Tl;DR : Nigel reflects on his understanding of Chan Buddhism, its skillful practices and where to learn the ropes. This article is intended as a springboard for interested readers to dive deeper into the Zen Buddhism practice.
Encountering Chan Buddhism in Singapore
When the student is ready, the teacher appears. That was truly my experience of encountering Chan Buddhism, otherwise referred to as Zen Buddhism. This student-teacher encounter happened over a spontaneous meeting a few years ago and sparked what seems like a lifelong love affair with the Dhamma.
To practice and understand the Dhamma is a rare and precious thing.
Few people in the world are presented with this opportunity.
Most people are circling around, driven by ignorance and desire, unaware of the possibility of getting off this wheel of samsara, the wheel of greed and hatred.
Excerpt from Settling Back Into The Moment (Joseph Goldstein, American writer and co-founder of Insight Meditation Society with Jack Kornfield)
I consider myself as having drifted from Chan practice since that encounter. Recently, I’ve spent more time reading early Buddhist texts and practising in the Thai Forest tradition. Nevertheless, Chan teachings continue to provide me with a strong grounding in daily practice and in the understanding of dharma.
Let’s talk about what could be useful to your journey. In this article, I hope to share an introduction to Chan Buddhism and Zen Buddhism in Singapore, based on whatever limited exposure I’ve had to the organisations and teachers that I’ve encountered to date. I’ll write on what I’ve found unique in Chan Buddhist and Zen Buddhist practices since this is possibly beneficial to any Dharma practitioner, or anyone interested in Dharma. This article will also point towards communities, activities based in Singapore, teachers, and resources you could tap into to begin your own Chan Buddhist or Zen Buddhist journey.
May this article be a fruitful encounter with Chan Buddhism for you.
What is Chan Buddhism?
This is a huge and important question, one that I’m unfortunately not qualified to answer. But I’ll share what I might know!
The literal answer is that (禅) Chán is simply the Chinese form of Zen Buddhism. Rooted in the teachings of Bodhidharma, often regarded as the first Chinese patriarch for transmitting Chan Buddhism to China, Chan Buddhism emphasizes meditation (禅修) and direct insight over ritual and scripture.
At its heart, Chan Buddhism invites practitioners to be aware and actively engage in the present moments of daily life. The goal, according to Master Sheng Yen’s The Effect of Chan Meditation, is to live life with wisdom and compassion. Meditation is the main focus towards achieving this goal.
On the historical and conceptual level, this is possibly too wide a topic to cover. To properly place Chan Buddhism in history and in practice, I’d like to refer you to Orthodox Chinese Buddhism, a work of Chan Master Sheng Yen (圣严法师). For the diligent student, you may want to read at least the following chapters:
4.4 Can One Become a Buddha Instantaneously? (pg 100)
4.9 How Many Schools of Buddhism Are There? (pg 115)
4.12 What Are the Sudden and Gradual Approaches to Enlightenment? (pg 124)
The volume is an incredible reflection of Master Sheng Yen’s scholarly understanding and spiritual realisation.
For the purpose of this article, it’s probably sufficient to understand Chan as Zen, and Zen as Chan. I personally use ‘Chan Buddhism’ to refer to the more distinctly Chinese traditions of Zen present in Singapore, such as Dharma Drum Mountain and Wisdom Light Meditation; whereas I tend to use ‘Zen Buddhism’ to refer to the other non-Chinese traditions of Zen which I’ve encountered in Singapore, such as Joyful Garden Sangha (local chapter of the Plum Village tradition) and Kwan Yin Chan Lin (local chapter of Korean Zen Master Seung Sahn’s tradition)
As you can see, it’s a very arbitrary distinction that I’m making between Chan and Zen Buddhism in this case. I will be introducing both in broad strokes throughout this article, hopefully with no offence to anyone.
Temples and communities offering Chan Buddhist / Zen Buddhist practice in Singapore
In my opinion, the best way to understand Buddhism is to practice and experience it for yourself. It’s easy to have preconceptions about certain practices and traditions, not least because assumptions require no effort. Unfortunately, it’s possibly also costly (in terms of one’s time and energy) to have misconceptions, because you could be denying yourself some real insight. All this probably holds true for Chan practice too. Ehipassiko!
Dharma Drum Mountain Singapore
Source: Dharma Drum Mountain Singapore FB page
Dharma Drum Mountain was a place of Chan cultivation founded by Master Sheng Yen in Taiwan, and they have a local chapter in Singapore. If the Chinese language is no barrier to you, and you’d like to understand Chan practice, I highly recommend the introductory dharma course at Dharma Drum Mountain Singapore 法鼓山新加坡护法会 entitled “快乐学佛人” or Joyful Dharma Practitioner. The course syllabus is insightful and engaging. It introduces useful concepts that can be directly applied to daily living, and illuminates your understanding of dharma.
