Christmas Miracle in Thailand

 by Student Chalita Photikoe

I was raised Buddhist, and as a child my father taught me how to meditate. Several evenings a week we chanted in the ancient language of Pali and practiced sitting together in silence in front of our altar. My dad often took me to the Thai temple outside of Chicago, and it was there we met one of our most beloved teachers, a kind and gentle monk named Phra Prasong. He was a mystic, a poet and an artist. Although his teachings were simple and direct, he had a magical way of making the dharma come alive with his storytelling. My father and I studied with Phra Prasong for many years, and he became our most constant and treasured teacher.

He often shared miracle stories from his time as a forest dwelling monk--years travelling throughout remote forests in India, Thailand and Nepal with not much more than an alms bowl and mosquito net. Phra Prasong focused on meditation, simplicity and non-attachment as a path to liberation. One of his favorite sayings was to “always keep a gentle smile in your heart.” I spent summers studying with him during my teen years and he was a deep anchor of peace and wisdom in my life. Our visits dwindled after I left for college, and eventually Phra Prasong returned to Thailand. I last saw my teacher in Chicago over 20 years ago, but his loving spirit has always stayed with me.

In 2018 my father passed away after a long illness, and in December 2019 I travelled to Thailand for his funeral (it is customary to keep the body until the family is ready, sometimes several years). In Thailand, funeral rites are among the most elaborate of all life cycle ceremonies because of the focus on passing from one existence to another. They often involve days of ritual, chanting and offerings and conclude with the cremation ceremony. It is an intimate experience of coming face to face with death.

On the first morning of the funeral rites, a small group of family members went to exhume my father’s body, which was kept unpreserved at the village temple. We made offerings of food and drink, lit candles and incense, and prayed. The caretakers then broke apart the tomb, and we could smell the damp earth and see insects scurrying about. My brother and I lifted what was left of his body into a golden wooden coffin. We then poured scented holy water and scattered flowers all over his remains. Afterwards we circled the golden stupa and carried the coffin up to the cremation chamber. 

My experience that morning was a mixture of relief and understanding that my father’s body was only temporary housing for his eternal spirit. I began to feel a growing sense of peace and aliveness within, rather than grief and despair. In the evening my brother and I set an intention for our father’s cremation to be a healing service for all. The next two days were filled with sharing stories, giving alms, monks chanting, and large meals with family and guests.

On December 21st, 2019, I delivered my eulogy on the final afternoon of the funeral rites. It was a series of gratitudes for my dad: for introducing me to meditation, for showing me magic, for loving me, for teaching me to ride a bike, for always listening to me, for modeling how to live simply and with devotion. After thanking Dad for the last time, my voice breaks. I turn around and look behind me. Standing there is my and my father’s beloved teacher, Phra Prasong! My first thought was “Whoa. My inner vision has really gotten stronger.” But then I realized my mother could see him too. And I dissolved into a puddle of tears.

I wanted to throw my arms around Phra Prasong, but remembered that women were prohibited from touching monks. I was in shock. We exchanged only a few words, and then it was time to ascend the stupa steps to the crematorium. As the caretakers lift my father’s coffin into the chamber, Phra Prasong makes his way up the stairs and ignites the very first wooden flower offering that goes into my dad’s coffin. He then waits for the rest of the relatives to do the same with their wooden flower offerings and is the one that gives the final send off into the cremation chamber.

After the last guest leaves, I sit with my teacher in the temple courtyard until the sun sets. Finally, I am able to ask him how he ended up at my dad’s funeral. He smiles and simply replies, “Luang Por fhang yu” which translates into “I was listening.” My mind is still grasping, so I press for more details. Phra Prasong shares that earlier in the day he was giving a dharma talk in Bangkok (the capital city two hours away.) After the lecture he was off to another destination when he received internal guidance to head to Photaram (my dad’s village).  He obeys and directs the driver to turn the car around. He walks into the temple and notices there is a funeral, and sees our family name. He then hears my voice delivering the eulogy for my dad. All because he was listening.

My mind is spinning, my heart is pounding and I feel light headed. I am trying to calculate the probability of Phra Prasong walking into the small village temple moments before I read the eulogy. I try telling myself that somehow, a distant relative had gotten the message to him. My mind wants an explanation! But I realize there is no logical explanation. There is no explanation at all. So I just sit there weeping. I surrender and let his words sink in: “I was listening.” I was listening.

The innermost prayer in my heart had been answered, and up until that moment I had no idea the prayer even existed. But Divine knew, and so did my dad. And Phra Prasong was listening. That day I felt the deepest remembrance, the purest love and the truest sense of belonging I had ever experienced. Thousands of miles away from home, on an afternoon that was to be marked by loss and grief, Divine found me and scooped me right up into her arms. And of this I am certain: God knows our hearts and will deliver to us more than we can ever imagine or understand.

This Holy-day season, may we deeply rest in Divine’s embrace. May our days be full of miracles big and small. May all our teachers, mentors, guides and helpers be abundantly blessed in every way. And may we all continue to listen.

Contact Chalita: chalitap@gmail.com