I carefully studied the numerous Buddhas, Guan Yins, wrathful warriors, Buddhist attendants. “They’re beautiful. And very powerful, too. Even now I’m only looking at the pictures, but I can feel their qi emanating.”

Yi Kong nodded while she quietly sipped her tea. “It’s a shame that I don’t have time to go back to take more pictures and do more documentation. You see”-she handed me another one with a Buddha whose face was completely weathered away-“if we don’t do anything, in the future not only the face, but the whole Buddha will be gone.” She shook her head. “What a shame.”

“But there must be other people who are saving all these?” I asked.

“Of course.” She stared at me intently. “But they are either scholars whose perspective is purely academic, or Buddhists whose perspective is purely religious. It’s hard to have someone who possesses a balance of the two.” I’d be a fool to miss her hidden meaning. It was me, only me, that she wanted to undertake this project for her temple.

I didn’t reply. I stared at the jade green tea and thought of something else.

Then her resonant voice rose again. “Is there something on your mind?”

“Hmmm-” I looked up and met her all-knowing eyes.

“Meng Ning, you don’t look well. I can tell that something is bothering you, even the other day. If you need help, I’m here.”

I said, lowering my gaze to avoid hers, “Yi Kong Shifu, I’m…very confused.”

“It is natural to feel confused being alive in this illusory world.”

After some silence, she cast me another meaningful, yet softer, look. “I suggest you stay here for a while-do some serious meditation to clear your mind.”

I was surprised to hear this. “You mean-”

“You can come here and live with the nuns for a few days. The temple might help to settle your perplexity.” She paused. “And of course if you don’t like it, you can go home anytime. There’s no commitment.”

Seeing that I didn’t respond, she smiled. “Think about it, Meng Ning. It’ll only do you good. Moreover, during meditation, you’ll be under my supervision.”

To my surprise, considering that I’d never liked meditation, this time I instantly agreed. “Yi Kong Shifu, thank you for arranging this for me.”

“Don’t be polite.”

28. The Private Retreat

Michael had already called several times to ask about me, and each time before we hung up, reminded me to start preparing for our wedding. Yesterday I told him not to call for a while because I had to live in the nunnery for a few days to help Yi Kong with her museum project and to meditate. He showed disappointment but understanding. “I’ll miss your voice, Meng Ning. Please call me if you have a minute.”

I told Mother I was going to live for five days in Golden Lotus Temple to help with a big event to get donations for the poor. Had I told her the truth, that I was going to a retreat and would live like a nun for a few days, she’d have thrown herself into a state of panic, thrusting her pudgy finger at my nose and yelling, “Then you’ll shave your head and put on a loose robe and renounce the world. After that, desert your mother and leave her to die in loneliness and grandchildlessness!”

The next day I packed some simple clothes and daily necessities, then headed straight for Golden Lotus Temple.

Yi Kong put me in a small room by myself, close to the hall where the nuns slept. She told me that the main purpose of this private retreat, besides meditation, was to live with the nuns and to learn from them-their compassionate deeds, their rituals, chanting, and, of course, the Four Great Impressive Ways of walking, living, sitting, lying.

Only the first day here, I’d already felt a tinge of regret. So many rules to follow and so many rituals to learn! I wondered how Yi Kong and the other nuns could look so peaceful and detached all the time.

My first assignment, to my great disappointment, was to help out in the Xiangji Chu, the Fragrance Accumulating Kitchen, to prepare vegetarian dishes-tofu, tarot, yam, bok choi, fungus, gluten, seaweed, anything tasteless that you could name. Chopping up carrots, celery, mushrooms, and taro into fine pieces was very slow work for me. Enviously, I watched experienced nuns arrange the food on the dish to look like a painting-smoked tofu piled up to represent mountains, chopped mushrooms, rocks, and noodles, rivers. Or a visual koan, riddle-rice balls with swirls inside, symbolizing endless transmigration.

Before the meal, I had to wash rice. One time a senior nun made me rinse and rerinse the rice for more times than I wanted to remember-until the washed-away sand equalled that on the banks of the Ganges River!

She looked at me with a deadpan expression. “Until not a single speck of sand is left. Washing rice is actually washing our heart and purifying our mind. We have to rinse and cook with one mind and one heart. Only after that can we have our mindful lunch.”

She went on, looking even more serious. “Moreover, Zen cooking advocates three virtues: purity, freshness, harmony. That’s why we’re vegetarians. Because rich meat dishes confuse both our heart and mind, leaving no room for discipline and reflection. Not to mention the unnecessary killing of other sentient beings.”

Her seriousness and her eagerness to lecture impressed me, but they also made me want to giggle. With an effort to keep my face solemn, I asked politely, “Shifu, do you mean rinsing rice is actually a form of meditation?”

“Yes, of course.”

Now I couldn’t help but tease. “Then, Shifu, is there any sleeping meditation, mindful sleep?”

To my surprise, her answer was, “Well, of course.”

“You’re serious? How?”

“Simple. You go to bed, focus on your breath, and empty your mind. Not only that, you’ll fall asleep faster and more naturally and you’ll be freed from nightmares.”

But at night when I lay in my bed, my mind, instead of being empty, was visited by New York thoughts, like ghosts wandering toward me from eight thousand miles away.

Yi Kong asked me to meditate three hours at a time, both in the morning and afternoon. Every day she’d come into the room to burn incense, pay respects to the small Buddha statue on the altar, then sit with me. Sometimes, during the burning of one incense stick, we’d recite together the Heart Sutra or the Incantation of Great Compassion-to accumulate merit for suffering souls, dead or alive. Other times we’d chant-Praise to the Incense Burner, Praise to the Ten Directions, Fragrance for Discipline and Meditation, and, of course, the Heart Sutra-until I felt my mind being carried away by Yi Kong’s powerful voice, toward another level of consciousness.

Sometimes during our zazen, sitting meditation, when Yi Kong noticed that I was becoming restless or falling asleep, she’d wake me up and lead me in walking meditation. During tea break, we would enthusiastically engage in conversations about arts and Dharma. This always made me feel achingly nostalgic, remembering the years when my world had known no man, no Michael, no Philip, no Lisa, no love, no confusions, but only Yi Kong and her beautiful art objects, and, of course, the always trouble-free, compassionate Goddess of Mercy.

This retreat brought back all the pleasant memories of earlier years. I still felt very fond of the nunnery. Of course, I admired Yi Kong the most, but my second favorite nun was the very young Enlightened to Emptiness. She was so simple and innocent that I secretly wished she were the little sister I’d never had.

But soon my fondness for the young nun was tested. One day, feeling restless during meditation, I decided to visit Yi Kong. A few steps before I reached my mentor’s office, I took several deep breaths, smoothed my black robe, and tried to calm myself.

The door had been left ajar, and as I was about to knock, bits of conversation flowed into my ears.