If Mandarin Chinese is not your strongest suit, Dharma Drum Mountain has also introduced English study groups in recent years, including one based in the Asia Pacific (APAC) region. With over 200 chapters internationally, you will not have to worry about being able to find a community or access to Master Sheng Yen’s teachings and instructions. More about Master Sheng Yen’s life story can be accessed here: Youtube video.
Wisdom Light Meditation Society
Source: Wisdom Light Meditation Society FB page
Another community that could help you to progress in Chan Buddhist practice and understanding is Wisdom Light Meditation Society 慧灯静修会. Founded by Master Ji Cheng 继程法师, a contemporary of Master Sheng Yen, this is a rare opportunity to receive instructions from a living Chan master and his disciples. Similar to Dharma Drum Mountain Singapore, Wisdom Light Meditation Society organises regular meditation classes, meditation retreats, and has even introduced English meditation instruction in recent years.
Joyful Garden Sangha
Source: Joyful Garden Sangha FB page
Joyful Garden Sangha is the local chapter of the Plum Village tradition of Thich Nhat Hanh. The community and practice has been described by some as “second to none” in terms of inclusivity for practitioners of all races, backgrounds, spiritual traditions, sexualities (yes they are LGBTQIA+ friendly) and nationalities. The fact that this local chapter is led by a skilful and committed lay sangha (non-monastics) also speaks to the strength of its members’ conviction regarding each person’s potential to be liberated from their suffering.
Joyful Garden Sangha organises once-a-month day retreats called Day of Mindfulness (DOM) on the last Sunday of each month. Beginners are encouraged to attend DOM in order to understand Plum Village practices. Subsequently, one can join Joyful Garden Sangha’s regular practice sessions on Monday and Thursday nights too.
Kwan Yin Chan Lin
Source: Kwan Yin Chan Lin FB page
Kwan Yin Chan Lin, founded by Master Chi Boon in 1991, teaches based on the lineage of the late Zen Master Seung Sahn. I understand their meditation practice to be koan-based, but I haven’t attended their meditation course. What I’ve really enjoyed thus far from this lineage of Zen Buddhism, are the talks on Musangsa channel. Seung Sahn International Zen Center Musangsa provides Zen training following the teachings of Zen master Seung Sahn. Their teachers also visit Singapore from time to time. One such example was Master Dae Bong’s visit during Vesak in 2024!
The titles of Musangsa teachings are almost like Zen koans in themselves, for example: What is Your Correct Situation? and Don’t Know What the Result Will Be. They really help me to access the beginner’s mind (初心) whenever that gets rusty, and I start getting into meditation sits with some kind of pompous ‘been there done that’ attitude. I can imagine Master Dae Bong or Master Seung Sahn saying “We’ll have none of that”, or “Hah!” (an explosive martial art-type sound used in Zen practice grounds such as Musangsa). These are very good reminders to stay humble, if ever one were needed.
Skillful practices which I’ve encountered in Chan/Zen Buddhist traditions so far
1)Tuning the body
During the introductory course at Dharma Drum Mountain Singapore, I got to experience their Eight Form Moving Meditation. Unlike practising in the Theravada tradition where some beginners might go into meditative postures (e.g. ‘just sit’) without detailed preparatory steps, Dharma Drum prescribes specific movements to help tune the body, in order to prepare for longer periods of sitting meditation.
Later on, I came to appreciate that such a practice of ‘tuning’ or ‘becoming aware of the body’ is fundamental to how a meditator moves through everyday life, and it is not just a practice confined to formal sits. How apt in that case, that Dharma Drum emphasises body awareness. One could probably draw parallels between the Chan Buddhist emphasis on body awareness, and the practice of Kayanupassana (Pali for ‘body contemplation’) for the Theravadins.
If you’d like to learn such a technique, be sure to attend Dharma Drum Singapore’s Meditation Classes. They are often oversubscribed, and a seat has to be booked in advance via EventBrite.
2)Moment-to-moment awareness
At Joyful Garden Sangha, every moment we experience could be an object of meditation. When we listen, we practise deep listening. When we lie down to rest, we are also paying mindful attention to the body relaxing and the breath. When helping to clean the Sangha home or to prepare it for practice, that gesture is service meditation.
Within just one Day of Mindfulness practice, I was introduced to all of these types of meditations and more. The emphasis on moment-to-moment awareness in the Zen practice of the Plum Village tradition has powerfully prepared me for the Buddha’s teaching on heedfulness, and facing the danger in heedlessness. As they would also say at Dharma Drum – where the body goes, the heart-mind goes (身到哪里，心到哪里). I felt wonderful to be surrounded by like-minded people practising joyfully and with contentment.
