Living Next to Monks Again--What Are the Chances?

I recently moved from 666 Molino Ave. Apt. 6 to my new abode on Freeman just south of Fourth Street. Despite my previous address's ominious numerology, it was a beautiful, sunny place right next door to a monastery. I hadn't known this until after I'd moved in. but I was just a few feet away from Morningland, a New Age cult of white-garbed, placcid-looking adherents to a mixture of Eastern and Western mythology with a little Star Trek thrown in. For an even-handed report on Morningland's search last summer for its sacred missing tortoise, see my former student Jennifer Stockdale's piece from the District Weekly.

The Morningland folk were always very pleasant and polite. When I asked them to please tone down the music after 10 p.m., they did so. I enjoyed the singing during the day and early evening; in fact, I have such beautiful memories of lying face up on my bed during a few summer afternoons as a light breeze entered my windows and I let the forceful voice of a Morningland soloist wash over me.

The chances of living nextdoor to a monastery once in one's lifetime are rather slim, I'd say. But now I find that, once again, my neighbors are monks, this time of the Tibetan Buddhist variety, complete with prayer flags, shaved heads, and maroon robes. At this moment I am looking out my living room windows, across the 10 feet that separate me from their plum-painted craftsman-style house.

I can't help but believe that there is some sort of divine intervention going on here. Unlike the Morninglanders, who I found nice but a tiny bit strange, the Tibetans are folks I'm eager to get to know. They are a quiet bunch, and I have not yet made contact, but would really love to develop a friendship. Since I was a very young girl, I have dreamed of visiting Tibet. Perhaps these monks are an answer to my prayers.