How to shave your brother’s head
A week in Thailand with my soon-to-be monk brother, Adam
I was writing a personal journal on my time in Thailand and decided to expand it to share more broadly. I’ll still be sending November-in-review soon!
As usual would love your feedback — you can always just reply directly to this email like any other (and I can pass along any thoughts for Adam as well).
Shaving someone’s head is easier than you might expect. The head, without the nooks and crannies of the chin, makes it easy to avoid slipping up and cutting the skin. This is one of many things you learn visiting your older brother at his monastery in Thailand.
The Backstory
Adam’s monk story began on a family vacation in Indonesia a year ago. While we were touring a Buddhist temple he saw three saffron-clad monks in a corner and immediately went to go talk with them. Characteristically, the rest of us went to get some cocktails and wait for what turned into two, then three, then four hours of impatience. Finally he showed up with a big smile on his face, nearly skipping down the path:
“How was it?”
“It was amazing.”
“Did you meditate with them?”
“Yes I did! And… they asked me if I wanted to come live with them at their monastery in Thailand!
I remember laughing about it at the time, only for Adam to tell us at breakfast the next morning that he was already searching for a new home for his cat.
If I think back on it, maybe his monk story actually began early in COVID, when he locked himself in his bedroom to do a one-person silent retreat. Or maybe on one of his seven Vipassana meditation retreats. Or maybe all the times he showed up to weeks-long vacations with nothing but a small backpack, nonchalantly admitting he had lost his passport.
In fact, Adam had always been monk-ish. Since he was a kid he was the easygoing, minimalist one in the family: generous with a smile, willing to talk to anyone, and often critiquing our family’s habit of nice restaurants. While I didn’t need someone to point out his dotted line towards monkhood, it still somehow felt like a shock.
Testing the waters
Adam spent much of the rest of this year in and out of monasteries in Thailand, but from afar he seemed hesitant to commit, ultimately coming back to the US to apply to Grad Schools. Candidly, I remember feeling at the time like our family had dodged a bullet.
A few weeks ago when I bought my flight to Thailand, I didn’t even realize he would be there, only for us to meet up at the Bangkok Soho House (I assured him he’d still get in with flipflops but without eyebrows.)
It was over tuna tartar that he told me he was apprenticing under a senior Monk, Ajahn Medinho, traveling to Buddhist sites through Thailand and Sri Lanka. “Then what?” I asked.
“Well, then I’m planning to ordain at a monastery in Southern Thailand.” he replied.
Quickly the thing I joked about with friends for months took on a new weight. What does it mean to ordain? Is it permanent? Do ordained monks get to call or text family? Do they even get to keep family?
I decided to move my travel to spend a few days together and quickly found myself in a pickup truck with two monks traveling South for a Buddhist festival called the Kathina.
A night at Wat Boonyawad
Before this trip, I knew next to nothing about Monks (shaved heads? no phones? asian amish?). As I now understand it, the goal of monks is to commit themselves on the path towards enlightenment (Nibbana) and to take on the 227 precepts: spanning from not killing or engaging in sexual activity to only eating what has been offered to them. A typical day involves…
4:00am: Morning bell and meditation
5:30am: Walking barefoot to the village to collect food offerings
7:00am: Daily meal
8:00am-10pm: Meditation (and some chores)
We arrived to the massive monastery the day prior to the festival, joining dozens of monks streaming in from all over the world. We were given a bamboo mat and mosquito net for the night, then joined the monks for the afternoon drink.
I spent an hour speaking with Blake, one of the only western monks. He had been a Varsity-football-playing boy from Iowa before falling in love with monastic life, but even after 5 years his Mom still struggled with his life of the robe.
I asked for advice as family of a prospective monk, and he gave me two suggestions:
Educate yourself: The more you can learn about Buddhism and monastic life, the more you can empathize with your monk
Know the difficulty isn’t one-sided: The family aren’t the only ones who may struggle. The life of a monk is difficult, especially giving up people they love, but they only pursue it because of how important it feels to them.