3)Meditation objects: Alternatives to breath meditation
Through Chan and Zen traditions, I also learnt that there exist meditation objects other than breath. Even while Annapannasati or ‘mindfulness of breathing’ remains highly recommended wherever I go, certain practitioners may find Kōans helpful, and some others prefer recitation of the Buddha’s name (nìanfó 念佛) as meditation objects that are beneficial to their practice. We each have such diverse dispositions towards what calms our minds after all.
In fact, when we recite ‘Buddho’ in the Luang Por Chah tradition of Thai Forest Buddhism, I find this quite similar to the recitation of the Buddha’s name. Of course, there may be a difference between the aspirations of practitioners from different traditions. Regardless of Buddhahood, or Arhatship, or Bodhisattva vows, when you’re just getting started, meditation is just meditation!
If you’d like to experience Kōan meditation you might want to check out the meditation courses at Kwan Yin Chan Lin. Kōans are “a seemingly paradoxical or enigmatic statement, question, or story used as a tool for meditation and contemplation in Chan and Zen Buddhism”, according to The Lion’s Roar. I have yet to pick up kōans as a meditation object myself, so I’m not able to share much more.
4)Social service and community work
As I’ve mentioned earlier regarding service meditation, I find social service and community work to be quite consistently a part of Chan or Zen Buddhism.
Perhaps, because these traditions belong to the Mahayana lineages whereby helping others and liberating other sentient beings (in addition to seeking one’s own liberation) is an important part of practice. That is not to say that Theravadins only fold their legs and sit quietly. Theravada teachings also emphasise the importance of cultivating the Ten Paramī, of which Dana-parami (generosity) is the first. Thai Forest Tradition teachers condense the basis of Buddhist practice as dana, sila, bhavana (generosity, morality and mental cultivation).
The topic of generosity is something for us to ponder at some point as a journey along the path of Dharma – our relationship to others, our relationship to society, our relationship to ‘Nibbana’, and what the concept of ‘service’ means amongst all of that. When we volunteer, is it really Me that is helping the Others? Or is it the case that I am getting a chance to learn generosity and build other spiritual virtues (or paramī)? Each of us will need to find our own answers.
The further I journey along the Theravadin path, the more I understand that social service and community work could also be seen as skilful means of “Emptying out the self,” which resonates deeply with the Chan insight of 無 (wú, nothingness). “Empty out yourself” is a point that my teacher, Luang Por Ganha constantly emphasises.
One of the first teachings I received from Luang Por Ganha was that “Work is happiness, happiness is work”. Just as we go to work in order to contribute to society and volunteer in order to build our skills and paramī, I believe that Chan or Zen practitioners are also leveraging social service as a practice ground for the ultimate realisation of No Self (or Anatta). If we go into these practice grounds desiring anything else other than Giving (such as wanting to get praise, or a high salary, or to win status), Luang Por Ganha cautions that we can only expect mental health problems.
With that, I’m now empty of tips and references related to Chan or Zen Buddhism. Please reach out to correct me if any of this seems erroneous or if you’d like to comment on any of these reflections. I hope this article was of some help to you!
Thanks to Loh Wei from Dharma Drum Mountain Singapore for proofreading and contributions, and countless other noble friends and noble teachers that have guided and continue to guide me in the Noble Eightfold path. May any merits accrued benefit these kalyanamittas, my teachers (lay and sangha), my loved ones, and all sentient beings connected with me in one way or another. To explore other events, activities, communities and temples in Singapore and Southeast Asia, you can also look up our very own Handful of Leaves’ Buddhist Directory!
TLDR: Grief is a challenging process, especially after the death of a loved one. But we can draw inspiration from the teachings of the Buddha, especially about the Four Immeasurables—the cultivation of loving-kindness, compassion, appreciative joy, and equanimity—to work through difficult emotions, counter cognitive distortions, and develop a deeper relationship with our grief over the long term.
View outside the hospital room—there’s always light at the end of the tunnel (September 2023)
When was the last time you talked honestly and openly about grief and death? For many, coping with the death of a loved one can be difficult and painful. In the Singaporean or Asian context, death is often also regarded as taboo, spoken about only in hushed tones, and consigned to the corners of our lives.
Often, we just can’t, or don’t know how to, or simply don’t wish to confront it, because it’s just too unpleasant to contemplate.
But it’s precisely because grief and death are hard to talk about, that we need to offer it our deep attention and understanding. In the Upajjhatthana Sutta (AN 5.57), the Buddha describes the Five Remembrances, which are recommended for frequent recollection. These facts of life include the truth that we cannot avoid death, and one day we will be separated and parted from all that is dear and beloved to us.
