..续本文上一页 some preliminary work on clearing the grounds, but they had been denied access to the main house. The owner had let the place run to seed: uncleared gutters had broken and spilled water over the walls so that dry rot had spread. As things had broken down they had been abandoned; when we moved in, only four of the twenty or so rooms were still in use. The electricity had blown, the roof leaked, the floors were rotten and there was only one cold-water tap for washing. The house was full of junk: all kinds of bric-a-brac from pre-war days. The outbuildings were crumbling, roofs stoved in by fallen trees. The cesspit had not been emptied for twenty-five years. The gardens were overgrown: a fine walled fruit garden was a chest high sea of nettles. Over thirty abandoned cars protruded through the brambles that smothered the vicinity of the old coach-house.

　　But as we started to scrape through the mess, it felt all right. The situation left no alternatives: for better or worse, opinion was polarised and those who disagreed left. We had the support of the Arama Fund – a trust established by Venerable Paññavaddho to help found a monastery in the West – which purchased the lovely meadows around the house. So the omens were good.

　　A stir of publicity initiated by the BBC programme ”The Buddha Comes to Sussex” brought us a lot of attention – a mixed blessing, as this gave rise to the ”invasion fears” of a body of local opinion that proved awkward later. But at first it was enormous fun. The summer was fine, we had a steady influx of volunteer labour, and we all worked hard. We were loaned a marquee by a local Buddhist businessman, which served as a kitchen and dining hall. The weeds and debris in the grounds were attacked, temporary showers installed, drainage cleared and work begun on the kitchen. The community for Vassa [the ”Rains” retreat] consisted of six bhikkhus, two samaneras, eight male anagarikas, four women in training to become anagarikas and three or four lay people for various periods of time. It was a spiritual refuge that gradually took on a monastic form.

　　In September, the women were given a separate place to live when a beautiful little cottage adjacent to Hammer Wood was rented for their use. About a year after their ordination as anagarikas in October, it was purchased with an estate that actually forms the ecological heart of the forest.

　　Also in October our two samaneras were given Upasampada [See Note 6] by Venerable Dr. Saddhatissa, using the River Thames as a sima boundary. So by the winter, we had a ”monastery” and a ”nunnery”, and a sizeable group of bhikkhus going out for non-existent alms every morning.

　　This spectacle must have been more alarming than we thought, and at first there was a lot of mistrust and reserve in the minds of local people, who tended to bracket any Eastern religion in the category of cults of idol worshippers following strange or – even worse – no gods. The discipline, with its emphasis on harmlessness and modesty, again helped us out where no amount of teaching of Buddhist Philosophy would have done. Our neighbouring farmer, for example, had been impressed that, although we were not going to kill the rabbits that live on our property and invaded his fields, we went to the trouble and expense of building a rabbit fence to keep them in. It was our effect on the environment and our neighbours that finally made the district council grant Chithurst House monastic status, with the freedom to train bhikkhus and nuns and live the monastic life in its conventional way.

　　This permission came in March 1981; meanwhile, the monastery had established itself in other ways. In the summer of 1979 we constructed a kitchen – but we shivered through the winter wearing caps, scarves and woollen…

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