The Tile of the Happy Buddha

In Taiwan, they call a person with boundless positive energy and a constant smile, a “happy buddha.”   I have known only four or five “happy buddhas” in my lifetime.  When you meet one, you know immediately.

Recently, we traveled to Fushan Botanical Garden in Taiwan.  The trip from Taipei took us through Xueshan Tunnel (Snow Mountain tunnel).   It is an engineering wonder because it is 8.042 miles long, making it the second longest road tunnel in East Asia and the fifth longest road tunnel in the world.    The night before the trip, we had dinner with the former Taiwanese Minister of Transportation who told us the tale of building the tunnel.

Snow Mountain, Taiwan’s second highest mountain, soars 12,749 ft above sea level, cutting off the eastern section of the island from  Taipei County where most of Taiwan’s residents live.  The trip to circumvent the base would take 2 hours.   The tunnel reduces the drive to 30 minutes, so at the time the incentive to build it was high.  However, since Snow Mountain provides the city with a major supply of water, it has many underground springs and rivers.  While digging the tunnel, the workers hit several of these underground water sources.  The machine used to drill through the eight miles of rock was so heavy that if it stopped it would start to sink into the ground and was extremely difficult to move.   Therefore, it had to continue drilling around the clock.  The French started the project but soon became befuddled by it and it was eventually finished by an English firm.  At that time, Snow Mountain did not engender the proliferation of happy buddhas.

Our experience with the mountains would be different.  Upon emerging from the other side of the tunnel, we drove through a couple of small towns with neon pulsating arrows inviting passersby to stop into shops that lined the road.  These towns were emblazoned with banners for the upcoming elections- blue, green and red each for an opposing party.  The towns looked like Chinese dragons with banners flowing from every appendage.  Small trucks appeared and disappeared screaming political promises from loud speakers set at the highest possible volume.

Once past the towns, we began our ascent to Fushan Botanical Garden.  With time, the sharp edges and sounds of humanity were gradually replaced by long rivulets of lush green foliage that seemed to flow silently from the tops of ancient volcanic mountains.  These were the mountains of Chinese paintings, their deep ridges softened by mist and gently swaying bamboo and trees.  Our climb wound endlessly making sharp turns that seemed to double upon themselves.   It felt like we were attached to the ribbon of a kite- drifting upward and upward.

Just as we passed the sign that warned of monkey crossings and my stomach was about to lurch from the turns and altitude, we arrived.  It was quiet place, seemingly empty of visitors.  Only 300 people were permitted in the park per day.  These were easily accommodated by the 20 hectares open to the public.  We were greeted by a scientist who ushered us into the unheated visitor’s building that also housed his office.  There, he offered us tea, showed us an introductory movie, and then directed us to proceed to the botanical garden.  He spoke some English but there was mostly a great deal of bowing.

At the garden, we were met by our tour guide.   She was a short woman wrapped in layers of shirts and sweaters, topped with a grey traditional Chinese jacket.  She carried an umbrella. Since it was winter, the garden was not flowering but the 7,000 species of plants were green and lush and thriving in the pervasive mist of the rain forest.   She bowed several times and greeted us warmly in Chinese.  She did not speak any English.  Two in our small group were designated to be interpreters.

As we started down the path towards the aquatic garden, my eyes searched for the Formosan macaques (wild monkeys) and Formosan Reeve’s muntjac, (barking deer).  I was looking for the dynamic, the noisy, and the novel.   The botanist, however, would show us the little things, the quiet and the exotic.

The guide would stop frequently to uncover some hidden secret.  I learned that ferns have spores in every conceivable combination of locations- some spores run in a straight line down the spine of a frond, others were splayed out along the edges, others were absent from some fronds of the plant and coated the back of others like a fungus.  This garden had more varieties of ferns than can be found almost anywhere else on earth.  Our guide’s eyes grew wider and more jovial with every step.  She was full of delight as she gently turned over one leave after the other to discover a secret anew.

At one point, she paused and used the crook of her umbrella to lower a branch of a tree.   She pulled off a leaf and tore it in half.   She stuffed half into her mouth and the other half she gave to me.   She gestured for me to eat it.   It was a leaf that tasted exactly like cinnamon.   She loved sharing her world with us.   She would look deeply into my face and speak directly to me as if I understood.   Although, I could not make out a single word, I did come to understand.  I understood that we were in a pristine place and that these plants were sacred.  It was our privilege to walk among them and discover their wonders.

Finally, when the guide came to the Taiwanese water lilies she announced that she would sing for us.  We stood in the cold mist by the edge of a beautiful pond whose water was so clear that you could see the ducks as they dove and the stems of the plants as they swayed in the current.   Her voice was sweet and full.  The undulating tones of the music floated into the crisp clean air absorbed by the hush.  The notes did not pierce the quiet but mysteriously became a part of it.  Serenity was her accompaniment and her voice was fully embraced by the stillness.  It was a magical moment.   Her face was even more radiant than before, her outstretched arms and hands moved slowly and gracefully as she sang.  She was transformed.  I was standing before a “happy buddha”  taken in by her love of nature.  Simply by virtue of being and standing by this pond, I was a part of this garden.  I was a part of her song.

As we returned in the darkness, we passed once again through Xueshan Tunnel to emerge to the lights and traffic of Taipei.  During the 12 minutes I spent traveling inside the mountain, I thought about what I had experienced on the beautiful mountainside.  I thought about my rare encounter with a “happy buddha.”   This lovely woman enabled us to become one with beauty through her passion and appreciation of nature.

Sometimes we are privileged to become something better than ourselves through no deliberate intention on our part.  When this happens, it can be subtle and easily missed.  We must be opened to letting go of our single mindedness of purpose and our business.  I think there may be more “happy buddhas” in this world than we realize.  There may be more opportunities to rise above ourselves than we know.  If we are lucky enough to notice and embrace these opportunities, we are fortunate indeed and have received a true blessing.

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