My personal experience of such loss was my father’s struggle with cancer and subsequent passing. In May last year, he collapsed suddenly at home, and had to be rushed by ambulance to hospital.
At the time, his condition was still unknown, so multiple tests had to be conducted on him while he was still in the high-dependency ward. It was only months later, in August, that he was diagnosed with end-stage bile duct cancer, and it was more severe than anticipated. The doctors estimated that he had only around four weeks left to live (and they would turn out to be right – he had five weeks).
Those final few weeks of my father’s life were a difficult time for me and my family, especially my mother and sister. Every day involved a routine of shuttling between our workplaces, hospital, and home, as hospital visits became a regular part of our lives, and we would take turns to keep my father company. Amidst the sterile smell of antiseptic solution and the periodic beeping of the machines, the constant hum of activity was overwhelming.
I remember navigating a complex web of emotions. Guilt weighed heavily on me during those days spent by his side. I often questioned myself whether I had done enough, and if I could have done more as a son.
I thought about all the times when my Dad suggested going for overseas trips as a family, like to the Great Wall in Beijing—but I always said I could never find the time. The painful reality was that I had prioritised other aspects of life, like my work, above family time.
Now it would be too late. I’m reminded about how it’s been said that the four saddest words in the English language are “it could have been”.
But instead of wallowing in guilt and despair, what if we viewed death and grief as valuable opportunities for deeper reflection and personal transformation? After all, over the last few weeks of my father’s life, my family and I had some of our deepest conversations with him—about his memories, our family history, and about the meaning of life and death itself. Amidst the darkness, glimmers of light can still shine through—even in the face of loss, there is still room for shared connection and precious moments of joy.
One way of understanding death and grief is through the Four Immeasurables, or Brahmavihārās. Described by the late Buddhist teacher Ayya Khema as “the only emotions worth having”, the Four Immeasurables offer us a helpful framework to practise developing positive mind states and avoid negative ones.
By cultivating the Four Immeasurables, we can emulate the mind states of enlightened beings, while sowing the seeds of limitless (and hence ‘immeasurable’) goodwill towards ourselves and others.
Metta: Loving-Kindness
The word ‘loving-kindness’ is interesting. The first half is ‘loving’—and as the late Queen Elizabeth II famously said, grief is the price we pay for love.
In other words, grief is the natural extension of love, because they are inherently intertwined. Grief reveals itself in the corridors of the pathways we once walked together with our deceased loved ones, in the empty spaces of rooms where they once lived and laughed, and even in the scent of their belongings—like the old books that my father once owned.
Since love entails grief, should we just love less, or even give up on love? Clearly, that’s a misconception, or what psychology would refer to as a cognitive distortion.
The second half of the word ‘loving-kindness’ holds the clue as to why. The key lies in how we love—when we dwell less on our attachment to our loved ones, we can devote more attention to answering their needs more effectively, and express a deeper level of kindness towards them. The practice of metta itself can inspire such kindness and generosity. As the writer Leo Tolstoy put it, “Kindness enriches our life; with kindness, mysterious things become clear, difficult things become easy, and dull things become cheerful.”
We can show metta to our loved ones in simple ways, even just by spending quality time with them. For instance, I would ask Dad during my visits what he would like to eat, but he had no appetite, and often he felt nauseous.
He also mentioned he felt cold at night so I brought him a quilt with a sign reading “My Dad”, even though the hospital provided plenty of blankets. To keep my father focused on positive thoughts, my sister and I asked him about his childhood memories, his life as a teacher, his growing-up years, how he met our mother, and what it was like bringing us up.
Every day felt like Tuesdays with Morrie, the 1997 memoir by Mitch Albom about his visits to his terminally ill former college professor. As the poet Philip Larkin once put it: “We should be kind / While there is still time.”
The quilt for my Dad (May 2023)
Just as Dad used to recite lines of poetry to me as a child, so I read and recited poems to him at his bedside as well, such as the poem ‘Invictus’—which is about resilience in the face of adversity. I also shared stories from the newspapers with him.
At the time, the Singapore presidential elections were ongoing, so I would update him about it too. With my dad, I learnt the value of cherishing every moment with loving-kindness.
Karuna: Compassion
Another valuable mind-state is karuna, or compassion. It’s not about feeling sorry for our loved ones, but about feeling with them, and journeying alongside them for as long as we can.
This journey can be difficult, which entails recognising suffering as an inevitable part of life, and often also fosters a deeper sense of compassion towards others who are also suffering or grieving. We are not alone in our pain.
My dad’s struggle with terminal cancer was undoubtedly painful. Each day, as I pored through the lists displayed by the hospital staff describing pumps, tubes, vials, injections, pills, and wipes, I couldn’t help but think about mortality, vulnerability, and frailty — in the end, it all came down to this.
