Liminality and Peace in Vietnam

Aum. Śāntiḥ. Śāntiḥ. Śāntiḥ. 

What is this mantra, often chanted at the closing of a recitation or a yoga session? It feels calming, but what does it mean literally?

A-U-M is understood as the primordial vibration containing all of totality. The pre-articulated sound from which all articulated sounds arise. And if in the beginning was The Word, the first articulated word which brought into being all of creation, then it is the pre-articulated sound from which the Word and all of creation arises. To break that down, in Sanskrit, A equals the waking consciousness. U equals the dreaming consciousness. And M equals deep sleep or undifferentiated awareness. Essentially then, AUM a/k/a Om, includes everything, everything that can be disturbed. 

The slow recitation of AUM is followed by three recitations of the Sanskrit word Śāntiḥ.

Śāntiḥ addresses disturbances that can arise within that field. It is an invocation repeated thrice because it is directed at three categories of disturbances: disturbances from other beings and the external world; disturbances from larger, unseen forces like weather or fate, forces understood to be beyond human control; and, disturbances from within like fear or confusion. Śānthi is a request that these disturbances be pacified.

Vietnam is peaceful. The Vietnamese are not readily disturbed. On the whole, they are a non-aggressive, non-confrontational people. They’ve got a quiet go-with-the-flow m.o. They take care to respect and manage that flow.

How did this come about and how has it survived?

The Vietnamese are keenly attuned to their environment. I am staying on the coast, a short walk across the river and rice paddies from Hoi An Ancient Town. An Bang Beach is the threshold of the notoriously wild and unruly South China Sea. 

Sometimes she washes up the bodies she has claimed, but far more often she washes up only their confused, unmoored spirits and their cries.

Her death toll is high, and from the many well-tended protective shrines tucked quietly into overgrown hillocks along the coastline, it is clear that her power has earned the reverence of the local village fishermen. I watch them wade into the water, pant legs rolled up, pushing precarious coconut shell boats. Sometimes a few of them join together to launch a slightly larger wooden boat, but still the vessels appear terribly vulnerable braving the crests and rolling waves, hopelessly vulnerable when scaled to the sea.  

Too, a long relentless monsoon season brings steady rains to flood the roads and wash through bottom floors of homes here. The water rises and floods burial grounds, dislodging graves and sometimes even the larger shrines carefully placed by geomancy specialists to protect and nourish the paddies with the bones of the ancestors of the land’s caretakers. It’s a give and take here between the living and the dead. The lines can become blurred when restless spirits are wandering about. And that can be unsettling, even dangerous. Liminal means threshold, and delineating thresholds is a high priority here because with all of the comings and goings, that is where energy is most unstable. And restless spirits are drawn to instability.

It is not surprising that with all of these forces swirling about, the locals feel them. Agrarian cultures have always held a close sympathy with the land and of course fishermen with the sea. But here the homeowners and the shopkeepers are sensitive to movement on the streets and in the alleys. They readily sense heavy and hungry spirits. They watch the behavior of the dogs and cats for the first sign that something is amiss. 

Although we seldom articulate it, most of us can read a room the moment we enter. We can all sense danger. In fact, we do physiologically. Our bodies know if a place is safe before we find the language. We can feel if a space is stagnant, if there has recently been an argument, or if it is light and happy. Many have experienced the unmistakable energy of a sacred place. And most can feel a discomfort in a place heavy with a trauma imprint, sensing the residue of a murder or accident. Westerners do not have ready language for this. We have an uneasy feeling crossing a busy intersection and standing near the edge of a rushing river. These are places where things can happen that are out of our control. Although the danger is real, our nervous system arousal spike is dismissed, relegated to the realm of superstition. The Vietnamese do not sublimate the risk. Instead, they acknowledge the reality in a framework from which it can be managed.

They are guarded about openly talking about it, but that is not what we are discussing just now. Here we are talking about the energies around us. We are discussing our biosphere as a living organism, the world as a living terrain of moving forces. The cosmic dance.

A long time ago… before internet, plastic, the Industrial Revolution, before the Renaissance, we more readily felt our place on our planet. We lived in a spirit-saturated landscape. We felt the living, breathing land, the energy of trees, of powerful rocks, surging waters, of both gentle and forceful winds, the liminality of the expansive clear sky, the unsettled energy at crossroads, the springtime growth of the rice paddies, and how the wind and water passed through the new blades. We knew that each place has a spirit, a temperament, a memory, and a tendency toward what it wants and what it resists. We have lost this conscious resonance with our environment, and do not even recognize that this loss saddens us. But we are animals and our bodies are aware of the space in which we move. Our nervous systems still respond to place even absent conscious thought. As the poet Mary Oliver writes in Wild Geese, “You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves” to realize that the earth is as alive as we are.

