THE MONEYYA CHRONICLES, Selected Poems and Musings of Bhikkhu Moneyya

Bhikkhu Moneyya was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1946 and spent his early youth in Cleveland, Ohio. He attended Stanford University for one year and then transferred to University of Otago in Dunedin, New Zealand. Several months later, he dropped out and spent the next two-and-a-half years traveling through Europe and the Middle East, before returning to the US and joining the Rochester Zen Center in December of 1968. His involvement with the Rochester Zen Center lasted eleven years and included a two-year stint as a Zen monk.

In 1989, he sold his house and business, and retired to an ashram in central Virginia, where he met his future wife. In 2002, he traveled to Pa-Auk Forest Monastery in Myanmar, taking ordination there as a Theravada Buddhist monk and later putting together an introductory manual on the practice of Theravada Buddhism, which has seen repeated publications.

Due to a gradually worsening health condition, he left Myanmar in 2007 to seek medical assistance in Australia, spending time at several monasteries there. Over the next seven years, he traveled respectively to Sri Lanka, Malaysia, France, the US, back to Myanmar, and then on to the Philippines and Bali, where he currently resides.

“Through the mediums of poetry, prose and painting, Bhikkhu Moneyya brings his spiritual and terrestrial journey to life, as he shares his insights and experiences with the reader. His wit and unabashed sincerity become a magic carpet upon which the reader rides, soaring above the pettiness of daily life, with a monk’s-eye view of the world below.”

– David Chadwick, author of Crooked Cucumber: the Life and Zen Teaching of Shunryu Suzuki

The poems in this book may be printed out for free distribution, but may not be altered or reproduced for commercial purposes without the author’s permission.

My thanks to Ron Browning, Joanne Ferris and Philip Starkman for their support and encouragement, without which I would not have undertaken this project, and to others who read through the manuscript, made suggestions, and provided assistance with printing and emailing. A special word of thanks to the Venerable Anandajoti, for doing the document’s final formatting and posting it on his website, to Thomas Fricke, a long-term resident of Bali, for his hospitality and suggestions, and to Pak Merta Ada, for allowing me to stay at Forest Island, a retreat center in central Bali.

Illustrations accompanying the poems are from local and expatriate artists living in Bali.

Part of the joy of writing poetry is in sharing it with others, which I have done with my friends and family over the years, and now, for the first time, in this small book of verse, a select number of these poems have been compiled to share with a wider audience. With the exception of the first poem, this book spans the years of my life as a Buddhist practitioner, initially in the Zen tradition, later in the Theravada tradition, and finally as a Theravada Buddhist monk (bhikkhu in Pāli). This does not mean, however, that every one of these poems has a Buddhist theme or subject. Some of them do, but many do not, except in the sense that my orientation as a Buddhist practitioner serves as a backdrop for their presentation.

A number of the earlier poems merge this Buddhist orientation with those of other spiritual traditions. “Tears of Blood,” for example, has an unmistakably Christian theme, while “Hansīka” and “Return” were written during my residence at a yoga ashram. Another turning point takes place during my second visit to a spiritualist church in the Philippines, in 2015. This is reflected in several of the final poems in the book. In order to avoid confusion about these different periods in my life, I have arranged the poems in chronological order and included specific locations, where possible. This should make for greater continuity in the reading and also make it possible to trace the various threads of development running through the poetry. The poems are followed by a postscript, consisting of a series of aphorisms and musings that were separated out from the main body of the poetry due to their difference in style and character. To make the document more accessible to the general public, Buddhist terms have been footnoted and defined. A short biography has also been included at the end of the book, which will hopefully provide some insight into the origin of the author’s works and make for a more fruitful reading experience.

The first edition of “The Moneyya Chronicles” covered a period of intense monastic training in my life and thus presented a more or less linear progression in style and subject matter. After publishing the Second Edition in 2019, I felt like I had reached a plateau in my writing and needed a change of direction; however, when the poetry bug bites, the desire to put one’s words on paper can be difficult to suppress. In fact, the poetry bug started biting me around 65 years ago, at the age of ten, when I composed one of the first verses that I can still remember: “Marching down the valley road, the fragile soul of man departs him. Marching down the valley road, his body crumbles slowly, turning into dust.” It seemed that even at such a young age, the Buddhist teaching of impermanence had already begun to etch its way into my heart.