It was the first Noble Truth staring at me in the face. The fear and uncertainty that accompanied such terminal illness were paralysing. Every morning, I would wonder whether the doctors would bring worse news, or if that very day might be my dad’s last.
Dying people also sometimes make strange sounds—in my father’s case, especially towards the last few days, it was a kind of dry gasping and rasping. I remember one particular night when the pain from the cancer was particularly unbearable, and his face would be contorted with grimaces of pain.
Witnessing someone you love endure such physical suffering is heart-wrenching, to say the least, and it leaves an indelible mark of sorrow.
But this is when the Dharma provides the timeliest of medicines. By acknowledging suffering rather than pushing it away, we can discover a wellspring of strength within ourselves. After the hospital administered painkillers for my father each day, my family and I would also chant at his bedside, including the name of Amitabha Buddha (Namo Amituofo), mantras (like om mani padme hum), and the Heart Sutra (Xin Jing, also known as the Prajna Paramita Hridaya Sutra). As we dedicated the merits of such recitations to him, he would noticeably breathe more easily and sleep more peacefully.
As a friend advised—and as medical professionals also affirm—the sense of touch is usually one of the last faculties to go. As my father drifted off to sleep each evening, I would often hold his hand, providing not just physical but also emotional and spiritual warmth.
A loving touch, fuelled by tenderness, offers not just a sense of connection but also serves as a balm from pain.
Besides showing compassion towards our loved ones and others, we mustn’t forget to be compassionate to ourselves too. Caregiver burnout is a real danger, and it’s crucial to remember that while we may feel consumed by grief, we must also prioritise our own well-being.
The Buddhist teacher Mushim Patricia Ikeda has formulated a “Great Vow for Mindful Activists”: “I promise, for the benefit of all, to practice self-care, mindfulness, healing, and joy. I vow to not burn out.” Taking time for ourselves is not selfish but necessary for healing. Whether it’s seeking support from friends and family, or engaging in activities that bring us joy, self-care allows us to replenish our energy and find solace amidst sorrow.
Mudita: Appreciative Joy
Losing a loved one is a painful experience. Losing a parent, in particular, brings an added dimension of loss: their departure represents the closing of a chapter in our lives. Parents are usually the source of guidance and support for us—their presence symbolises a sense of stability, security, and belonging.
With their passing, we may feel lost, unmoored, and unanchored, with all the childhood memories and family traditions associated with them also threatened by loss.
But what if we transformed this mindset of feeling fearful and threatened into a more positive mind state of being grateful and appreciative? Mudita, or appreciative joy, reminds us that we can choose to focus not on fear or regret but rather on existing opportunities for gratitude.
I’m reminded of Ajahn Brahm’s oft-shared story in Opening the Door of Your Heart about how a life is like a musical concert—we should applaud at the end rather than grieving that it has concluded.
In the case of my father, I was deeply inspired by his sheer emotional strength. Despite everything he went through—treatments, operations, and long hospital stays—he never allowed himself to become consumed by despair.
He demonstrated what true grit looks like, and he imparted valuable lessons about finding strength within ourselves during life’s most challenging moments.
Devoting time to cultivate appreciative joy can be deeply cathartic. On the afternoon of my father’s passing, my family and I had a “Showers of Love” ceremony, during which we had the opportunity to clean and dress my Dad’s body for the last time. It was like a sacrament and a blessing—a final act of service to convey our gratitude to him, and bid him farewell.
Together with my mother and sister, we helped my Dad to put on his favourite suit before we laid him in the casket.
As I said in my eulogy for him at the crematorium, it’s just like the words of Shakespeare—“the wheel is come full circle”. The whole service was personal, heartfelt, and deeply meaningful.
Dad also specifically said to thank the medical team at National University Hospital who supported us closely over those final few months. That’s exactly what my family and I did: we personally delivered appreciation cards and a gift basket to the hospital staff.
Writing a long appreciation email to them was also a way to pay tribute to their dedication and support. In addition, we put up a five-star Google review for the funeral company (The Life Celebrant), as they bestowed a meaningful and dignified farewell for my father. Such gestures not only honoured my Dad’s wishes, but also cultivated appreciative joy for all who helped to support him during the challenging period of his final days.
The garden at the hospital (May 2023)
Upekkha: Equanimity
Grief and death can offer valuable lessons about the nature of life itself. Developing upekkha, or equanimity, can help us to find peace and cultivate gratitude for the present moment. My father’s experience showed me that accepting impermanence doesn’t mean giving up hope or resigning oneself to despair.
Rather, it means acknowledging reality while still nurturing a firm optimism and resilience that can inspire others.
