Homebodies like me
never really get along with adrenaline rush; the kind people chase after
whenever they get a holiday. My roommate is a constant wanderer, shelling out
every cent from her pocket cheerfully in the name of adventure. Zip-lining,
island hopping, diving, biking, you name an exciting trip to the outdoors,
she'll want a piece of it. Meanwhile I could not even be bothered checking out
the beach resort I've been ogling online.
My train of thought
about trips is always the same, "It's too far. It's too expensive. I'll be
too tired to enjoy the place." And more often than not I predict my
situation quite correctly. It would seem that wanderlust is not for the easily
nauseous couch potatoes. But I needed a break, and a quick Google search gave me the
idea to literally go up in the mountains to one of the biggest temples in Cebu
City. The Cebu Taoist temple was three things that negated my usual getaway predicaments:
it's near, it's quiet and best of all, it's free.
As I packed a small bag for a trip uphill to
the Taoist Temple, I expected another arduous journey ala Lord of the Rings.
But I could not remain restless at home, either. Sometimes the city gets to you and the limbs feel
stiff and the mind foggy. The Taoist Temple promised itself as a place of
meditation and peace and peace I was desperate for.
Hailing a cab at JY
Square, the taxi driver knew the way like the back of his hand. One way up the
mountains is through Sudlon Street; a lot of people go up there everyday for
the temples and the highland hotels and resorts miles up. As I sat in the back
of the cab, sipping from a juice box for energy, I watched the city and its
makeshift houses and garbage entrails disappear to make way for trees and
farms. After a while concrete sprouted up again as we neared the aptly called
Beverly Hills, with its high metalwork and brick walls enclosing houses of the
well to do.
The driver asks
whether I'd like to be dropped off at the lower gate or the upper entrance. My
legs have been dreading the temple's eighty-one flights of steps, and although
I'd like to experience the shrines properly, I saw no harm in simply opting for
the couch potato way of entry into the place. The deities there won't mind if I
do, would they?
The taxi stops at a dead end of high limestone
walls mottled with lichen that opened up to the left with a red-roofed gate of
the Taoist temple. An elderly Chinese couple walks ahead of me; according to
the guard, the upper entrance was preferred by the elderly patrons who couldn't
handle the eighty one steps anymore.
I enter the temple
premises through the red gate that opened up as a stone bridge across the
uneven slope, resembling the style of the Great Wall of China. In fact, an acrylic
painting of the Great Wall hangs at the entrance. Down the sides of the bridge,
side gardens could be seen with ponds, running brooks and even stone pagodas.
The largest dragon of
the temple is perched along a sloping greenery, guarding the main prayer hall,
just one of the many stone dragons there. Upon closer inspection, all of them
have five claws, a sign of royalty or esteem (dragons with lesser claws are for
the lower social classes in Chinese tradition). He stared out into the sky with
large glass eyes that looked more alarmed than menacing.
The shrines make use
of the sloping terrain to its advantage, creating hanging gardens that provide a perfect
highland view of the cityscape in the distance. There are different levels to
the place, almost never uniform except for their decorations. Small
shrines near the gate have golden incense bowls for worshipers, their residing
deity surrounded by ornate flowers and decor.
Lines of fiesta
banners were tied across the buildings as if in preparation for an event; they
fluttered noisily in the heavy winds. Checking the side temples I notice the
temple workers hanging up silk banners across the main entrances of the
shrines, richly embroidered and intricate in detail complete with colorful tassels.
I was about to
approach and ask them if there was a celebration when the sound of gongs rose
in the air over the fluttering plastic banners. I crossed the courtyard and
climbed up to the main prayer hall where an endless procession of devotees waited
their turn at the foot of the enormous altar. The process of prayer could only
be guessed by and outsider like me, there were no pamphlets about the place and
information boards were all in Chinese. The red-shirted local workers at the
shrines were hardly articulate with the details of Taoism and the resident
patrons were all too busy to even disturb with inquiries.
The sweet smell of
scented incense hung in the air as I stood outside the viewing window looking
into the prayer hall. I watch worshipers kneel on low leather stools, offer
incense to the giant golden bowl of ash, rattle a bamboo rods written with
prayers and throw mango-sized polished stones to the floor after praying.
It was forbidden to
take pictures of the deities or their altars and I ended up gawking there,
scribbling away details of the rituals when the a guard approached me, thinking
I'm a media hazard. I merely asked whether non believers also come to pray when
he defensively told me that official interviews were not allowed, although he
admitted he didn't know the actual protocol about asking questions. Again the
information barrier hits me. It was clear that the only people who knew of the
actual purpose and details of the shrine were its sponsors and patrons who were
within the prayer hall sorting the offerings of devotees. I decided not to press them or the
baffled guard about the big preparations.
The events hall lies
directly to the side of the prayer hall, an open area with a souvenir shop and
a hot tea station for visitors. Up the last flight of stairs are the koi
ponds and the uppermost shrine. A temple worker assisting a visitor on how to
properly offer incense to the golden-clad deity within. While the woman prayed
I managed to ask him about the god on the altar. He explained that the
deity in gold was the center of the universe, although he did not know the actual name, himself. According to him, many things are lost in translation and the temple workers often cannot pronounce Chinese names properly. Even Google didn't provide an answer, and as I looked up at
the statue sitting underneath two dragons locked in an eternal dance, I could
only see the resemblance of Shi Huangti, the first emperor of China, who
claimed being the center of the universe.
I turned to follow
the deity's gaze which led to the sky. It was the highest point of the temple
and from there I could see all the dragons poised over the roofs. The open air
was clear, the sun blotted out by light clouds, letting me overlook
the green of the mountain slopes and the blue grey haze of the metal and
concrete city beyond.
I was so transfixed by the tranquility of the upper shrine
that I found myself leaning forward to get a better look. I heard the shrine workers too late and...I ended up leaning against the railing
with still wet paint. I clearly wasn't paying attention to the sign they had put up.
Embarrassed and
feeling rather foolish, I scuttled away and stuffed my stained jacket into my
bag. For a while I sat at a marble side table hidden away above the smallest
koi pond under the eaves of the green-tiled roofs where the dragons seemed to
gather. People came and went, some outsiders that gawked at everything and
others seasoned worshipers who knew exactly where to go. When it was time for
me to descend I finally meet the eighty one steps. A family rested at the first
station, weary from the uphill trek that I so cowardly refused myself.
The steps grew
narrower as I climbed down from the temple. The side gardens grew smaller as well.
The gongs faded in the distance and I met another red gate. It was ten times
smaller than the one I came in, just big enough for two people to walk abreast.
The journey of the Taoist temple was supposed to be from the ground up, against
the heat and strain, the path opening up to its visitors and have them leave
through a gate that was a hundred times more marvelous than the one that met
them. I took the easy way and did the journey backwards; from up to down, from
grandeur to modesty.
As karma would have
it, all taxis were booked and there were no rides back to the city. I ended up
walking halfway before getting a ride. Maybe the deities there were keeping an
eye on the lazy guests after, all.
