8. Shame

Tradition and rituals run deep in Myanmar, and I have to say I like it.  One such activity is removing socks and shoes before entering a Buddhist pagoda, which is what I’m doing now at the Sandamuni Pagoda.  It’s a tedious process to lace and unlace my hiking shoes throughout the day, but I don’t mind.  It’s the respectful thing to do in terms of Buddhism and the culture.  The act connects people from all around the world who visit these sacred sites.  I pull off my socks and embrace the feeling of the cool tiles on my bare feet.  I set my shoes near the pile that has accumulated and walk toward the doorway.  On my way, a young girl approaches me and asks if I would like to buy lotus flowers to make an offering to Buddha.  I agree to buy some and take out my money.  “They’re very beautiful,” I tell her.   She shyly smiles.  “You look very pretty,” I say.  I admire the leaf pattern that’s painted on her face in sunblock.  “You are artistic.”  She continues to smile.  “May I take your photograph?”  She gently nods her head, and I take her image.  “You pretty,” she says to me.  “No, you pretty,” I say, showing her the photo I took.  She looks at it and smiles a little more, and then we study each other’s faces.  I can see the curiosity in her eyes — I have the same curiosity as I look at her.  “You from?” she asks.  “America,” I say.  She continues to smile and look at me intently.  “Thank you for the beautiful flowers and the photograph,” I say, paying her.  “I’m going inside now.  Bye.”  “Bye,” she says softly.  She hands me a bundle of lotus flowers, which I take with my right hand as I turn to walk away.  Then I feel my left foot step into something that squishes into the ball of my foot.  I pick up my foot and find that I’ve stepped in dog poop.  It’s disgusting.  Instinctively, I want to remove it, so I balance on my right foot, bring the stems of the lotus flowers to my left foot and poke at it.  In the process, I suddenly realize how wrong my action is.  I hear the girl softly say, “Buddha,” and her quiet dismay is compounded by the simultaneous gasps from men behind me.  Oh no…  This is so wrong…  Very, very wrong…  I know better…  I look away from my foot and the mess that’s stuck to it and I say to the girl, “I’m so sorry.  That was so wrong.  Please forgive me.”  I see the look in her eyes and how it has changed from happiness to confusion.  “Please…  I’m so sorry…”  Tears pool in my eyes as I see the serious disappointment in hers.  I look at one of my guides and can see the disbelief on his face.  “Joe, I’m so sorry.  Please help me, and please apologize to her in Burmese.  Please convey my apologies for this disrespect.”  I listen as he translates this to the little girl.  She looks at him, then to my foot, and then to my eyes.  I try to show her how sorry I am with my expression, but I know that the damage is done.  The sweet exchange we had moments ago has been replaced by her disappointment and my shame.  I immediately want a “do-over,” but I know I don’t get those in life — I get teachings.  This is how she will remember me and that thought crushes me.  “The flowers must be in garbage,” Joe says.  “I know,” I say, handing him the bouquet.  I look to the girl, who turns and walks away…