This morning we introduced our first guest presenter. The visitor is a friend of Joel's, an American who has taken the vows and robes of a Tibetan Buddhist monk. He has spent years in India and Nepal studying and practicing with the great Tibetan meditation masters. Part of his training included months of icy solitude meditating in a Himalayan cave. He also graduated summa cum laude from Amherst College for his research into the foundations of modern physics in light of Buddhist ontology. With the retreat coming up shortly we feel he might be helpful in preparing the soldiers for meditation practice. And by exposing the men to the beliefs of a non-western philosophy we hope to expand their understanding and acceptance of other people, religions, and cultures. Our agenda is to have him discuss his mind/body training and then lead us in his form of walking meditation. "Perhaps the commitment and discipline of this western monk," Joel says, "will strike a resonant chord in the heart of the men."

When I first come upon this man I'm stopped dead in my tracks. He looks like an extra from a Gandhi film who has mistakenly wandered into a John Wayne set. He is standing outside our classroom in ocher robes and sandals while thick, powerful men in green berets, boots, and camouflage uniforms walk by him. He's extremely thin and his close-cropped hair accents a very lean, angular face. He moves like a bird with short, quick gestures and there's an extraordinary intensity about him. As the men pass by they aren't disrespectful but they don't hide their curiosity either. They stare, nod; some say hello.

At first glance the soldiers and this monk appear to be opposites. While the monk is thin to the point of emaciation, his robes barely clinging to his terribly white shoulders, the soldiers are fit and robust in their proud rolling gait. Yet I'm struck by something very much the same about them. Despite the difference in uniforms and posturing both are on the fringe of society, both are outlaws in their own ways; and in this there's a common pride and tenacity There is a powerful inner fire that burns in both of them, a heat that can be self-consuming if it isn't checked with compassion and understanding. As the soldiers sit quietly listening to the monk I can feel their attention probing him. He is obviously nervous, constantly arranging his robes and fidgeting in his chair. He is talking about the clarity of mind that comes from intensive sitting practice when suddenly the arm of his chair gives way and he loses his balance. Two of the soldiers immediately rush forward to help fix the chair, but he brushes them aside. Red-faced and out of sorts he clumsily puts himself and his robes back together as if erasing the incident, but what has happened is not lost on the men. It isn't so much that he has fallen off his chair or even that his words aren't connecting with his actions: it's more that he isn't acknowledging his present anxiety of being out of balance with himself. Inauthenticity is a cardinal transgression in the eyes of these men and it has the effect of unleashing the predator in them.

It starts during the question/answer period. The first questions are polite; "What was it like to live in Asia for so long?" "Did you get sick while you were there?" "What was it about Buddhism that made you choose it as a religion?" Then James says in his Texas drawl, "It seems a little strange to me to hide away in a cave in a country as poor as India when you might be able to go out and do something to get rid of the poverty and suffering." The monk replies with a disjointed argument about the need to help yourself first before you can help someone else. James presses on, "But you're healthy; you could probably do a lot to teach people how to live more healthy." "In Buddhism," the monk replies, "it's more important to deal with the core of suffering, our mind states, than to only deal with the symptoms."

The sergeant medic leans forward a bit, "Excuse me if this sounds rude, but I think that's a selfish attitude that you have." Their is a moment of everyone-holding-their-breath-silence. and the monk, a bit flustered, says condescendingly. 'There are different levels of understanding." James fastens his gaze on him. There is a weight in the room. "You seem kind of nervous, do we make you nervous?" Dunham finally asks. Before he can answer Gigg asks dismissively, "What good is sitting in a cave if you lose your composure in a simple situation like this?"