By embracing impermanence, we can cultivate a deeper appreciation for the preciousness of life, especially of a life in which we have the opportunity to encounter the Dharma. We learn to cherish every interaction, every smile shared with our loved ones, and the beauty of every fleeting moment, precisely because we understand that “all conditioned phenomena are impermanent” (Dhammapada, verse 277).
I’m reminded of a talk, years ago when I was an undergraduate, given by a medical doctor who was a featured speaker during the Dharma Camp organised by the National University of Singapore (NUS) Buddhist Society.
As he observed, when we die, we usually don’t die all at once—instead, we die in bits and pieces. The eyes or other faculties might first weaken, and then the major organs go one by one, until finally, it’s the heart or lungs that cease to function, and then breathing itself gives way.
The piecemeal nature of the dying process prompts the question: where is the self? However hard we might try to locate or isolate this aspect of ‘me’ or ‘mine’, we find that the self ultimately dissolves.
There’s no solid or stable self that can persist or endure no matter how hard we attempt to grasp it.
Similarly, the Soto Zen priest Tenku Ruff describes grief not as a thing in itself but as a process or continuum that unfolds at a pace of its own. There is no single right way to grieve. We can give ourselves permission to experience our grief without judgment or self-criticism.
Based on our respective situations, we can find out for ourselves what works best, such that we can hold space for healing and honour the memory of our loved ones.
Rituals can be particularly helpful to cope with grief. In the Chinese Buddhist tradition that my family and I practise, we chanted sutras and mantras, and dedicated merits to my father every seven days, starting from the day of his passing.
We also commemorated the 100th day since his death, which happened to fall exactly on 1 January this year. It was a touching tribute that allowed me and the family to process our own emotions while paying homage to my Dad’s legacy.
As the palliative care physician Ira Byock suggested in Dying Well, the suffering of dying can be alleviated through deathbed rituals that are designed to promote forgiveness. The dying can be encouraged to engage in the following five steps, summarised as: “Forgive me. I forgive you. Thank you. I love you. And goodbye.”
Imagine if we don’t have to be on our deathbeds before we engage in such rituals. What the Dharma teaches us is how to attend to our grief, just as we can be mindful of our breath during sitting meditation. Instead of resisting our feelings, we can pay attention to our sorrow, loneliness, and the whole myriad of complex human emotions that arise from the experience of loss. We can observe these feelings with kindness and wisdom, before we open our hearts, and let them go.
I’m sure my Dad would have approved.
Wise Steps:
Treasure precious opportunities to connect with our loved ones while they are still around, especially by spending quality time with them.
Engage in meaningful rituals with the right intention, whether in terms of deathbed rituals that promote forgiveness, or chanting practices that can help to dedicate merits to our departed loved ones.
Practise mindfulness, including of our own grief, and seek support from friends or family who can provide support and guidance when navigating through difficult emotions.
Editor’s note: Special thanks to Jom, an independent journal website that has allowed us to republish this article. The original piece can be found here. This article has been further edited to follow HOL’s standards.
TLDR: Marissa explores Paya Lebar & Geylang’s hidden gems where peace is often hidden amongst these bustling areas of Singapore.
1. Paya Lebar
The story of how my mind changed begins in 2021. Almost 30, I was bummed to still be living with my parents but too prudent to rent a room of my own. I was anxious to make meaning out of my life, but unsure who I wanted to be except in relation to someone else. I had fixed ideas about love, duty and reasonable behaviour, which were frequently deflated.
It was the middle of the pandemic, when many were most vulnerable to the blues, and I was open to mellow pursuits that could help time go by more quickly. One day, recalling an earlier conversation I’d had with a friend, I asked her where I could go for free group meditation classes. Just like that, I fell into a routine.
There was nothing obviously special about the place, but I found that I liked being around women who speak softly and smile with crinkles lining their eyes.
Dharma Drum Meditation Main Hall
At the end of my second class, I was wiping down someone’s mat when a lady leaned in gently and smiled: “Thank you.” She took me by surprise; it felt like evening sunshine after a long day indoors.
It made me realise how fulfilling it can be to just slow down once in a while to make an offering to others of one’s warmth and serenity. To put them at ease. So I followed the sign.
As part of the routine at Dharma Drum, we would also dedicate our practice. My Mandarin was never any good, so I just mouthed the words they flashed on the screen without knowing what they meant. I later discovered that I had been vowing to help all sentient beings attain enlightenment (“众生无边誓愿度”).
How to keep this promise? I panicked. Then I relaxed. A key teaching in Buddhism is that all birth is rebirth. We have been and will be here for longer than we know. I have all the time in the world to keep my vows. But I was also curious to know more about this different way of moving through time.
