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HENG CH’AU: June 17, 1977. Talked with an older City Maintenance man. Good conversation. His questions were practical and probing. "Where do you sleep? Why don’t you talk? Do you have ten thousand of those Buddhas?" Relaxed and natural, we parted less skeptical and more in touch. Later another crew had heard about us through him (Josi) and came out. Looked like trouble. Three big redneck hardhats were towering over us. The big one asked, "What’s in it for you?"
"Well, we’re trying to cool ourselves down a bit and hopefully touch others the same way. If we can spend a year without fighting or giving bad vibes then it won’t be wasted."
"Man you’re so right! There’s sure a lot of hate around and I’ve done my shsare of sending bad vibes and fighting."
Me: "That’s the point! The world is that much cooler if you don’t send hate into it."
Him: "Don’t you get bothered by folks, hassled?"
Me: "We get all sorts of responses and we try not to be thrown by praise or ridicule. It we get mad or feel hate then we’ve failed. If we let it go by, it goes out and it’s gone."
Him: "For sure! Listen, you have a good trip buddy." Followed by a crushing handshake and a big smile.
Another: "You ain’t Krishnas?"
Me: "No."
Him: "What’s the difference?"
Me: "Twenty-six hundred years of the real stuff--strict vows of no killing, no stealing, no lying, no drugs or alcohol, and no sexual misconduct and a lot of hard work and study. You don’t become a Buddhist monk overnight."
Outside a real estate company a man walked up and said, "Excuse me, could you tell me a little about what you are doing?" He was a cross between Roy Rogers and an astronaut: straight, honest looking and not the least bit put off by our shaved heads and robes. He had just stepped out of his office reading a contract, saw something of genuine interest and asked. We talked.
"Well, we are Buddhist monks and we’re making a pilgrimage to a monastery, City of Then Thousand Buddhas in northern California."
"I see. And the bowing? I am really interested."
"Well. We are praying and trying to lessen our own hatred and stupidity. If we can influence others to do the same then the world’s a little less likely to have wars and disasters."
"Hmm. Very interesting." He was the kind of man who ran a business instead of the other way around. He respected hard work and sincerity and in a way represented one of the best parts of America: an openness to new and different ideas that judged on the basis of "well now that makes sense" or "that’s straight talk" or "that’s where it’s at." He was 50ish and even talked like Roy Rogers. He took a release and said, "Thank you for your time. You’ve given me something to think about. Good luck."
Shortly after, an older woman who came out to check her mail noticed us and gave a friendly, maternal smile and went inside. Kind of like "Now isn’t that nice to see." Later we heard, "Yoo hoo, yoo hoo, boys." We looked up and on the balcony of an upstairs apartment is a woman, waving two cans in her hands. "Can you have some Fresca to cool you off?"
I stick a release in her mailbox saying, "Your thoughtfulness is appreciated but we have vowed not to drink soda pop during the pilgrimage. Much peace.
A mother and baby pass by with a carriage. Quite a pleasant little street. Looks a lot different from our knees than when we first drove through. Then it looked forbidding and cold. As I come up from a bow I hear car doors slam and running feet. "OK you guys stay where you are." The police again. It’s a pre-rehearsed harassment and intimidation trip. Immediately they start frisking roughly--jabbing, poking. He rips off my sash and tosses it on the car hood and starts tugging my robe off. The other one is working on Heng Sure. The sutra has been put on the ground, but it’s not the time to protest, just wait it out.
"How come you aren’t out of my area yet?"
"Well, we are making a pilgrimage and …"
"I don’t care what you’re doing."
The other one: "Where do you sleep?"
Me: "Someone has let us use of a van until we bow…cut off.
Cop: "Bowing huh? Seems like you’re doing too much bowing and not enough walking. Sleeping here, there, and everywhere."
Other cop: "Yeah. I saw you three days ago only one mile south and told you then to get moving." It wasn’t true but it didn’t matter. It was a time to be quiet and endure.
Cop: "Why did you both that woman and her baby?"
Me: "We didn’t even talk to her."
Cop: "Listen. You get out and get out quick. Every time I see you bowing I’m going to shake you like this and worse. And if you’re not gone real soon there ain’t no monk in the world gonna save you, ya hear?" They start to leave. I grab my sash from the hood--our stuff is scattered on the street. "Officer could I ask…" No response. They peel out and are gone as quickly as they came.
As we are putting ourselves together a family of four walks up having witnessed the whole incident and acts like nothing had happened. Calmly and with warm smiles they ask, "Can we have your blessings and one of those fliers?"
Us: "Well, we don’t have any virtue or blessings, but here’s a release explaining a little of what the pilgrimage is about.
Looking back, they were very interesting people but they came up at a time when we were pulling the pieces together from the police and we didn’t handle it too well. But then who knows, mayb that’s just the way it worked out best.
Took an hour off to visit the sheriff and local California Highway Patrol to try and clear the air. It should be ok now.
As we start bowing a very bizarre man strolls up and stares swaying back and forth rubbing his hands. Finally he says, "Yes, sir, I’ve prayed along this very street myself, I have."
No response.
"Anything I can help you with?"
Me: "Uh, no, no thanks. We’re fine."
At the end of the day a man sat next to us and waited. "Is it ok to talk?"
"For a minute."
"I’ve been watching you from Santa Monica and I have some questions."
"Oh?"
He then proceeded to rattle off some very detailed logistical questions: "Three steps, one Bow every inch? What about intersections? What about going to the toilet, do you have to bow there and back? To get a drink of water? What about crossing the highway? Do you sleep?" and so one. He was very serious and these questions seemed very important to him. I answered as best I could, and satisfied, he walked over to his VW bus and drove off.
Sometimes I get an inkling of what the bears in Yosemite and Yellowstone must see. Often people will drive, cautiously roll down their car windows and stealthily snap a picture of us. Then they quickly roll up the winder and speed away. "I got it, I got it! Hurry let’s go before they get us! Better yet are the "stalkers" who tiptoe up (usually from behind) snap and streak back to safety. Passing by a Jack-in-the-Box some women tiptoed carefully around us like we were skunks. Someone off-stage drawled, "It’s all right, ladies, they don’t bite."
I wanted to say, "That’s right, we are vegetarians."
Everyday we offer flowers to the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. There are flowers everywhere along highway #1. The more we bow, the more we find. Even in the most unlikely, lowly places. Sometimes in a pile of gravel, garbage, and broken glass the flowers grow and maintain. We thought of renaming Pacific Coast Highway the Flower Garland Free Way.