Photo: Kristine Sherred
Chicago Zen Buddhist Temple
Past Wrigley Field, past the crowds in red and blue, the sunburned faces, the men selling umbrella hats, the bars and bros and drunken hos, the noise and sweat and smoke. Down Addison past the taverns, tucked away on the corner of Cornelia and Paulina is the Zen Buddhist Temple. It seems such an odd little brick building, out of place on the loud streets. Brightly colored Korean paper lanterns strung outside the entrance sway in the warm wind. Stepping inside all sound is sucked away. A woman in the lobby bows her head in greeting and points to a shelf where others have set their shoes. The brown tiled floors are cool against bare feet. It feels like another universe. The temple is at the top of the stairs. More paper lanterns hang from the ceiling. The room is lit solely by natural light coming from the walls of windows, sweet-smelling jasmine incense fills the space and four stone statues of Buddha and his followers sit smiling from the altar. No one speaks. Everyone sits cross-legged on round pillows atop square cushions, adjusting their feet to point upward on their knees. The gathering is small, maybe twenty-five people, and is a mix of obvious newcomers and devoted Buddhists. In the back corner two tattooed skinheads begin to hum in low steady tones. A bell rings, hands clasp together in prayer and heads bow. It rings again and foreheads kiss the floor. “Welcome to the Zen Buddhist Temple,” says a soft female voice. She lights a candle. “Do not think, but do not reject thought. Sit tall and still like a mountain. Let the thoughts pass over your peaks like clouds.” For twenty minutes all is still and quiet. She speaks, “We are separate, but from the same flame.” We forget that, people forget that we are all people. “In a hurricane the only trees that survive are the ones that bend all the way to the ground. The ones who stand tall in resilience break.” The frat boys getting day-drunk in Überstein right now would have a hard time absorbing that; they live in a world where every fight is necessary to their manhood. The bell rings again. The light has changed since we closed our eyes, the sun has moved lower behind the trees and shadows of leaves are cast around the room. The leader talks about Buddhism, how it’s all accepting and is your own interpretation. Though there are rules, none of them are finite, a very rare occurrence in other religions. It is about finding inner peace, realizing that though you are one of a kind, you are also one in seven billion. Outside of the temple the sun is hot, the crowds are loud, but no one cares so much anymore.
Chicago Zen Buddhist Temple
1710 West Cornelia
(773)528-8685
zenbuddhisttemple.org
Best of Chicago 2011