As real as it is, because it is a feeling and we don’t have much time or tolerance for things we don’t know how to measure, this sensibility has been sublimated in modern cultures. This has come at a cost. First, as mentioned, the physiological need of the human nervous system to respond to space and process its relation to it. And second, the psychological need of the psyche to adapt. To adapt from feeling anchored to a spirit, whether place or human, to its transition. 

Our psychological need for a gentle integration to the next phase is even deeper when the transition was abrupt. And yet…

Consider only one side of the equation in this modern example of glossing over the significance of the unseen, and of haste for closure. Specifically, let’s look at typical societal time allowed in western countries for transitions after trauma, in this case the death of a loved one. The typical labor-management contract in the USA allows for three days off for the loss of an immediate family member, and that doesn’t even include siblings. Some contracts allow one day off for the death of a grandparent or sibling. But how long does it actually take to get over the shock and then process the grief of a wife, a mother, a child? A brother? A grandmother? The single day is to attend the funeral. Three days to attend to essential matters. Preceding viewings at the funeral home are generally scheduled in the evenings, so no time is required to miss work. 

This is Avalokiteśvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion, known here as Quan Âm, the one who hears the cries of the world. Standing above the sea in Da Nang, she is a symbol of compassion in a turbulent world. I can see her from my beach 22 km away, and when it is foggy and I cannot, I become uneasy now. People don’t pray to her. They ask simply for calmness, to cultivate compassion in their own minds. Compassion is simply the human capacity to notice pain and soften toward it. When you do this for others, your own mind calms.

Let’s trace back the origin of this belief of unmoored souls now as they play a large role in daily life here. The oldest written record we have is of the Cham civilization. Before the Chams the indigenous people are believed to have shared that similar worldview of animism, that is, that everything is alive and relational. For example, a river can listen, remember and respond.

The Cham Islands are in the background of the photo above of the coconut shell boats. The Cham people here have been assimilated, though there are still a couple pockets remaining in other parts of Vietnam. Their beliefs too have also been assimilated and are still practiced. The Chams followed a two-stage process when it came to settling transitional spirits: first to acclimate the recently deceased to their transformation from life; and once settled, help them move to the next step. 

An explanation of the burial urns they were known for producing in their glory days as seafaring traders will help you understand the process after death, a ritual followed for hundreds of years and one which has been practiced in analogous variations by other cultures as diverse as the Celts and the Tibetans. I include it because it is very different from the quick and anesthetized removal of the recently dead favored in modern cultures you are probably more familiar with. And because it underpins daily rituals here.

The newly dead are volatile, liminal, restless and as such can wreak havoc, or in the more gentle local vernacular, “can cause imbalances”. Accordingly, it is best if they are contained until they settle into being dead. Hence the jars (life size) with lids that can be screwed on tight. Jars weren’t always used. The dead might be blanketed and buried temporarily, the aim being that the first place is temporary, but also secure. When the body has decomposed and it is felt the dead have settled into their new role, their remains are removed and placed into another jar or possibly the same one. The removal ritual takes place to mark the settling of the spirit, which anchors the survivor’s grieving process as well. This isn’t terribly different from what took place in medieval Europe’s charnel houses, or even in Italy today. 

It is believed here in Vietnam that if they are not reconciled, not claimed as ancestors and venerated on a home’s altar, these spirits will wander aimlessly until moored, causing energy disturbances which can cascade, causing accidents, illnesses, and bad fortune. This is widely accepted.  Community members and pets sense these disturbances and while discussing the problem overtly is not considered a good idea, something I will touch on in a bit, they take measures to preclude bad outcomes. In a moment, we will touch on those rituals, but first, let’s look at the anchored, venerated spirits.

Here is a home altar. Most homes have these.

These altars are kept dusted and freshened. Incense, candles and flowers are replenished regularly. Sometimes tea or fruit are offered. These ancestors are cared for and can rest easily. And it is practical grief management. No one asks, “Are you still sad about your mother?” She is still present, only transformed. Her name is spoken quietly, but she is spoken to. Anniversaries are acknowledged and community-wise, the annual Vu Lan Festival for honoring parents, both living and dead provides a ritual for publicly mourning. Taoism does not insist upon closure. Like somatic healing, it offers opportunities for grief to be titrated, released in small portions over time. Grief and trauma are not emotions to be resolved, events requiring closure. Everything flows. Sadness and pain are cyclical and like all energy flows are not something to stop, just to be managed in a way that helps one to continue to live well.

But what about the unclaimed spirits? The travelers? The seafarers? The unknown accident victims? Those with no family? 

