Week 2&3 August 9 2018: Angampora: They call me Dua

So Sorry! I know I said I will be posting once a week or once every two weeks but honestly there is Just waaaaay to much to explain and describe.  (I also have been non-stop traveling the 3 weeks so I haven't had wi-fi).   So I will dedicate this post entirely to Angampora and make another post for all the pictures of the non-stop Travel.  Again I encourage comments and thoughts! (or critiques)

Pictures can be found here

http://angampora.org/

Angampora First lesson: The Ritual 

We waited on the couch for the guru to arrive. My auntie Rasheeda had come with me to the Grand Guru's house, to ensure that I knew how to go.  The Grand Guru's wife, grandchildren and Daughter-in-law greeted us. They brought us Ceylon Milk Tea while we waited, explaining that the Grand Guru and his son were coming back from teaching in another area. I felt nervous, and awkward. I didn't know what to expect and furthermore I have a rather limited Sinhala vocabulary, so I couldn't communicate with his family either.  

When he and his son finally arrived, I expected he would be tired and send me away, or tell me to come back on Saturday.  In some ways I wanted that because I felt intimidated and completely outside of my comfort zone. I'd read all about him. He's 78 years old, considered the only Angampora Grand Guru left, and is very selective of his students.  "What if he decides NOT to teach me?"   I wondered.  My nerves calmed as he smiled at me.  It was an ear to ear smile as if he was welcoming home a long lost child, and perhaps in some ways, I am. 

He beckoned me to follow him to the adjacent building made out of  what appears to be clay, called a Madula. Before entering  we took off our shoes. The earthen floor of the madula felt cool and gritty beneath my bare-feet.  Directly in front of the entrance, against the wall was a stone alter. The guru motioned for me to approach and he lit the incense.  Then he lit the candle in front of a worn statue of  Ravana, then the one in front of a picture of Lord Ganesh (Gana-deva in Sinhala), the lit the one in front of the statue of Lord Buddha. I waited for him to light the last small oil lamp, in the corner. Instead he turned to me and handed me the box of matches.  I fumbled with the matches, breaking the first one in half. I lit the second one and used it to light the last small oil burner. This done, he smiled at me and nodded, then showed me how to bow.  Its more than just a simple bow. You bend down and touch the earth, then your shoulders. This is done 3 times .  Then you bow your head to the alter in submitting your body to the Art of Angampora. Then I meditated. He had me sit on a mat in the center of the room with my legs crossed. I closed my eyes and waited. I don't know how long passed.  But at some point he clapped and said enough, he would teach me.

At the time I didn't realize how important this ritual was.  Apparently it was this ritual that Guru uses to discern who he will take as a pupil. In some sense, he examines you, all of you. Your mind, your soul, your heart, they all become known to him. I don't know what he's looking for.  I don't know what he sees in me, but I am humbled that he accepted me as a student, (it's not often he teaches foreigners).  Another student told me that the place was in some ways this place, the madula, is holy, and if I wasn't meant to be there I would feel a longing in my spirit to flee. It might sound silly,  but I completely agree. Walking into the madula, had the same effect as sitting in  a tree or entering a place of worship. It quiets my mind, and calms my spirit. I love going, I can't wait to go again, and every time I am filled with a yearning desire to know and understand.

They Call Me Dua

The first thing I learned in Angampora, is respect. When we enter the space, we leave everything else at the door, our egos, our worries, our doubts, our problems, our differences, they do not enter the Madula.  Instead we clear our minds and pay our respects to the madula, at the alter. We then pay obesans to the master, by bowing and touching his feet.  Before you pick up a staff or a practice item you touch the ground to respect it.  Before you leave at the end of practice, you pay respects at the alter.  You do this to honor the place and space you are entering, then another to honor whatever religion you follow, in which ask for blessings as you attempt to learn the art, and last you are honoring the history, the teacher, the teachers who came before Master, and the students who came before you. You are humbling yourself.

The first practice was at 9am till 1pm. It was the day after Master had accepted me as a student. I showed up to the Madula for practice and was greeted with a smile from Master's wife, and a shy wave from his grandson.  There were 3 other students in the morning, only one of whom spoke english.  We all lined up and paid obeisance to the alter, then we lined up to pay obeisance to master, bowing and touching his feet.
(NOTE: Touching the feet is a Super important ritual practiced with all elders and teachers whom you know well.  It is a sign of respect and a form of humbling yourself).

Master begins by having us stretch and do dips, which is a type of work out. He does most of the work out with us, from the abs to the cardio. He spends time with each of us, as showing us individually the harambes based on the level we are at. Midway through practice Auntie makes us black Ceylon tea with sugar, and master serves it with snacks. It's suppose to help our circulation. At one point he was showing me something and said "Balana Dua" 
 At first I didn't notice that Master was calling me dua.  When Master calls me, or gets my attention, he always says Dua. Balana dua, enna dua, kane dua. Dua means daughter. Master calls me daughter, as does his wife, his son, and the other teacher.  They all call me dua.

In Sri Lanka, it is common practice to call children (or those who would be like children to you) daughter or son. Everyone is, in some way, family.  They are your brother, your sister, your uncle, your Auntie, your Seeyah, your Aachee. The name you call them, and the name you answer to, are powerful things. When you call someone "brother" you momentarily see and recognize them as familial. When you answer to that term, you are accepting the name and relation. It changes how you view them.  Being called daughter, I feel the safety and tenderness of my own family.  I feel apart of the family, I see them as family, as my own relatives. They treat me, and regard me as if I am family.  Auntie always insists on having me eat lunch with them when I come for full day practices. They also give all the students who come tea, and snacks. They treat all of us as if we are their family.

Another student explained that traditionally it used to be that your family would find you a teacher whom you would live with and study under.  Thus, they adopted you as their pupil and their ward while you studied with them, making them like a father or parent to you. They were your family.  Similarly, Master still treats his students as his children. I love being called daughter because it represents an acceptance I have found when I enter Master's house.

I call him Master:

As I mentioned what you call people matters. How I refer to my Angampora Master, matters. As a Black American, I cringe at the thought of calling anyone master.  Nor did I ever think I would utter the words "My Master...."  At Harvard, we use to call the Heads of the House, "House-Masters".  The problem was, Harvard has a history of enslavement (by which I mean there were literally enslaved people at Harvard, and Harvard actively encouraged the peculiar institution) and when you talked about the "House-masters"  you realized the awkwardness of the phrasing. The word master is defined as

1) A man who has people working for him, especially servants or slaves. 
2) A skilled practitioner of a particular art or activity.

Unlike Harvard, when I use the word "MASTER", in Sri Lanka, I don't think about my ancestors in chains. I don't think of a legacy of institutionalized oppression represented in that one word. In Sri Lanka, I think of my ancestors ruling kingdoms, of them fighting against the Portuguese and Dutch, and winning. The word looses the historical connotation of oppression and becomes a word to describe the Mastery of something. I don't think of the first definition of Master, I think of the second definition.  Watching Master Karunapala move, he has the grace swan, the power of a leopard pacing, the speed of a cobra, and the precision and locomotion of a monkey.  He has clearly mastered this art in a way that no one else has. I call him Master, because it is a title well deserved.

(Balana -look or watch, 
Enna - come or follow,
Kane - eat)




Future Posts: 
 Hey Everyone I'm sorry this took me forever to Post. I've been traveling, as I mentioned.  Below are what I hope to be my Next posting dates for the next few weeks.


27th August - Monday  (will be mostly Pictures)

10th September - Monday

25th September - Tuesday