Afterwards, Tin, a springy young Thai monk, broke a few rules to bring us up to the Cheri: a hilltop Pagoda with a soaring Golden Stupa. There was a visceral sense of quiet, with moonlight shining onto the three monks meditating on the steps. We joined them, meditating for a while. Everything was so beautifully still, but you could still feel the quiet presence of monks around you. It was the first time I had a glimmer of why Adam sought out this life.
The next day we woke from our tent at 4:30am. There was light music playing from the hall and monks were bustling around preparing for the Kathina. It had the early-morning festive energy of a July 4th Parade.
I went to the bathroom to shower and came out to find Adam starting to shave his head. It was the first time he had tried to shave by himself, and he was about halfway through with the back still scratchy from a few missed spots. I watched for a moment, then offered to help.
A bit intimidated, I took the metal straightrazor and padded some shaving cream onto his scalp. I held him steady with my left hand, and with my right pulled the blade down steadily towards the nape of his neck, surprised by how easily the hair stuck to the razor. It took about 15 minutes to traverse his head, passing my hand over the waxy smoothness for any patches I missed.
By the time we walked back to our tent, the sun was just starting to come out, with lines of cars streaming into the monastery to start the festival.
The Kathina: A Buddhist County Fair
The Kathina is a bit like a county fair, but everything is free. There were dozens of stalls set up full of handing out food of all sorts: mango sticky rice, panang curry, dumplings, iced coffee and even sushi.
We milled around and grabbed some drinks, then watched as thousands of people started assembling to pass along the offerings. They passed platters and bags of food down the long line to the monks sitting at the end. They put what they needed in their bowls, and the remainder wound its way back to be handed out to everyone else.
The air bubbled with a quiet joy: Everyone dressed in white, barefoot on the stone steps of the Great Hall. Kids skipped around, and younger relatives held the arms of their grandparents to help them to their seats.
After the meals, people gathered in the chairs in rows around the main hall as the monks chanted in a moving prayer (you can listen below).
Wat Marp Jahn
After the Kathina, we drove to Wat Marp Jahn, the monastery where Adam intends to ordain. It’s a smaller, more humble monastery surrounded by thick forrest and is known for being more open to supporting Western monks.
We joined the twenty-or-so monks for chanting and meditation, then woke at 5am the next morning to help sweep and assist the monks to collect alms.
After the daily meal, it was my time to go. I gave Adam a big hug and got back in the pickup truck for the trip to Bangkok. Adam stayed to finish the sweeping. He’ll spend a week or so there before continuing on with Monk Medinho to Sri Lanka.
Heading Home
On the drive back I was thankful for a moment to sit in silence in the backseat, out of view of the monks in front. I watched the farms of rural Thailand out the window, the bright green fields blurring a bit as my eyes glistened over.
Admittedly I’m still getting pretty emotional writing this (I’m getting a wide berth at this cafe in Manila). It’s hard to know what to think of all of it, and I haven’t fully answered the questions I asked myself that first night together.
When I think of Adam ordaining, I feel a sense of loss. I imagine him spending the upcoming decade thousands of miles away, living quietly in a hut as a chasm grows between our ways of life. I find myself mourning the life that would not be. One with family trips and movie nights. One where I meet new girlfriends and hear about new jobs. One where there might be nephews and nieces. Instead I imagine one less table-setting at Thanksgiving.
One thing that surprised me about the few days we spent together was the range of monks I met:
Blake was slow-moving, quiet, and thoughtful. Ajahn Medinho was a bit coarser with a sharp whit. Tin was bubbly and sweet. And Adam was… well he was actually his same-old self: a bit smiley, a bit goofy, always trying to help out where he could. He had a tinge of a newfound calmness, and most of all, he seemed happy.
Monks are required to get permission from their parents to ordain. While there’s no requirement for other family members, Adam — I hope you know that as long as this is the path you see for yourself, there’s nowhere I’d rather you be. I’ll always be here if you need help shaving the prickly patches on your head.
I walk away from the week full of warmth. Percolating through all the emotions is the joy of imagining Adam, a soft smile on his face as he cleans the corridors of War Marp Jahn, polishing his inner goodness.
Nice one! global perspective.
I loved reading this, Z. It’s insane to know my silly bestie can be this insightful and write in a way that moves me to the point of tears in my eyes. Can’t wait to read more!