Grandma Was a Shaolin Monk
I stomped my foot and shouted, "But grandma, I don't want to put anyclothes on."
It was the feast day of Santo Antonio, my patron saint, which for me waslike a second birthday, that I looked forward to all year.
My grandma took me by the hand, after I had dressed, of course, and walkedme, what seemed a long, long way, to Our Lady of Perpetual Suffering Church.
Pink cotton candy melted on my tongue, as I stood, in a crowd of otherexcited children, our noses pressed up against the fence, as we waitedimpatiently for our turn to ride the carousel.
The carousel went round and round. Amid the flashes of red, white, andgreen, each of us secretly selected that horse, that perfect horse that wewould mount, when the time came.
For me, the choice was easy. There was a tremendous white stallion, whichlooked identical to the Lone Ranger's horse, Silver.
The Lone Ranger was a major hero for me. I lived with my grandmother,because my mother had died when I was a baby. I always felt small and weak.But the Lone Ranger was big and strong. I had no control over who I was orwhere I went. But the Lone ranger was independent, and could ride his horseanywhere he wanted to go.
When the attendant raised the red velvet rope, it was like opening thestarting gate at Bellmont raceway. A throng of laughing, screaming childrensprinted to the carousel, praying that they would get the horse they wanted.Unbelievably, no one had taken my horse, and when I got close enough, Ivaulted onto his back.
Actually, the attendant had to help me.
In my child's mind, the only thing that separated me from the Lone Rangerwas my clothes, and my lack of a horse. I believed that riding that horse,wearing my hat, pistols, and boots would change me into the Lone Ranger.
"Hi Yo, Silver!!!" I screamed.
There was a mirror at the side of the carousel, and as we came around, Iexpected to see myself transformed into the Lone Ranger. But instead, what Isaw was the same small, weak boy I had been when I started.
By the third time we had gone around, I threw my hat on the ground.
When the ride finished, my grandmother picked me up off of the horse.
Seeing my disappointment, she said,
"No matter where you go, or what you do, no matter how far you ride thathorse, you will always be you. You are wonderful, and I love you just theway you are."
Then she smiled and she said,
"But if it makes you happy to dream you're The Lone Ranger, then do it, and don't ever stop dreaming, for the rest ofyour life."She put the hat back on my head, and I fell asleep in her armson the subway, on the way home.
When I woke up, I was thirty-four years old.
I was a successful investment banker working on Wall Street. Money played aprincipal role in my life. Most of my day was spent sending out letters topeople, asking them to buy my products, calling people on the phone, andasking them to buy my products. Mired in paper and consumed by visions ofwealth, I had forgotten who I was, although, I did have a picture of theLone ranger on the wall in my office.
The feast of Santo Antonio had just passed, and rather than celebrating, Ihad worked a twelve-hour day. On a quiet Tuesday morning, the concussion oftwo planes crashing into the side of the World Trade Center woke me from myslumber. Ironically I woke from my life and stepped into a horrific dream.When the buildings in Manhattan were evacuated, I joined the press ofterrified humanity, wandering aimlessly, through the silent and crowdedstreets. The air was full of a white powder, which I believed was anthrax orsome other chemical or biological agent.
Thinking I had been sentenced to death, I made my way to Saint Patrice'sCathedral. The pews were full, and the doors were jammed with people prayingsilently, tears streaming down their faces.
I would later learn that the dust that clogged my nostrils, burned my lungs,and gummed up my eyes, was the charred remains of 3,000 innocent people, wholived like me, concerned only with the rise and fall of the Stock Market.For many, the single legacy they would leave behind was the money they hadearned.
Faced with death, money means nothing. We are all mortal, which bydefinition means we are all faced with death every minute of every day, andso money has no meaning any moment of any day.
I vowed to change my life, to become a different person. And so I flew toAsia, to follow another path. My first stop was Taiwan, where I lived with myKung Fu team. They took me in and gave me a place to sleep. They fed me.They gave me clothing. They trained me. They taught me kung fu and culture,and especially, they taught me about their religion. In Taiwan, my teammatesweren't monks but kung fu practitioners, who are generally very deep intotheir practice of Buddhism.
In the west, when we feel indebted to someone, we can make ourselves feelbetter by paying them. But there was nothing I could give them. When I triedto give them money, they refused to accept it.
And this confused me, because back in New York, I didn't know anyone whorefused money.
Later, after I could speak the language, I talked to them about it. I askedthem, "Why do you always refuse when I try to give you money?"
They called me by my Chinese name, "An Dong Ni". They said, "An Dong Ni,money is a prison. The things we own wind up owning us."
Over a period of months, as my understanding of the language, the cultureand the religion grew, they explained further. The Buddhists believe thateach time we die, we are reincarnated at a higher or lower level, dependingupon our good and bad deeds in our last life. Their goal is to reach thehighest level, but they believe that the things we own will weigh us down.
If you took all of your money and possession, wrapped your arms around themand jumped in a swimming pool, you would sink to the bottom and die. Theonly way to save yourself would be to let go of those things, then you wouldbe free.
My friends told me that money and possessions form golden chains, whichprevent your soul from soaring to the next level. The only way to get freeis to cut those chains.
