisattva.

A stern, black and white mural shows the 500 Arhats, a popular subject in  East Asian Buddhist art. If I remember correctly, C. T. Shen himself, the benefactor of the monastery, is supposed to have painted some of the figures on this mural. Reflecting on the two different murals was a useful experience for me. In terms of dharma practice, it's easy to swing between the two extremes of strict austerity (as exemplified by the arhats) and attaching to wonderful ideas of a perfect realm far away from our own troubles (shown in the celestial mural). But as the buddha himself taught, we should always aim for the middle path.  

The 500 Arhats Mural.

The cosmic assembly.

A closeup of the arhats.

The rest of the buddha hall is filled with things you'd expect to find in any other main hall; smaller altars, prayer books, shrines dedicated to specific buddhas and bodhisattvas, etc.

A view of the main hall.

The final stop of the trip was the Seven Jewels Lake. The traditional list of the seven jewels includes gold, silver, colored glaze, crystal, coral, pearl, and agate. This area of the monastery grounds includes a garden and some pavilions. To say this was a tranquil place would be a serious understatement. The frozen water, the cold yet crisp air, the cold yet gentle breeze, the sound of nothing but he wind, and most of all, the beautiful Kuan Yin Bodhisattva statue overlooking the lake all reminded me that in such busy times, places of quiet solitude can still be found. Sometimes they can even take the form of ancient-looking Chinese monasteries in upstate New York.

   

 


*Although this trip took place in the winter of 2004, the pictures shown were taken in February, 2005. As not much changed (including the amount of snow and ice), I decided to use the photos from my later trip to illustrate my first visit.