The quiet and focus at the Kim-Son Monastery atop Mount Madonna
in Gilroy is a contrast to everyday life as most people know it
Life at Kim-Son: First in a three-part series
The haunting sound of chimes signals that although I’m only 20 minutes from home, I am leaving my everyday life far behind. A 20-foot-tall Buddha made of marble quarried from DaNang, Vietnam, greets me near the entrance of this place, the Kim-Son Meditation Center, located on the western Gilroy border on Mount Madonna’s Summit Road.
When photographer and Gilroy resident Bill Strange showed me photographs he had taken of Buddhist monks and nuns here, I assumed the pictures were taken somewhere far away.
Imagine my surprise when I learned that these people, dressed in long robes and looking as if they belonged to another place and time, actually live in the South Valley. Yet I had never heard anyone mention it.
So, one day near the end of last winter, I made up my mind to visit this mysterious place. I drove out to Hecker Pass and continued up the hill. On the left, you can’t miss the sign marking the monastery’s entrance: “Tu Vien Kim-Son.” As the wind blew through the trees, I found myself about to enter their “sangha,” or community.
As I look around, rows and rows of small, colored-glass and jade Buddhas in shades of lavender, green and white caught my eye. In an outdoor shop area covered by a high roof, gold-coated Buddhas are also on display. Prayer books, statues and incense are for sale along with wind chimes, candles, and Winnie the Pooh book holders for children.
The 20-foot-tall Buddha stands proud. It is hard to image the statue, weighing thousands of pounds, being transported over these narrow mountain roads on a semi tractor trailer. But it was brought up the mountain that way as a donation to the monastery by the father of one of the first nuns to live there.
A vision realized
The monastery began as the Rev. Thich Tinh Tu’s dream 23 years ago. Over time, the Buddhist master has developed the grounds and buildings on 35 rustic mountaintop acres, bringing his vision to life of creating a permanent community on Mount Madonna that would serve as a place of spiritual formation. Today, Tu is respected as a Vietnamese Buddhist leader throughout North America, and is in demand around the country as a speaker and teacher. English-speakers may feel out-of-place, although they – and everyone else – are welcome to visit.
Everyday life at the monastery involves rituals of meditation, meals, and the upkeep of the grounds and buildings. The 25 or so monks and nuns shave their heads twice a month, imitating the way the first Buddha shaved off his long locks when he renounced his former life of wealth and began a life of celibacy.
The ritual of a meal
One of the most important aspects of Buddhist life is eating together as a community. The Bhikshu Precepts, part of a guide containing many of the ideals by which Buddhists live, says that a monk “who takes his food into his room and eats on his own, refusing to be with the sangha, except in the event of sickness, commits an offense for which he must express regret.”
When I visit the spacious, modern kitchen at the monastery, the scent of curry spices fills the air, and a number of women are hurrying back and forth. A young woman, head shaved, introduces herself as Chanh Dieu Phap. She is busy helping prepare the noon meal for a large group. “Please stay for lunch,” she invites me with a smile, as she carries a bowl of vegetables across the room.
Lunch is considered the main meal of the day. At first, as a stranger, I am hesitant to join them, yet the women in particular convey through body language that I am welcome to stay and eat with them. They pat their hands on the chair where I should sit beside them. The men and women sit separately at long tables on folding chairs.
The meal is served buffet-style at long tables in the large communal dining hall, where I feel soothed by the surrounding warm redwood walls. The high ceiling and several windows give the room brightness and a breathtaking view of the trees and sky in the distance.
When Master Tu enters the room, he is an unassuming, bespectacled man in saffron-colored robes who bows to all those around him in such a way to simultaneously convey gratitude, respect and the surrender of self-centered preoccupation. He is first and foremost a teacher, one who practices “turning the wheel of the dharma,” or giving spiritual instruction.
A tall wooden statue of a Buddha with too many arms to count sits in the center of the room, symbolic of Buddha’s wish to reach out to help as many people as possible. Signs hang all around the dining hall with sayings such as, “Take a Deep Breath,” “Walk Slowly,” “Always Remain Honest,” “Happiness is the Way,” “Please Stop,” “Smile Please” and “Cultivate Your Mindfulness.” One I am not expecting reads, “Can Yu Pham,” which translates to “You Are What You Eat.”
A silent meal
Although I can’t readily identify most of what I’m eating, the tasty tofu in the all-vegetarian meal is spiced to equal the flavor of the most well-cooked beef I have ever tasted. The warm coconut milk beverage slides deliciously down my throat. In keeping with the Buddhist emphasis on bringing no harm to any living creature, all meals are vegetarian. I’m surprised the food tastes as good as it does.
About 200 of us dine together without any conversation. Many of the visitors are from the Vietnamese community in San Jose, which is a great support to the monastery. Others have traveled from Palo Alto and Carmel. Several workers who have been laboring on the grounds also join us.
Once Tu has blessed the meal in Vietnamese, we spend about an hour in silence. Never have I shared so quiet a meal with so large a group of people. When I have difficulty getting liquid to pour out of a water pitcher, one of the nuns gestures for me to watch as she opens the lid on another, gesturing for me to do the same. We smile and nod as we communicate through body language.
Without speaking, the residents convey friendliness and generosity, expecting nothing in return. At the end of the meal, I am reminded of my childhood camp days as we each take our dishes and begin washing them in tubs of water outside the dining hall. After rinsing them, we set them out to dry in the sunlight.
Eating mindfully
When I was trying to understand the special feeling in the room during such a meal, Monk Thich Nhat Hanh explained it this way: “Every time I hold a bowl of rice, I know how fortunate I am. I know that 40 thousand children die every day because of lack of food, and that many people are lonely, without friends or family. I visualize them and feel deep compassion.
“You don’t need to be in a monastery to practice this. You can practice at home at your dinner table. Eating mindfully is a wonderful way to nourish compassion, and it encourages us to do something to help those who are hungry and lonely. We needn’t be afraid of eating without having the TV, radio, newspaper or a complicated conversation to distract us. In fact, it is wonderful and joyful to be completely present with our food.”
Tu teaches students to practice “mindfulness.” One of the insights contained in the Buddhist concept of “enlightenment” is the practice of becoming intentionally aware of a particular thought or action in the present moment.
The silence at lunch allowed each one of us to give our full attention to enjoying the food and to the feeling of community around us.
The monastery is not set apart to isolate its inhabitants from the rest of Gilroy, as I had assumed when I first arrived. One of the most important things the monastery achieves by being set apart from everyday hustle and bustle is that it provides a structure in time and space with a specific schedule for its inhabitants. It frees them and makes it possible to concentrate on one thing at a time.
As I travel down the mountain to return home, the quietness of the monastery stays with me. All of the sounds around me seem amplified in volume. The beeping of a car horn, the boom of a teen’s hip-hop music – it all seems jarringly loud. I feel the peace of the monastery still lingering with me, and I know I will be going back up the mountain to find it again.