In 1965, our family moved to New Zealand to escape the Vietnam War. Within months of our arrival, my mother was caught in an affair with my father’s business partner, and our peaceful and tranquil home in Dunedin, New Zealand was suddenly transformed into an international war zone. I was the oldest of five boys and somehow felt an extra burden of responsibility for what had happened.

Perhaps if I had been more mature, I would have stayed to help out with the family, but instead, I dropped out of university and, in desperation, moved to Israel as a Zionist. I was 18 at the time, confused and over-idealistic, perhaps expecting too much from a country whose inhabitants had been at war with one another for most of our known history. During my six-month stay in Israel, which included living and working on two kibbutzim, I witnessed the arrogance of the Israelis in regard to their military prowess, but what troubled me even more was their callous treatment of the Palestinians. If the “children of Israel” were only doing God’s will, then it seemed to me that the God of Israel was not a very compassionate one. Later, when I read a quote from David Ben-Gurion, Israel’s first prime minister, about what it meant to be a Zionist, my suspicions were confirmed.

After leaving Israel in 1966, I tried to put the miasma of the Arab-Israeli conflict out of my mind, and will have more to say about that later. In the meantime, fast-forward some fifty years – past wild and crazy times in the Middle East and Europe, stints at various Buddhist centers in the US, several businesses, life at a yoga ashram, a marriage and divorce, ordination in the Theravada tradition and my residence at Buddhist monasteries in Myanmar, Sri Lanka, Europe, Malaysia, Australia and the US.

By this time, it was early 2016. I was already living in Bali and in the process of putting together a first edition of my book. When I heard that Bernie Sanders was planning to run in the US primaries, I wanted to support his candidacy and in February of 2016 wrote “Ode to Bernie Sanders.” I had not been involved in politics since 1968, when my girlfriend and I had canvassed for George McGovern during the Vietnam War, and was somewhat conflicted about making this poem public, particularly since monks are not supposed to engage in political discussion; therefore, I did not include the poem in my first two editions (although it is in the current edition). I did, however, include a musing on page 141 that explains from a Buddhist perspective why politics alone can never resolve society’s fundamental cultural and existential issues.

Of course, as a Baby Boomer, and a rebellious one at that, I had inherited a heavy dose of skepticism from (in chronological order) the JFK assassination, the Vietnam War, my parents’ divorce, my stay in Israel and my drug days in the Middle East and Europe. This was evident, to one degree or another, in such poems as “Woman’s Liberation Revisited,” “Jimi,” “The Tao of Shit,” “The Chickens of Global Warming,” “The Right Mishmash,” “Tears” and “Ode to my Smartphone,” as well as a number of musings. Many of these poems (and musings) also contain a good dose of humor.

As I mentioned earlier, it was the callous treatment of the Palestinians that had troubled me most during my stay in Israel. I saw that type of behavior as emanating from an ethos of tribalism – the amalgam of a “chosen people” and a “jealous God” – which ultimately drove me away from Judaism and into the compass of another, less violent and more compassionate teaching. During the 2018 Gaza border crisis, those same feelings arose again; this time, however, I felt I was ready to put my disappointment into words, which resulted in “Tears.” To complement the poem, I included a photo of the 2014 Gaza bombing (my only photo in the book), which I found in the “New Statesman.” Sometimes a man has to speak out against a great evil (or even a small one), but the question is, when? Is it better to hold one’s tongue or to wag it? As I state in my musing on page 127: “Even if the entire world is against you, you should still side with the truth… but perhaps better not to tell anybody about it.”

This truth was deeply impressed on me during my stay at the Venerable Pa-Auk Sayadaw’s The Venerable Pa-Auk Sayadaw: my teacher and preceptor in Myanmar, where I stayed from 2002 to 2007 and 2012 to 2013; “Sayadaw” means respected teacher or abbot. monastery in Myanmar. The monks there were advised not to speak out against the Burmese government or its military, at the risk of being kicked out of the monastery. From the Sayadaw’s point of view, monastics shouldn’t get involved in lay affairs, and that’s all there was to it – a truly apolitical approach if there ever was one. He would often tell his students, “Stop talking and stop thinking” – a phrase that I quote in my poem “Anicca.” As a result, while other monasteries were being shut down and their monks defrocked or beaten, the monasteries under Pa-Auk Sayadaw never had a problem with the government. Anyway, maybe that’s why I never criticized the Burmese government – out of respect for the Sayadaw.