They wander, seeking they know not what, until at last they settle down. They are confused, restless and hungry and they can cause disturbances. They can congregate at dangerous intersections, especially where lives have been lost and the trauma imprint remains, multiplying the negative energy of the site and causing more accidents. Where restless spirits hang out, people fall ill. Businesses fail. These spirits must be acknowledged and taken care of in such a way that they do not feel attracted to stay, but instead, calmly move on down the road. Communities place offerings along the roadways and at suspect intersections.

The smallest acknowledgment can pacify a lonely spirit wanting to be seen. Rice, candy and porridge have been left at the intersection. Here are fresh flowers and a betel leaf tucked in a gate near a doorway along a heavily trafficked alley. The betel leaf and areca nuts are a sign of hospitality, essentially saying “You are noticed.” The salt is a purifier. It balances too much yin energy. The rice is sustenance for the hungry spirit. The flowers are a sign of affection. Together, it means “This space too is acknowledged. Please pass by gently.”

Too, the community hosts the Hungry Ghost Festival, where offerings are left outside by everyone who wishes to participate. It is collective trauma care that acknowledges that sometimes suffering has no family.

It is part of daily life here to keep energies balanced. The routines arise from a deeply integrated belief system.

The cultural outlook is a syncretic blend of folklore that can be traced back 6,000 years, layered with the beliefs of Austronesian maritime cultures who settled her around 3,000-4,000 years ago when the Chams arrived. The Chams also brought with them the more impersonal concept of Hindu Shivaism, that is, cosmic power. It has not survived in terms of Shiva as in India, but has survived symbolically as cosmic power. (See the Tiger Shrine below.) 

The Chinese brought Taoism 2,000 years ago, and that has been hugely influential. Taoism provides guidance on how to read the flow of energies and sit comfortably with it all, from whistling gales blowing in from the sea to sad and lonely spirits. It teaches how to live with and manage the energy flows through humility, adaptability, silence and restraint rather than ambitiously and fruitlessly laboring against them. Success is admired, but soft power is admired more.

While geomancy, the Taoist art of reading the land, has a few core principles to consider in the placement of buildings and tombs, most relevant to daily life here is the concept of thresholds as power points. Thresholds between land and sea. Thresholds at the edge of the road. Thresholds to homes and businesses. Thresholds between the material and spiritual worlds. Energy is volatile at thresholds and must be managed to preclude problems. Transitions matter. Good geomancy marks them, softens them and protects boundaries. Consider our earlier discussion of the physiological effect of the human nervous system where it unconsciously registers the energy spike at say, a dangerous crossroad. A marker, like a shrine asks one to pause. It is a speed bump allowing the nervous system to calmly de-escalate.

Buddhism arrived between 1,500 and 2,000 years ago, introducing the concepts of karma and compassion. Most Vietnamese do not ascribe to a particular religion, but of those who do, the largest percentage is Buddhists at 14%. This is an accommodating strain of Buddhism though. You will find folkloric offerings on temple altars. Buddhism is after all not a religion, but a philosophy on how to relieve suffering and live your happiest life. Accordingly, it easily accommodates personal beliefs. 

Consider the glass case here on a Buddhist temple grounds insulating Quan Ǎm “with the thousand hands and a thousand eyes.” The glass enclosure here is intentional, for a few reasons. Quan Ǎm hears the cries of the dead and intercedes with mercy and intercession for restless souls without proper rites. Too, people tend to whisper their problems to her. Wandering spirits are drawn to liminality and emotional density and so the enclosure stabilizes the field by slowing the energetic exchange and keep compassion circulating inward. In a sense it prevents spirits from attaching to the suffering and further stagnating. When slowly decoding symbolism at a temple, as here, at this Buddhist temple, it becomes apparent that it all, each detail is thought out. Another reason for the glass is that the reflection of the sky and the trees helps orient the spirit to the world in which it is dwelling. 

Most recently, only between 1,000 and 2,000 years ago, Confucianism entered the culture. Confucianism filled in a gap by providing guidance regulating social order, family roles and moral behavior. None of these philosophies were brought by missionaries with a need to eradicate existing beliefs, and so what was needed was simply added. The Vietnamese understanding of Buddhism evolved to align with the principles of Confucianism that fit within their society. Confucianism adds another layer of behaving responsibly, and the Vietnamese accepted that the Buddhist tenets of using right speech and taking right action protects the family name, the lineage. This is a concept of reverence they hold deeply.

This blend of doctrines and beliefs serves the present society well. It is both generally accepted and self-regulating. The rituals are not doctrine-specific and as such, fly under the radar of official scrutiny. In fact, here is the shrine at the boundary of the village where I am staying. It is in a public space and has been allowed, if not funded, by the Communist government here. The logic behind this is that it is serving a societal purpose. It is promoting cultural cohesiveness and a sense of communal security.

