FLIPPING BOOK CHRONICLE 2024

Our objective now appeared in the distance.

TEMPLES AND SPIRITS Simon Bailes (B Block)

The pointed tips of the Vihara pierced the horizon, acting as beacons connecting to the world above. Its presence was seismic, pulsating with energy, a rhythm that guided our walk. Our group achieved synchronicity, fostering amity with the Vihara, its constant pulse calling us to draw near. It dominated the view. Cognizant of its imposing nature, I submitted, no longer attempting to subdue my fear of submitting to this force. I had arrived, void of questions, void of confusion, accepting the journey on which this force had transported me. The painted and adorned teak doorways drew me in. The vihara had a comforting aura, evident in the homogeneous mixture of warm incense wafting through the air. As I walked across the carpeted floor leading to the shrine, I could feel the weight of my body sinking into the plush velvet, leaving marks that silently acknowledged my presence. I dropped to my knees, adopting an attitude of meditation. My thoughts dissipated for a moment until finally reaching a standstill. My mind became an ethereal landscape as I felt my alienation melt away. I was no longer an observer from afar. I had become part of a body, a singular stitch in a complexly woven garment of souls. I had become one with my environment. Five hundred meters left. The house which sat at the top of my final destination taunted me as dust smacked into my face, which at that point of the day had become cardinal in colour. Despite the reluctance of my body, continually rioting against my mind, the house which taunted me had become a symbol of hope, a reminder that the first small fraction of my journey had almost come to its deserved end. As the house became closer, every second became longer, the sun grew brighter, and my legs began to betray my mind, which urged them to keep going. Still, my fatigued body made its way down into the steep, treacherous gorge. As the downhill grew steeper, my legs were given their long awaited opportunity to rest, and I began to fantasize about finally lying down on the cold ground – with the gentle Berg wind touching my face as my body relished its well-earned rest. Unfortunately my day dream was answered too soon, as a rock in the middle of the road toppled my bike, causing me to launch face first onto the rocky exterior of the dirt road. After wiping the dirt out of my eyes, I witnessed my friend, who appeared blurry, as well as a few of the group’s staff members lying down on the ground as well, except they were wheezing and crying with laughter at my expense. My mind and senses seemed to be in disagreement with each other, as the taste of dirt in my mouth, the scratches and cuts on my body, as well as the intense throbbing on my forehead succeeded at preventing me from picking out the humour in the situation. My smile, now brown from its dirt coat, acted as a cover for my embarrassment while I glared at the heap of metal (which a few moments ago was my bike). I stood there awkwardly waiting for the help of a staff member to fix my broken chain. As I held my bike while he reattached the chain, a cloud of 72 THAT ROCKY ROAD Nicholas Hornby (C Block)

My Thai fisherman pants (an obligatory roadside purchase required to enter the temple) clung to the sweat on my legs, a tactile reminder of my foreign presence with every step. I was an alien in this environment, but I walked in peace. Despite this discomfort, I was eased by the unfolding beauty before me – buildings mosaiced in gold, adorned with oil lamps and lotuses, filled with ancient spirit yet standing in youthful vigour. However, the rays of light reflected by the tiles forced my eyes into a squint, prohibiting me from admiring my surroundings, as if they were the guards of beauty. The temple was alive. A disembodied presence spoke through the walls, breathing life into those before it. I was not an especially superstitious person, but the energy pulsating through the grounds was tangible, mystifying me in its clasp, a chain of energy haltered me. A mural appeared. Five centuries ago, it was painted, depicting the mythical battle of the spiritual plane between the “phi” and “phipek”. With delicate gold-leaf details, spanning for meters, the mural was a mark of time and dedication, reminiscent of the Buddha’s values. I stood peering at the finest details, every stroke, preserved by respect. My appreciation and attention were suddenly stolen by a fellow observer. Lifted from my trance, I was urged into the courtyard. Now in the presence of the sun’s light, my body began to perspire once more. The droning of tourist guides speaking broken English dominated any attempt at speech. Fortunately, freedom from the irritation was soon provided by the bonsai garden. Calmed by my newfound solitude, I sat. Above, the wind whispered through the trees, coaxing their shadows to dance. The cold stone wall (now assuming the role of a seat) took the heat from my body, providing me with rejuvenating rest. Birds weaved through the air; their twitter accompanied by a steadily approaching hum. The sound came nearer. Through the trees, a line of orange appeared, revealing itself to be a body of monks, heads bowed, walking rhythmically, each step a conscious action. Their uniform movement juxtaposed the presence they radiated. Like soldiers, their movements were precise, neither early nor late, but unlike soldiers, their movements were fluid. I felt drawn, enticed by the same presence I felt earlier. I closed my eyes, only for a moment, and opened them to see a sea of orange enveloping me. Like a tributary, I flowed into the river of monks without breaking their form. Confused by the urge to walk with them, I convinced myself that this was my conscious decision, out of fear of admitting to becoming submissive to a supernatural power. To stay unnoticed, I maintained a consistent pace, head bowed, attempting to fall into their rhythm. Slowly, my immiscibility fell away to miscibility. Integrating with the group, my paradigm shifted. Refreshing air filled my lungs, its cold embrace cascading through my body, bringing tranquillity to each cell of my being. Serenity engulfed me. Worldly pains no longer affected me. The ground beneath my feet, no longer a surface, but now a path propelling me forward. The heat of the sun, once a debilitating obstacle, now a provider of energy.