By Peter Aronson

It was this Burmese monk’s first visit to America, and it was my first real visit with a monk. He was staying at a house in the Chicago suburbs, teaching anapanasati meditation—“watching the breath”—to anyone interested enough to stop by. I was eager to learn how to meditate (without bursting out laughing, like the first time I tried it), so he invited me to come and hang out for a few days.

Those five days in late October were a cultural exchange. The monk taught me how to watch my breath: in, out, in, out, breathing in, breathing out. And if I remember correctly, I got him to watch Star Wars.

On the morning of October 31, somewhat disconnected from the world, I suddenly remembered it was Halloween. I explained that children might be coming by that night trick-or-treating, and that we should be ready. He’d never heard of Halloween and asked me to tell him about it. So I did.

I gave him the lowdown on the holiday: ghosts, goblins, costumes, skeletons…

Skeletons!” he exclaimed suddenly. “That is wonderful, wonderful! In Burma we do skeleton meditation. Very good, very good. We must get a skeleton! Continue.”

Then I explained trick-or-treating.

“Oh, that is wonderful. So much opportunity for giving. We must have lots of candy for the children and tell them all to come here. Wonderful, wonderful!”

So we hopped in the car and I drove him to a big discount store. Or at least tried to—it was raining hard and my windshield wipers were stuck, so I couldn’t see anything. We got lost, ending up on a highway I never meant to take.

“No matter,” he said, reassuring me with a serene smile. “This is wonderful. Now I am seeing more of this city. Very good.”

When we finally found the store, I took him to the Halloween aisle, where he carefully scrutinized the skeletons to find one that would serve our purpose best. And what would that purpose be, exactly? I wasn’t sure whether we were going to hang the skeleton on the outside of the front door or sit facing it with legs crossed, contemplating our mortality. In then end he settled on the biggest one he could find, a four-foot hanging skeleton made of black-and-white cardboard bones strung together that also glowed in the dark. I grabbed as many bags of candy as I could afford with the cash I had on hand (my favorite brands, of course).

Excerpted from the Winter 2008 issue of Buddhadharma: The Practitioner's Quarterly, available on newsstands November 13th.

PETER ARONSON is a freelance journalist currently living in Dharamsala, where he is also attending courses in Buddhism at the Library of Tibetan Works and Archives.