2. Geylang
Chinese New Year, 2022. I was restless for an excursion. I’d recently heard of the Buddhist Library, situated in a Geylang shophouse. Being alone inside the walls of books made me feel spacious and at home.
Although Geylang tends to evoke vice and not virtue, more religious communities are clustered there than anywhere else in Singapore. This is partly by design. In 1992, some 50 hectares of the neighbourhood were rezoned so that clan associations, political parties and other civic and cultural groups could benefit from the lower rents.
Vegetarian joints and Buddhist general merchandise stores flourished alongside each other. Many know Geylang as a garden of earthly delights. Few know it’s also Singapore’s enlightenment hub.
As the days of the new year passed, I kept going back to the Buddhist Library for my dose of old world wisdom. Travellers’ tales of India and Tibet, essays by Chinese and Japanese Zen practitioners, biographies of Thai forest monks, and rare gems like Ian Stevenson’s meticulous case reports of children who can remember their past lives.
All three major Buddhist traditions—Theravāda, Mahāyāna and Vajrayāna—coexist on the shelves of the library and in the streets outside. (Some 31 percent of Singaporeans identify as Buddhist, a plurality; and over 18 percent as Christian, the next biggest group.) Each recognises the same truths about the harmful nature of the worldly life. Where they differ is in the practice of various paths to liberation.
The Theravāda path, the “way of the elders”, is the oldest of the three. It is focused on the teachings of the historical Buddha in India, and has spread southeast to thrive in Thailand, Sri Lanka and Myanmar.
Mahāyāna, the “great vehicle”, is the path followed by the majority of Buddhists in East Asia and Singapore. They recognise a larger pantheon of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas who can be called on for support. Tibetan Buddhism is a form of Vajrayāna, the “diamond vehicle”, which evolved from Mahāyāna and absorbed practices from ancient Indian tantric texts.
Ajahn Kalyano giving a talk at Nibbana Dhamma Rakkha in Geylang. This and next photograph courtesy of Goh Kuan Seng
Two streets east of the Buddhist Library is a building where visiting monks are often invited to give public talks. One evening, at the end of the Hungry Ghost Festival, a Buddhist abbot was no more than 10 minutes into his discourse on mindfulness when a roar rose up from three floors below.
“HUAT ah! HUAT ah! HUAT ah,” senior citizens yowled, reaching across their banquet tables and stabbing with their chopsticks.
“Everything changes,” the abbot said, pausing to observe this feature of reality. By the end of his talk, the party was in full swing. Karaoke rattled the doors of our elevator when it opened onto the first floor courtyard. A trembling old man was belting out in Hokkien: “Wa meng ti, wa meng ti…” (“I ask the heavens, I ask the heavens…”)
In the park behind, a bonfire was leaping two storeys high at least, as other folks burnt offerings to the departed inside a circle of red candles. In Buddhism, simplicity and wisdom is encouraged. Burning of “hell money”—a Chinese folk custom—is unnecessary because what is burnt here cannot materialise anywhere else. It only turns to ash.
Yet here we all were, in the riot of contrasts called Geylang—creatures of different minds crammed into one corner block by the invisible hand of the free market to act out our conditioning, side by side. Not every scene however dissolves easily in laughter. Worldly amusements are often brittle, like the pair of caged toucans in the beer garden of Happy Seafood Village where the house special is a flaming volcano chicken.
The world is a hot mess. But we already knew that. Buddhist practice is about relating to your environment skilfully, without getting caught up in notions of right and wrong. Without losing balance. Did you know that perfectly enlightened beings cannot feel anger? A thought occurred to me as I left the Buddhist Library one night—even if I go nowhere in my meditation, I must try to be the place where ill will ends.
The journey continues in Part II publishing this friday.
TLDR: Chanting keeps the mind afloat on the choppy waves of suffering. Connecting you to others across time and space, the ritual of chanting creates a refuge from pain. The healing device of chanting is anything but boring!
Yeap, you read it right. Chanting is crazy helpful. Especially when the mind goes crazy. To a non-believer, chanting can be an unfathomable activity – boring, even superstitious. To a practitioner, chanting cleanses the mind.
Let us understand what chanting is and how it heals.
Chanting Tickles Your Right-Brain
Relying on synchronised tunes and steady rhythms, chanting vocalises the Buddha’s teachings, recollections and praises for the Triple Gem.
Chanting is the ‘feeling’ and ‘healing’ part of a logical and pragmatic religion-philosophy. Done with full intent and focus, chanting soothes the heart like a balm. Cooling and stilling afflictions. Warming and uplifting the mind.
