Buddha transcends space and time.

After a mild night of ganbei and pijiu, I woke up at 7am to join Ring, one of my colleagues in the English department at the high school, for what I assumed would be an ordinary visit to her Buddhist temple. We were chauffeured by her father, and after he accidentally put the car in reverse, causing it to violently lurch forward, Ring explained that he is a "new driver." At this point the non-functional seat belt in the backseat quickly escalated on the scale of significance. Ring’s mother and aunt joined the driver's ed session, and we escaped from the city along a dirt road, which winded up into the mountains through fields of green tea and bamboo trees. Our destination was the elaborately decorated facade of a temple, set amongst bamboo saturated mountains and the cleanest air I have thus far inhaled in China. Ring escorted me on a tour of the interior of the temple, which was a barren concrete wasteland, mostly void of decoration. I would shortly find out why this was the case.

Back outside, I joined in the burning of candles and incense, which Ring convinced me to participate in my saying, “When you are in Rome.” While doing my best to do as the Chinese Buddhists do, a demolition squad began smothering the ground around me with fireworks. I wasted no time in relocating to the safe haven of the nearest shelter, just before the commencement of a 20 minute barrage of thunderous explosions, each one giving off the deafening boom of an M-80. Ring explained that they were welcoming the Buddha, which turned out to be much more literal than I assumed. Through the smoke and over the carnage of the perished fireworks, hordes of people made their way down the mountain, towards a trio of open bed trucks, which contained all of the interior decorations for the temple, including 5 gargantuan Buddha statues. What followed was probably one of the craziest moments I have ever witnessed.

To my surprise, a combination of monks, ordinary men, women and children squeezed up against the truck to have the statues transferred onto their outstretched arms. Caving in to my temptation not to let this moment go undocumented, I captured a quick photo of the operation before filing into the Buddha transportation assembly line. The weight of the statue being transferred onto the backs of a crew of moderately sized humans was met with a chorus of grunts and moans and laughter from the observers. Up the muddy hill we marched, with a grandma to my left and a monk in slippers to my right, and a portable cheering section screaming a combination of directions and encouragements along the way. After navigating around several trees and 3 flights of stairs, we delicately delivered the 800 pound statue of His Holiness to what is hopefully His final resting place inside of the temple.

Once all 5 of the Buddha’s were in place, the congregation paid their respects in a lengthy prayer. What followed was a moment that will likely be recurring throughout my trip. My brain navigated through a whirlwind of emotions, trying to comprehend exactly what was taking place. It was another China moment, one in which I wasn’t sure if I’d traveled;

a) back in time,
b) into the future, or
c) to some alternate universe where past and present have collided with fascinating results.

So, here I am in a bamboo forest, in a mist shrouded Buddhist temple, with a trance inducing soundtrack of slow drums and chanting monks who could have easily stepped out of the 12th century. In this same moment, spread before me are a legion of urban Chinese, kneeling on yellow pleather prayer pads, before 3 giant cellophane wrapped Buddhas, while decked out in the latest knock off Versace, and Dolce & Gabbana. Suddenly, the soothing soundtrack is interrupted by an obnoxious Chinese pop song, delivered via the ring tone of a woman bowing before Buddha with a Loius Vutton bag draped around her shoulder, who removes herself from the ceremony to take the phone call. Where and when in the hell am I?

Shortly after, I’m treated to one of the best meals I’ve had in china, a spread of faux meat dishes over rice. Gathered around me are Ring’s family and several others who all insist on shoveling food into my bowl at a slightly faster pace than I’m able to transfer it into my mouth. Just before my bowl begins to overflow, I insist “Wo bao le,” or, “I’m full,” which I try to reserve for the last possible moment. To avoid any unintentional disrespect, I’ve decided to avoid declining any invitations in China unless they’re completely unreasonable. This strategy has put me on the brink of disaster, as I nearly reached the stage of gluttony that results in returning all of the food I was offered, but it’s also the philosophy that led to me going through with the blind massage, and waking up at 7am on a Saturday morning to experience the moving of the Buddha.