Shuttling through the streets of Guangzhou last year, Xinbo, my new partner in Chinese commerce, was well adapted to driving in this congested city. His Audi offered a smooth ride and when given a chance to maneuver a small Bell hanging from the rear-view mirror gave a soft ring. I recognized the Buddhist origin of the bell and said, “I should get one of those for my daughter Katrina. She has an affinity for Buddhism and it would be a gentle reminder if hung in her car to go easy.”
Saturday was my final day before flying home. Xinbo asked me to join his family for lunch and activities. His brother Zhang had been helpful in introducing me to local businessmen as he was Mayor of a region in Shen Zhen. With their wives and daughters, we had a fine dining experience. The Bell came up and the Mayor suggested we go to the old city center and visit the Buddhist Temple area. Once there, we found the same Bell as Xinbo’s at a shop so I purchased two and felt gratified at our mission. The Mayor then led us back into an area where the monks lived. (In China mayors are appointed not elected but I was not sure how authority played with Buddhists. Influence worked a few days before when our side of the highway was jammed. We were amazed to see traffic flowing on the opposite side of the road; the Mayor said he called to allow it.) We were called into the chambers of a high Buddhist priest. The brothers conversed with the eighty-six-year-old priest while the ladies and I sat in the perimeter of the room. I was called forward, passed on my bells, and tried to express “Katrina” phonetically so they could get the name. The blessing started with the old priest breaking into an ancient chant, sprinkled the lot with holy water, and painted some Chinese script on the bells. Not to belittle St. Christopher, but the Buddhist Bell hanging from Katrina’s mirror has a lot of clout.
Saturday was my final day before flying home. Xinbo asked me to join his family for lunch and activities. His brother Zhang had been helpful in introducing me to local businessmen as he was Mayor of a region in Shen Zhen. With their wives and daughters, we had a fine dining experience. The Bell came up and the Mayor suggested we go to the old city center and visit the Buddhist Temple area. Once there, we found the same Bell as Xinbo’s at a shop so I purchased two and felt gratified at our mission. The Mayor then led us back into an area where the monks lived. (In China mayors are appointed not elected but I was not sure how authority played with Buddhists. Influence worked a few days before when our side of the highway was jammed. We were amazed to see traffic flowing on the opposite side of the road; the Mayor said he called to allow it.) We were called into the chambers of a high Buddhist priest. The brothers conversed with the eighty-six-year-old priest while the ladies and I sat in the perimeter of the room. I was called forward, passed on my bells, and tried to express “Katrina” phonetically so they could get the name. The blessing started with the old priest breaking into an ancient chant, sprinkled the lot with holy water, and painted some Chinese script on the bells. Not to belittle St. Christopher, but the Buddhist Bell hanging from Katrina’s mirror has a lot of clout.
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