During a recent trip to visit my wife’s family in Newfoundland, I suddenly found myself with more free time than expected. With our in-laws kindly caring for the kids, I had no pressing obligations. My mind began to wander, and one question rose to the surface: What if I tried meditation?
That thought led me to recall one of my best friends, Birdy, who became a monk in 2016. Since then, our contact had been minimal; it seemed he had fully embraced monastic life. I remembered one moment in particular: a trip to Krabi, where Birdy casually remarked on how fascinating the mind is—echoing Luang Pu Pramote’s way of observing consciousness itself, known as Cittanupassana (Contemplation on the Mind). At the time, I thought little of it, but now the memory returned with new weight.
Curious and searching for direction, I reached out to Birdy, hoping he could guide me on where to begin. We ended up having a long, unforgettable phone call.
Before he ever devoted himself to meditation, Birdy had been obsessed with collecting Buddha amulets and other sacred objects. Unlike most collectors, he wasn’t only drawn to their cultural or spiritual symbolism—he had an uncanny ability to actually feel and even absorb the energy radiating from each object. For a while, this pursuit consumed him.
But Birdy warned that such energy could also be dangerous. Absorbing too much, he said, caused him to hear incessant voices in his ear, a disturbance so severe it once sent him to a psychiatric hospital. At one point, it nearly killed him. What saved his life were two monks he deeply respected, who intervened and restored balance. Their abilities were beyond explanation—something I can only call Acinteyya (the unanswerable questions).
I’ll admit, I didn’t fully understand what Birdy meant about this “inner voice.” It was not something I had ever experienced myself. And yet, I believed him. There was a strange, undeniable truth in his words. Still, Birdy urged me to seek out one of his teachers, Kru Ba from Surin, Thailand, and ask if I might learn under his guidance.
A few months earlier, during a visit to Thailand, I had already felt drawn toward Samatha-Vipassana meditation. I found myself praying at temples—before Luang Por Chaem at Wat Chalong in Phuket, and Luang Pu Chu at Wat Nak Prok in Bangkok—asking for the chance to meet a true teacher. Samatha is the practice of calming the mind through concentration; Vipassana, the cultivation of insight into the nature of reality.
And so, my wish was granted: I found my vipassana meditation teacher, Kru Ba Jot. Birdy believes he has reached the ultimate end of suffering—the completion of his duties—and is confident that he will be a great teacher for me.
Reflecting on Birdy, I realize he has always had a way of finding the path, even when it seemed unlikely. I have known him for over twenty years. Back in high school, we shared a room during a three-month internship in the USA. We spent our nights chasing girls and chasing wild adventures. Who would have thought that both of us would eventually be guided toward meditation?
Birdy’s transformation is even more striking. In his youth, he was a gamer who sold in-game items from Ragnarok Online, scraping by with poor grades and little thought of the future. Yet later, he excelled—graduating top of his faculty four years in a row, becoming a successful day trader and investor.
He lived a life many would envy: drinking, partying, dating freely. And yet, he grew weary of it. He remembered the profound joy he once felt in meditation—Pīti, the rapture born of concentration, and Sukha, the deep contentment that follows. In the end, he discovered that no amount of wealth, pleasure, or worldly thrill could equal the peace that comes from within.
I do not mean to judge his past, but his journey reminds me of a timeless truth: the pleasures of the world—money, sex, fleeting excitements—cannot compare to the profound happiness of inner stillness.
As the Buddha said:
“Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without.”