Despite my skepticism, I still wanted to believe that an honest and moral person could succeed in the political arena. When people were getting fired up about the coming 2020 election, I heard Congresswoman Tulsi Gabbard speak at an interview. I liked her anti-interventionist message, sincerity and heartfelt approach to many issues of the day, which were being neglected or glossed over by the major news media and most of the other candidates. She was everything I had hoped Bernie Sanders would become.

In June of 2019, several months after Tulsi announced her run for president in the 2020 election, I wrote “True Greatness” and dedicated it to her. In fact, the poem was not politically motivated or biased but rather served as an exposition on good character, loving-kindness and motherhood. My enthusiasm for Tulsi was cut short when she dropped out of the primaries. I guess I should have known better – that a person like Tulsi would never be able to fit into such a corrupt system.

This left me with a bitter taste in my mouth, politically speaking; however, during a three-month stay at a Buddhist monastery near Bogor in Java, Indonesia, my mindset gradually improved. After returning to Bali in January of 2021, I wrote a poem entitled “Brothers” for my brother on his 70th birthday. That poem represented a kind of reconciliation on a spiritual level and lifted my heart, for it is truly a wonderful thing when brothers can be friends. Sadly, at least in the West, brotherhood has been lost in the political fray and is fast becoming a thing of the past.

My first few years in Bali were a relatively happy and peaceful time, due in large part to the friendliness and unique culture of its people, as well as the island’s conducive climate and natural beauty – qualities that helped to earn Bali the moniker “island of the gods.” When the lockdowns began in March of 2020, Bali’s residents were initially enthusiastic and supportive; as time passed, however, the island’s friendly and relaxed atmosphere gradually gave way to a climate of mistrust and fear, almost as if Suharto had come back from the dead in order to inaugurate a new reign of terror, with police checkpoints along the roads, fines for not wearing a mask and increasingly oppressive vaccine mandates.

Several members of the Balinese family that I lived with lost their jobs; others had to work for half pay; three of them suffered adverse reactions to the vaccines they had been forced to take. Their situation was typical of the difficulties that hundreds of thousands of other Balinese had to face, which led to the bankruptcy of many small businesses. Bali suffered more than other Indonesian provinces since its economy relies so heavily on tourism. Of course, the toll that it took was more than just economic or physical.

As the lockdowns and mandates continued, I began to feel a rising cynicism, which finally coalesced into the verses of my poem “The Jabberblog” (a parody of Lewis Carroll’s famous children’s poem, “Jabberwocky”). The poem was a satire of the ongoing pandemic. Its purpose was to expose the dangers of blindly accepting the policies of some autocratic governmental agency or one of its officials. Nevertheless, as serious as that may sound, “The Jabberblog” is a fun poem to read, and, for that, I owe a debt of gratitude to Lewis Carroll.

In March of 2022, I composed two of my final five poems: “Dancing with Jellyfish” and “Seeking Union.” The first of these two poems expresses the tension I was feeling between my practice as a Buddhist monk and a recent downward trend in morality, which has wormed its way into the fabric of Western society. The second, “Seeking Union,” takes a more optimistic view of life through the lens of Buddhist practice, perhaps the result of my desire to end on a positive note.

It was not until mid and late 2022 that I added my three final poems, “Fear of the Lord,” “Gay Parade” and “A Christmas Carol;” all three began as musings. It’s interesting that “Fear of the Lord,” a poem about karma, would begin with some quotes from a psalm by King David. “Gay Parade” and “A Christmas Carol” both contain strong social elements and demonstrate the interconnectedness of spiritual practice, right understanding and daily life. “Gay Parade” was born from all the media coverage of the parades and other activities during Gay (LGBTQIA) LGBTQIA: abbreviation for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer (or questioning), intersex, and asexual; a growing movement, currently consisting of close to 80 so-called genders. Pride Month, but I will have more to say on this subject later. In the poem, I begin with a comparison between the LGBTQIA movements in Indonesia and the West, and then generalize to a comparison between the two cultures. ¬¬“A Christmas Carol” deals specifically with a wrong view about death and how such a view can ultimately affect mankind on both a social and personal level.

