James Baquet

jamesbaquet@gmail.com

I HAVE recently told of meeting a well-known monk, Master Ji Qun. But on that same temple stay in Ningde, I was also reminded of the many anonymous members of “the Sangha” (the community of Buddhist believers).

One evening, after dinner, the acting abbot of Huayan Temple on Zhiti Mountain, where I was staying, asked if I would like to see another temple nearby. Of course I would.

Perhaps I should have said “no.” We had to hike down a few hundred feet of wet, slippery stone steps; cross a beautiful stream with a “five-dragon pool”; and climb up again to a rustic temple. Torture.

But at the end of the trail lay sublimity.

As we approached a crumbling mass of brick and plaster across terraced fields, I wondered if this was an abandoned temple. But no: Stepping through a tumble-down doorway, I spotted an altar with candles alight. My companion called out, and a humble monk came out in an under-shirt, pulling on a tattered robe as he came.

Linfeng Temple seemed to be home to a half-dozen monks, with an old woman there to cook. They all scrambled to dress upon seeing visitors. I thought, “What a great place to practice.”

Wandering through the decrepit buildings after the monks finished their dinner of rice gruel, we encountered an unfinished rear hall, with a gorgeous gilt statue of Guanyin, the Bodhisattva of Compassion, inside.

That was 11 years ago. Using satellite photos, I have found the temple online. A newly-graded road leads up to it, and there are more buildings now. Tiny Linfeng, like so many other Buddhist temples in China, seems to be on the rise.