Buddha's Ear
- Omarai
- Dec 30, 2025
- 6 min read
Standing above the clouds revealed the path of ascension. This time, in striking colours, delicate air and an orchestra of reverent footsteps. It is always profound to catch a glimpse of the road that leads to the heavens. It is utterly transcendent to realize that other human beings are treading upon that land all of the time.
The world, visibly existed below the staircase. The temple, stood like the dawning bell of destiny, welcoming some shred of doubt to come out from hiding and participate in the chorus of bliss that permeates time beyond the known reality. What a blessing it is, to have no clue what is really going on around you, while being peacefully immersed in it.
Reverence
It's often the simplest things that bring us home in the end.
Spirituality is such a powerful phenomenon. It's powerful enough that many people actively refrain from suggesting that is has anything to do with the choices that they make or the pathways that they choose. It's so powerful that it has become synonymous with something phoney or imitated in recent years despite the root nature of the word itself. I've noticed that a lot of modern culture omits the presence of a spirit in their accounts and summons of "spirituality". I have become very curious about what this trend says about the spirits around us these days.
When I arrived at the Mahamevnawa Buddhist Monastery early on a fresh December morning during my unexpected holiday visit to Ceylon, I had no idea what I was walking into. Or up to, I will say. I had seen some beautiful temples and prayed at many sacred sites over the last two months; travelling throughout India and Sri Lanka and so, I imagined something similar was in store. Another precious temple to see and another holy blessing to receive. The ignorant (and well intentioned) voice of my inner-conscience was well prepared to be blown away.
The first thing that my travel companion said (an extraordinarily spiritual being, by chance) as we discovered the beautiful fountains at the temple entry; "Well. Made it to heaven!"
Her playfulness was on point! We really had. Weeks and months and years of moving through the chaotic and cherished chapters of life had landed us very unassumingly at the doors of the most elegant, decorated and peaceful place on earth! Not only that, but we had arrived precisely during a monthly ritual that had powerful drums and prayers echoing into the sky like a parade for the gods. The ritual took place just beyond these enormous and opulent doors to the temple shrine itself and as we approached, we caught a glimpse of something altogether spiritual;
Responsibility
That which appears to be grandiose is often in fact, just unfamiliar.
In a world that is increasingly governed by that which is deemed as "artificial" and "intelligence", the opportunities to step forward into a meaningful relationship with something spiritual have perhaps never been so dangerous and important. In one sweeping instant, we can be overwhelmed with the blissful energies that have been cultivated by generations of discipline, devotion and authentic stewardship, and also be caught in a swirling mania of doubt and cynicism as to what it means, who created it, and what does it want from me. It has become so easy in this age to remain pre-occupied in our subjective dilemma of self vs. not-self that we completely miss the experience of the true object of our attentive yearning, even when it is staring us right in the face.
As I walked around this pristine monastery; before the Great Banyan Tree, through the pyres of sandalwood and jasmine that were burning within pillars of sand, within the shrine of the Seven Buddhas, placed prominently in between monolithic murals that beautifully depicted the grace of those Buddha's prophecies over the ages-- I marvelled at the lightness in the smiles of the local worshippers. This lightness delicately depicted the same quality I noticed in their footsteps. In the way they placed flowers at the foot of both tree and deity. In the gentleness of their voices. I marvelled at how simple their actions were and how deeply that simplicity imprinted upon me. I relaxed my proud shoulders and bowed internally towards every eye that met mine. I wanted to lean in. I wanted to learn. I wanted to carry the weightlessness that I saw all around me...
After spending a couple of hours at the monastery, I walked away from the main temple and went down a couple flights of stairs. There, on a terrace, I found a small pagoda with a few benches placed beneath. I sat on a bench that had a broad view of the world below the temple grounds. Breathtaking would be a mild description. I sat, folded my legs into a meditative seat, closed my eyes and invited a very gentle breath to move between me and the space around me. After a couple of minutes had passed, I started to notice how the sound in this place was actually so quiet. It had nothing to do with volume. The quietness was more of an intentional dedication to listening. I could hear, through the sound of my own breath, all of the moments spent listening in this place. Alone on this bench, I could still hear the sound of those peoples feet touching the ground. I could hear the sound of an incense stick being placed into the sand. I could hear the sound of a smile rising on their face. In my listening, I was reminded of the Seven Buddhas from the temple shrine. I began to wonder how my wanting...my desire to learn and receive what I saw, may have been clouding my listening.
Quintessence
I found something that I wasn't looking for, and I was looking for something that was never meant to be found.
The moment on the bench was simple. The entire experience of visiting this truly magical place, was simple. Everything was simple, and yet my mind could have attached (and it tried) meaning to so many moments, interactions, insights. In the end, it was the listening that came through the strongest. The loudest. It was the subtle echoes of experience that found space and time to be heard by ears that were no longer striving to hear something that they wanted. No longer seeking meaning where there was only presence.
I've learned a great deal of lessons and contemplated a great deal of teachings from my seat. Only once in my life have I ever sat on that bench at the Mahamevnawa Buddhist Monastery in Ceylon. Only once, and yet, it is the very same seat that sits on this cushion in a small wooden lodge in the Balinese jungle while I write. It is the very same seat that has held my questions and supported my spine as I learned how to lean back. As I learned how to catch myself. As I learned how to guide my attention through.
Listening is available always. It seems that these days, it is easier to listen to the noise of those things which claim to be spiritual. It is easier to reject our inherent spirituality so that we can prove that we haven't lost our logical footing in reality. So that we can still make money and connect with the real world. It is easier to sift through our reflections of things and decide if we are spiritual or not; if the spirits around us are worthy of our attention or not; if they have our best interests at heart or not. These things are all easy to do. To listen to. Maybe we've just gotten used to spending our time like this. Listening to listening itself however, is something entirely different than easy. It's...simple. We don't have to dissolve all of our differences by bouncing back and forth between opposites. We don't have to cure all of our wild distractions with focus and discipline. We don't have to cultivate strength to compensate for every weakness. Some things are best to be left to the simpleness of listening for its own sake. Listening simply because, there is listening to do. Listening that is only interrupted by every attempt to label what is heard. To decide where it belongs, if it belongs at all. To spend every moment of our time in a meaningful way.
My final reflection.
I don't have to be spiritual enough. The right amount of spiritual. Spiritual at the optimum moment. Spirit is the simple sound of feet on the ground as a flower is laid to rest at the root of the listening ear. Buddha's ear.
Ji
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