Yesterday, I paid my respects at the funeral of Mr. Utid, the father of one of the graduates of AIMS, the elementary school of which my mom is the administrator. He was 53.
This is the first Buddhist funeral I have attended and it felt like a tangle of an ancient ritual that you would read about in myths and a modern western funeral. The ceremony was held in the courtyard of one of the wealthier temples in the city of Saraburi. Mr. Utid was a prominent man and the courtyard pavilion was packed with province's high society. The ceremony consisted of two parts. A large part of it was the presentation of gifts to the monastery. One man in a black tie and white shirt trekked up and down the stairs of the ornate crematorium that sat in front of the pavilion delivering the gifts to the saffron-robed monk who hid behind his fan and sedately accepted the gifts. The crowd of people talked, laughed, ate and drank (yes, we were served snacks) as this part of the ceremony went on.
At the end, we stood for a prayer and then a hidden, traditional orchestra struck up a intense beat. We filed up the stairs of the crematorium, paying respects at the gold and white casket. 
The crematorium was an odd structure. A brand new incinerator was installed in the building, a shiny marble exterior and computerized controls buried in classic Thai architecture.
Everything seemed very matter-of-fact. Everyone acted fairly cheerful, though the family members wore looks of studied neutrality, with a creeping sadness edging into their eyes.
My mom and I talked about funerals and other important life ceremonies on the way back home. We both don't particularly want funerals and I told her that I would completely back her up on not having a funeral when she dies; as long as she puts it in the will so that I'm not viewed as the evil son. I don't think closure requires a ceremony like that and if other people require it...well, I'm sorry, but I don't need an hour of people remembering me. If I die, remember me in your dreams and in quiet cafe conversations, that will be enough.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Thoughts on a Buddhist Funeral*
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2 comments:
i agree. but every time i talk about this with my mom, she gets angry and says i'm being morbid.
i'd rather have people hold a film festival in my honor. come together, watch some new movies together, watch a couple of my old ones, laugh at the "Scott-isms" and then move on in life. hopefully i'll have lived a life that inspires and people, when they remember me, will think of me fondly, and take what i taught them and make it something far greater.
that, and i want a bronze statue that stands on the roof of Brock Hall, which shall be renamed Fogg Hall. the statue will show me standing victoriously, hands on my hips, and looking to the distance. underneath my likeness it will read "not only did he lead us, not only was he inspiring . . . he was well endowed."
I know it shouldn't be but that last part of the post was just kinda funny to me. Remember me in your dreams, priceless. I think because of the contrast to not needing a ceremony to being remember but still yet the desire to be. Baybe that's it.
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