Short of comparing chanting to singing your favourite soundtrackmindfully in full earnest, the voicing of “lyrics” falls within a short range of inflecting tones without musical accompaniment. Chanting with the right understanding of familiar verses leads to joy and peace. Sometimes, tears. On auspicious occasions, goosebumps.
The volitional act of voicing out the Buddha’s teachings, never mind the tune, pledges one’s faith that the Dhamma leads beings out of suffering. This verbal allegiance is not for show but to remind ourselves of the Truth time and again.
Because we forget. In this way, chanting instils a sense of belonging – to the Triple Gem, to a wholesome way of life, to a practice of training towards the human fullest potential, to kindness. To hope.
Knowing how to chant, one plugs into a common Buddhist ritual that binds all differences – nationality, language, race, class, culture, those suffering and those enlightened. Cutting across space and time, in your home, at any temple, in a forest, on mountain tops or at the Buddist holy sites in India — wherever, whenever, chanting connects you to a community of practitioners since Lord Gotama Buddha’s time.
The key to a spiritually satisfying chanting session is then learning how to chant and what to chant, in which language.
The Ritual of Chanting
Typically, chanting is part of a practitioner’s morning and evening routines. Depending on the Buddhist tradition, chanting involves varying extents of ritual, usually set in front of an altar, where possible. Due to my upbringing, I have the fortune of learning how to chant in both the Mahayana (Chinese) and Theravadin (Thai Forest) traditions. Having experienced both, I feel more connected to the latter, which I will give a little exposé below.
Simple in tones and expressions, without instrumental accompaniment, Theravadin chanting is mainly in the Pāli language, an ancient vernacular during Lord Buddha’s time. Disciples of the Thai Forest Tradition alternate between Pāli and translations in their first languages, such as Thai, English, German, and Chinese etc.
From experience, searching up the translated meaning of Pāli verses before chanting helps to quell the critical mind.
After offering incense or candlelight or flowers and paying respects to the Triple Gem by bowing, you put your palms together in añjali, kneeling or sitting with your knees folded away from the altar. If you have learnt the words by heart, close your eyes. If not, set out a chanting book with translation nearby. Gather awareness on your breathing. Ready the mind for spiritual connection.
Then, the chanting begins.
Regardless of chanting in private or in public, alone or in a group, a keen sense of ego arouses when projecting the voice initially.
To avoid suffering, you can set aside that notion of “me/mine/myself” for clear awareness to arise. As the Dhamma rings in your ears and through your body, the vocal cords sync with a sincere heart.
The mind arrives at each articulated word to soak in its meaning.
Peace ensues. Chanting creates a refuge for the moment amidst chaos.
What chants can I turn to?
There is a chant for any time and occasion to counter greed, hatred and delusion, which reside in our hearts since the beginning of time.
Some recollections are snippets of the Buddha’s exhortations; others are full discourses considered as protective chants. Some typical chants a lay practitioner has in his/her spiritual toolkit help uplift the mind into wholesome vibes.
For monastics, cardinal sermons are chanted to maintain the oral tradition of preserving the Buddha’s discourses. Particular recollections pertain to arousing dispassion towards worldly attachments and urgency for practising the Holy life. A set of chants reserved for funerals; another set for blessings.
On every Full Moon and New Moon of the lunar calendar (Uposatha Lunar Observance Days), monks gather together to chant the VinayaPatimokkha, which is the Code of Discipline Lord Gotama Buddha set down for monastics to uphold and honour. Similarly, to upkeep their virtues, the laity would undertake the Five Precepts or Eight Precepts by chanting them on Lunar Observance Days.
Chanting plays important roles in our practice: it teaches us what is skillful and remind us to counter the stubborn poisons within our hearts.
Dr. Buddha, can you prescribe some chanting for my troubled heart?
For practitioners encountering intense emotions such as anger, sorrow, fear, anxiety or grief, listening to chanting is a helpful relief from recurring and distressing thoughts. The act of chanting brings an even greater autonomy over processing negative feelings. An effective spiritual ParacetamolTM that soothes sharp, crippling pains from my personal experience. You will always find an emergency playlist of my favourite chants in my phone on standby for breakdowns.
If you wake up grumpy, listless or sian, what better way to pick yourself up than a cup of warm water and a morning chanting?
For the past year, I made it a point to begin my day with morning chanting, regardless of how much time I have or how long the chanting is. On good days, morning chanting uplifts my mind for a quiet sit. On bad days, chanting seems to be the only wholesome thing I can cling on to for my life. Chanting has since become my anchor in the tumultuous waves of negative emotions.
Without chanting, I am pretty sure I would not have made it through difficult times to be here and write. Crazy helpful, I’d say.
I have listed a couple of resources to support your journey with chanting in the Theravadin Thai Forest Tradition below. Hope you will find a chant that resonates.