After the poetry, comes the Postscript, containing more than 200 musings and aphorisms, with Sections IX and X new to the third edition. Since the book ends with Section X, I wanted to use those final musings to provide an overview of my journey through life as it intertwined with the Buddhist teachings and bring the book to its natural conclusion. This was my original intention, however, with the onset of Gay Pride Month in June, I decided to take a slight detour through this rapidly growing phenomenon, and, with that intention, put together a total of eight musings (and one poem) dealing with various aspects of the LGBTQIA movement and a number of linked issues. The musings arose as quickly as the news about Gay Pride Month arose in Western media, which for some time now has continued to promote “Gay Pride” as a popular and family-friendly cultural institution. As of late, the movement’s growth has been so swift and in-your-face that it makes one wonder if someone isn’t pulling a few strings behind the scenes, transforming Gay Pride into an emotionally charged and highly divisive political issue; or is this merely a sign of the times? At this point, I want to let the reader know that I personally have nothing against gays or non-binary Non-binary: literally “not two”; in this context, denoting or relating to a gender or sexual identity that is not defined in terms of traditional binary oppositions, such as male and female or homosexual and heterosexual. Non-binary people may identify as being of multiple genders, no gender or a third gender. persons and hope that none find what I have written on this subject offensive; if so, I apologize in advance.

I then went on to post several quotes by Nikola Tesla and a short passage that highlights an incident from his life – a life that was both tragic and inspiring at the same time. The tragedy was that, Tesla’s good intentions notwithstanding, his genius and technology were not to benefit the planet as he had originally envisioned. This is solely due to the nature of human greed and man’s lust for power (and perhaps Tesla’s naiveté for trusting the wrong person). I included the Tesla musing, along with his quotes, as an allegory for humanity’s current state and an admonition for the future.

As the book nears its end, I do my best to leave the reader with something of value by laying the groundwork for a basic understanding of karma (kamma in Pāli) – the law of moral causation. Although I mention karma a number of times before these final musings, it seems like a good note to end on. With an understanding of karma, the reader will come to realize that material advancement and science can never save the world from the evil within our own hearts. And although an understanding of karma is not the end of the spiritual path, it is undoubtedly a necessary and relevant first step.

The last two musings focus on the first three of the Four Noble Truths, Four Noble Truths: the central teaching of the Buddha. the core teaching that the Buddha highlighted in his first discourse. The Buddha’s first discourse was the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta, Samyutta Nikaya 56.11. The Four Noble Truths are: (1) Life, the way an unenlightened person lives it, is suffering Suffering: in this context, unsatisfactoriness; this includes worldly happiness, as well as physical and mental pain, since worldly happiness is fleeting and therefore cannot exist without intervals of unhappiness.; (2) The cause of suffering is craving, in other words, selfish desire; (3) By eliminating that cause, suffering can also be eliminated; (4) The way to accomplish this is by following the Eightfold Noble Path, which consists of: (1) Right View, (2) Right Intention, (3) Right Speech, (4) Right Action, (5) Right Livelihood, (6) Right Effort, (7) Right Mindfulness and (8) Right Concentration.

That’s Buddhist doctrine 101 (in this case, minus the Fourth Noble Truth), presented throughout my book with a few of the Buddha’s other basic teachings and assisted by a variety of literary devices, including metaphor and symbolism, parody, hyperbole, myth, plays on words, proverbs and Aesop-like fables. Some of the poems and musings may pose a bit of a challenge, since metaphor and symbolism can be exceedingly indirect; for the most part, however, the book will be an easy read, encapsulating within its pages core experiences, insights, disappointments and the lessons I have learned from them – a journey of the mind and heart that has ultimately led me to a better place than where I began, embracing, in the process, a path that I believe is worthy of sharing with others.