The Offering
John Buchenic
In Bangkok, Thailand sits the temple of the Reclining Buddha. In the temple there is a row of small metal pots sitting atop wire stands that runs for four hundred feet around the inside of the exterior wall. Visitor after visitor moves slowly down the line methodically dropping coins into the pots. The repetitive clinks of the coins against the brass make a relaxing, off tempo melody that echoes throughout the temple. Offerings are common throughout many religions when believers visit their holy places. Christians offer the bread and the wine in remembrance of Jesus; Buddhists and Hindus burn incense and place flowers and food in their holy places. The offering is an important part of many religions as a way of giving thanks as well as showing respect.
I have walked through the temple of the reclining Buddha. Dropped coins in every pot. And I have eaten the bread and drunk the wine; however, I have also stepped outside the traditional ideas of an offering and am better for it. Just south of Thailand, off the island of Koh Tao, I made an offering completely my own. It took place outside of any traditional holy place or recognized religion yet was of the same motivation that compels many people to leave offerings. It took the shape of a small black disk spinning through the air, placed upon an altar of churning, splashing surf. The entire service took place to the low rumbling groan of the engine, its infrequent knocking constituting the chant that set the mood for the experience.
Clank, clank, clank. Sixteen meters down in the dive site known as Shark Pinnacle near Koh Tao, three distinct notes resound from a set of brass knuckles against an aluminum scuba tank. The upright hand on the forehead means that a shark is present. All around me is blue. I look every which way, no shark. I feel the tingle in my spine; he’s here, but where? I look down. Directly below me is a twelve-foot bull shark moving in search of its next meal, its streamlined form cutting effortlessly through the water, its unblinking eyes staring off in either direction. Its size surprises me. He is aware of me. He moves up so that I am at his side. Now that we are level he can see me, but it is more than that. He knew I was there when I was still above him because sharks can sense the electrical pulsing of fish many times smaller than me in their immediate vicinity. That meant something entirely different from the mere observation one organism might make of another.
He was aware of me because he could feel me. He could feel, in a way no human ever will, my very existence from my thoughts to the electrical signals that governed my movements. If so motivated, it would have been more than easy for him to ingest me, but he doesn’t. He simply swims about for a moment, then disappears into the blue. I continue on to have a fantastic rest of the dive and soon after depart for another dive spot, Green Rock, where I bear witness to nature’s astounding beauty in the form of hundreds of different species of fish, multitudes of different coral and fields of evasive Christmas tree worms quivering in the current, back in their holes in a flash if one came too close.
On the coral reef, as the sun makes its retreat so do the fish that do their business during the day. As dusk rolls in there is quiet on the reef. Fish that have primarily cones in their eyes retreat to the shelter of the coral, fish undergoing the optical transition from cones to rods do the same while the process completes. This is the time that the shark hunts, and after the transitional period ends, the scene on the reef is completely changed. During the day, the familiar friendly reef fish from Finding Nemo are out and about, but at night both the crowd and the mood change. There is a similar effect to be seen in the city of Koh Tao. During the day people mill about visiting shops, making arrangements for their leisure activities and eating at various bars and restaurants. When dusk rolls in, just as on the reef, so do the sharks. Some people retreat to the safety of their homes while they make the necessary adjustments and then return to the strip, while others retire for the evening. I return to my coral, adjust my eyes after scuba diving all day, and set out into the night to see what is to be seen.
The sun has set on the island of Koh Tao and by about eight P.M. the entire city is a drunken mess. I make rounds around the city from bar to bar, observing how the reef changes at night. I see a jungle of rope lights, a Flintstones themed “cave” bar with only about ten out of control college students who seem entirely convinced they are amidst a much bigger party, a beach-side bean bag auditorium in front of which men twirl fire, two naked men running into the ocean and two stunningly beautiful girls following them only very slightly more clothed, as well as several badly burned idiots failing at both twirling fire and jumping a flaming rope though certainly not for lack of trying. It appears that chaos rules the reef at night. The sharks are out feeding and the reef fish are swimming about doing some terrible and wonderful dance evading them. This view of the reef, so different from the religious experience I had at Shark Pinnacle and Green Rock, is no less moving.
I experienced both the morning and the evening services in Koh Tao, and as I sat upon pews of the ferry which brought me to this holy place, I was gently reminded to leave my offering. As we sailed away from Koh Tao, I sat with my legs over the edge of the upper deck. The surf churns and the engine knocks. I saw the city begin to shrink and thought about the experiences I’d had there. I thought about how the place had moved me and about how I most likely would never return. I raised my camera to take a picture of the shrinking beach city. As I removed the lens cap, the previously calm waters pitched the boat sharply. My lens cap slipped from my fingers, and in the instant when I could have tried to save it, I understood that this was my coin clanking into the pot, it was my burning stick of incense, my garland of flowers laid at the feet of that divinity who had changed me.