In Washington, D.C., Getting Face Time with an Incarnation of Avalokitesvara is Harder Than You'd Think

It was a week ago today that I flew into our blind empire's capitol. I promptly discovered that I was the only one on that flight who had checked a bag. Waiting by the luggage claim for a bag that never came, I decided that U.S. Airway would not get a link on my blog, even if it was Detroit International's fault that I had to wear the same clothes for three days).

Even with this delay, I had four hours until my train left Union Station, so I got off the Metro in Chinatown when I was switching from the Yellow to Red Line.

Nothing much caught my eye in D.C.'s sorry excuse for a Chinatown, except the GuanYin Chang or "Temple of (the bodhisattva) Guanyin"--sometimes spelled with Cantonese phonetics, Kuanyin, Kuan Yin, Kwan Yin, etc. The best translation of this name is "the one who looks upon the voices of the suffering." And since this narrator was suffering, what better solace than lighting a few incense sticks and stepping out of this suffering existence for a few moments? Especially when tickets to see what Tibetans consider to be the modern incarnation of Avalokitesvara, the Dalai Lama, in D.C. are going for $100 a pop.

I opted for the less expensive option of crossing the street and stopping by the temple. The bodhisattva of Compassion would be within my sight, except for one old man.

There he was on the steps of the temple, with his carved wooden dragon cane and trucker's baseball cap.

"Where you going?" he asked.

"I'm going to Union Station," I replied.

"This place not Union Station. This is house of the Buddha. You can't go in. Do you know what a temple is? Do you know what the Buddha is?"

I told him about the Ann Arbor Zen Temple and gave some answer about being in the now.

"You don't know Buddha! You believe Jesus Christ!"

"Well, I do consider myself Buddhist in some sense. I am a practicing meditator."

"You don't know Buddha. You know how many Buddha there are?"

"Infinite number in infinite universes is what I've been told."

He paused. I asked him in Mandarin if he spoke Mandarin. No response. Then he said, "You just don't know Buddha."

"OK, since you know Buddha, can you tell me about Buddha nature?"

He looked flustered and got a "you can't ask me that" sort of look on his face. He obviously didn't know Buddha either, but like half of China assumes some sort of cultural monopoly on all things Buddhist.

"May I enter now?"

"Go in," he said with an air of disgust.

I went in, smiled at the old woman inside, and lit my incense. As I took refuge in the three jewels, she left. After a brief respite from the bustle of the immoderate hubbub of incarnation, I walked out. They were chatting in Cantonese. The man didn't ask me if I found Buddha, but he did tell me that I'd find Union Station if I took a left at the next cross street.