In a booklet Mott gave me, the Thai monk Chanmay Sayadaw writes that, “Talking is a great danger to the progress of insight. A five-minute talk can wreck a meditator’s concentration for the whole day.” Mott was a deeply peaceful person who seem capable of enjoying levels of profound stillness and serenity when he meditated. He was also quickly becoming my friend, sharing his own experiences with me, and asking questions about my life. The Abbott in his wisdom surely recognized this and saw the danger I could pose. In Thailand, from temple to temple, Mott experienced different master’s prescriptions for a common purpose of finding the release of Nirvana. But as a Farang, I might be fertile ground for planting perspectival seeds that could flower into fruits of a contrary view.

Such were my thoughts when it seemed that my stay at the temple, which just begun, might be coming to a premature end when I failed to memorize the Pali chant I had been told to. All the same, I became determined to do the impossible and pass the Abbot’s test. The test was not unfair, it was something that every novice had to do. The difference was these Pali chants were something most Thais were taught to memorize his kids. I can do this, I decided, avowed that concentration towards the goal would be enough to get me there.

By 4 PM, when I go to practice with the secretary, I have memorized the first part and am fluent in reproducing the right syllables of all eight parts. I know when and how to bow. Mott’s smile is broad as we leave the office.

I spend the afternoon cramming, creating pneumonic narrative devices about packing wontons (paca wanton) and King Kong singing(sang kang).

The next morning, I awake with the 3AM gong calling us to chanting and meditation. I try to focus my mind in meditation, but keep anticipating my 5 AM audience with the Abbot.

Leaving the temple, Mott is calm and smiling. “You ready?” He asks. I will do my best, I tell him. And I get through it half of the chant before I need to read from my paper. I walk on my knees and present the Abbot a silver dish of flowers and incense as I have been instructed. The Abbot is serious through the ceremony, chanting his parts and listening as I chant mine. Occasionally he interrupts me to repeat a word I stumble over. It’s dark and solemn. He sits on an ornately woven cushion on a finely woven rug on a platform a foot above the wooden floor where I kneel in front of him. Mott is by my side, a proud smile on his face–if he has coached the Farang this far, could anything be impossible for him?

Occasionally he interrupts me to repeat a word I stumble over. It’s dark and solemn. He sits on an ornately woven cushion on a finely woven rug on a platform a foot above the wooden floor where I kneel in front of him. Mott is by my side, a proud smile on his face–if he has coached the Farang this far, could anything be impossible for him?

After the reciting, I want to high-five him, but reality comes back during the Abbot’s subsequent speech, which brings us both back down to earth. His tone is serious, and the look on Mott’s face becomes grave.

I’m already preparing the thoughts I’ll use to comfort myself when I’m forced to leave the monastery. I title a blog post in my head, “How I Got Kicked out of the Buddhist Monastery.” Mott and I exit solemnly and I don’t break the silence for 30m. “So what’s the verdict?” I ask. He hesitates, “It is difficult to translate what the Abbot say,”

I think I know what’s coming. “Lay it on me,” I want to tell him, but I wait for him to find the English words of what I assume is the Abbot’s recommendation that I find a temple catering to foreigners like me.

Finally, Mott breaks the silence. “He must make yourself very small the Abbot say. . . Try not to be seen, you must walk slow, do not talk to a woman, and do not expect much to happen in only one week of meditation.”

“So I can stay?! “I try not to be so excited in the presence of one so zen, but I’m elated that I’ve passed the test. This is the third time that Abbot’s told me not to talk to a woman, and considering I haven’t and can’t speak to nuns if I wanted to due to my not speaking Thai, he must have a particular idea about why Farangs fly to Thailand.

I understand what he means about making myself seem very small. He doesn’t want me to be standing out. He doesn’t want to hear about what the Farang did or said. He wants to lead his monks the novices to Nirvana and if I have a desire to be here I can stay as long as I make my presence unfelt.

Read more from my series, “Being Buddhist in Thailand”