I determined to cut all of the chains with my old life. The first chain Icut was when I left my country. Next, I cut my money, my job, my language,and my culture. I lived like my Chinese brothers and I learned to love them.
The one chain I still maintained was my religion. I was still Catholic andas much as I loved studying with my friends, and even going to prayers withthem, in my heart, I just didn't feel that I could ever give up myreligion.
I told my Buddhist advisor, "Gwo Su, you are the best person I know.Serene, peaceful, kind, generous, I want to be like you. Should I becomeBuddhist?"Gwo Su shook his head. "Have you learned nothing from us?"
He continued. "We weren't teaching you to become one of us. We wereteaching you a lesson in tolerance."
"Tolerance," he said, "Is learning to accept people who aredifferent."
"If you can learn to accept and love people who are different, if you canlearn to see their differences as beautiful, then you have achievedtolerance."
"But, if I ask you to become like me, this is not tolerance. Tolerance isaccepting people the way they are."
I realized that although I had been going through the motions for theprevious two years, I had failed to learned the central lesson. That theyallowed me to live as an American among Chinese, without asking me tochange, this was a truly great thing.
"How could I have been so stupid?" I asked.
"You Americans are so full of yourselves that it is impossible for you tolearn anything new." He said, flatly. " If you have a glass, full ofwater, you cannot put Coca Cola into it, unless you first empty it. You mustempty your glass that it may be filled."
Lou Gwo Su went on to say, "Only by losing everything are we free to gainanything."
Lou Gwo Su told me, "You are who you are."
The Buddhists believe that each time we are reborn, we are reborn at a certain level based on past deeds of good and bad. They believe we are born at just the right level to learn the lessons that we need to learn, in order to progress, spiritually. So,sometimes a cruel king may be reborn as a beggar. So that he may learn humility. They believe that if you are born as a man, a woman, a horse, disabled, rich, or poor, it is because these are the lessons that you need to learn. They also believe that your race, your religion, and sometimes even your profession, the core aspects of who you are, are all carefully chosen, and you cannot change them.
The way you are born is the way you should be. You can change your actions.You can change your behavior. But you cannot change your core. And, youshouldn't try.
My next stop was Mainland China, where I lived with the monks in The ShaolinTemple, the birth place of Chinese martial arts. None of us worked or wentto school. We spent all of our time learning Kung Fu, and learning morelessons in Buddhism.
When I left Shaolin, I took up residence in Hong Kong, where I wrote a book,called the Monk from Brooklyn, which was a daily account of my experience inthe temple.
I decided that I wanted to dedicate my life to adventure, to learning andstudying, and through my writing and my public speaking, I wanted to passthose lessons on to other people.
But to do that, I would need money. And the only way I could think of to getmoney was to sell my books and my magazine articles.
Next thing I knew, I had set up an office in Starbucks, in Hong Kong. I hadmy computer and my cell phone, a Mocha Frapuccino and my Lone Ranger screensaver. I spent all day sending email, asking people to buy my books andmagazine articles and calling people on the phone, asking them to buy mybooks and magazine articles.
One day, in the midst of a heavy negotiation with a publisher, I just burstout laughing. I had traveled half way around the world, and I wound up backwhere I started. I was a salesman again, doing exactly what I had done onWall Street.
But the monks had taught me that that was OK. I am a salesman, and that iswho I am.
If I had just listened to my grandma all those years ago, at the Feast ofSanto Antonio, I could have saved myself a lot of miles and a lot ofheartache.
She had told me, "No matter where you go, or what you do, no matter howfar you ride that horse, you will always be you. You are wonderful, and Ilove you just the way you are."
Then she smiled and she said. "But if it makes you happy to dream you areThe Lone Ranger, then do it."
I guess my grandma would be happy, because sometimes, if the work gets toomonotonous, I step away from my desk, put on the cowboy hat, the boots, thetwo pistols, and nothing else.
My grandma had also told me "Don't ever stop dreaming, for the rest ofyour life."
Those words reminded me of a story the monks had told me.
Sometimes, I believe I will wake up and discover that I am a little boy,sleeping on the subway dreaming that he is a man.
And the monks would tell me, it is all the same. It is just another form ofthe same person.
The one lesson, that I wish to give people is this:
You are who you are, and that is OK.
If you are a man, a woman, rich, poor, fat or skinny, old or young, you are fine the way you are.
If you are Black, White, Asian, Latino, Hindu, Sihk, Jewish, Christian, Buddhist, Muslim, or other, it is our differences that make us special.
If you make a conscious choice to change jobs, start a business, earn moremoney, lose weight, finish a degree, or achieve any goal or dream, then doit.
If it will make you happy, then do it.
But don't ever let anyone bully you into feeling bad about who you are.
You are the way you are supposed to be and you are beautiful.
Copyright © 2006 Antonio Graceffo
Before September 11th, Antonio Graceffo was a successful investment banker working on Wall Street. In 2001 he left behind the world of high finance and to pursue a childhood dream - the life of a full-time adventurer and writer. Over the last five anda half years, I have lived in temples, tribal villages and jungles. Through the books, CDs, DVD, and magazine articles I write I hope to share my adventures with others who feel trapped in their lives and their careers.