Hoi An Ancient Town is just across the river from An Bang Beach. The history of the old village and why it was chosen as UNESCO heritage site, reflects the history on the coast as well. In fact, An Bang Beach is simply the coastal face of the trade center of Hoi An. Before it was known as Hoi An, it was part of the Sa Huynh culture, known for coastal trade, salt-making and burial jars. We’ll get back to the burial jars in a bit. From the 2nd to the 15th centuries it was known as Lam Am Pho and due to the navigable Thu Bôn River, it was a major trade artery for Japanese, Chinese, Portuguese, Dutch and French and later, even Indian and Arab traders. Interestingly, no one felt the need to conquer and claim Hoi An as their own. But, you protest, what about the French? I’m pretty sure they colonized Vietnam. True, they did, but their influence was later on in the game, relatively brief and its influence did not spread to Hoi An in any significant way. In fact, Hoi An was designated a UNESCO heritage site because “it reflects an exceptional infusion of cultural influences over time.” 

Too, because it “is an outstanding example of a traditional human settlement adapted to its environment.” Nearby construction today imitates the surviving buildings in Hoi An Ancient Town which were built to weather flooding from the seasonal monsoons. And while the river filled with silt and Hoi An is no longer a global fishing port, it has adapted its commerce to serve tourism without losing its centuries-old character and traditions.

So what are these traditions which continue to serve the people living here? Surely not being lit by lanterns you ask, as that appears to be an obvious tourist lure? You’ve seen the photos! But guess what? It’s not. Lanterns abound to help wandering spirits find their way at night. And have all along.

So let’s unpack what in this blend of belief systems has been accepted here without getting too much into the distinctions from the rest of the world, as each belief is ripe for this type of study.

The natural unobstructed flow of energy and spirit management is most critical. Here is where Taoism fits in. Taoism is essentially trust in a self-organizing universe, one that is already unfolding more or less correctly. If one moves with its natural flow and not interfere in a way to obstruct it, things will resolve themselves. It does not presume that the world is already harmonious. Things drift and must be gently corrected. The ideal is a balance of yin and yang, feminine and masculine energies. The art is known as “wu wei,” effortless action, doing what fits the moment and not forcing outcomes.

Unmoored spirits can be from anywhere, but there are more along the coast where the sea washes the spirits of the drowned ashore. They are hungry, thirsty and lost. The sea already poses a huge risk to local fishermen. Energy attracts like energy. Accidents cluster where there is turbulence. Shrines appear where risk concentrates. Powerful threshold protectors are needed where the land meets the sea. This sea dragon guardian on this shrine has a dragon head symbolizing authority and cosmic order, a scaled body with a wavelike mane suggesting movement between the worlds of sea and land and the spirit realm and a lion-like stance with a curved tail, indicating power, not aggression. It is a watchful spirit combining Chinese dragon imagery, indigenous land spirits, Cham sea beliefs and local ancestor cults, in sum, the forces needed here. This shrine is old, moss-covered and sits obscurely among tangled weeds on a camouflaged hillock, but the worn dirt path and fresh flowers and fruit on the altar built into the other side of this reveal regular maintenance. One side shows power, the other side restraint. The calligraphy reads: May virtue restrain chaos; may moral balance calm the waters, may unseen forces act with integrity. The third photo, the adjacent more interior shrine is a little happier, its calligraphy involving an auspicious star to watch over the place and infusing flourishing energy. The brown couplets suggests a female protective spirit who has been communicating knowledge for 10,000 years and the sacred heavens bestowing enduring blessings.

This tiger shrine below is a bit different. It is more visible, sitting prominently at the threshold of a neighborhood near the ocean. It serves a dual purpose. It is a communal shrine and sits next to a community hall as does the succeeding one. This is not infrequent as together they protect the life and continuity of the village and manage civic affairs. But this one feels quite different. Intimidating. Fierce. It also guards the neighborhood from restless spirits washed up by the sea. Small cups of salt are placed on its altar to balance the yin aspect flushing through these spirits from their watery deaths. The tiger cannot stop the destructive forces of the sea. It is there to assert the boundary, to protect the relationship with the sea. As for challenging the sea’s destruction, the big guns are called in for that. Shiva, the cosmic force is symbolized on the uppermost pinnacle of the temple.

The shrine below is set within my neighborhood. While both shrines are lit at night to help wandering spirits find their way, a time when yin energy increases, roads quiet, the sea influence becomes stronger and spirits are more mobile, the shrines serve different purposes. This one is simply dedicated to the village tutelary spirit. Note the drums for festive events. It feels lighter, more approachable.

Wandering spirits will linger at thresholds if you let them, wanting in. Offerings of candy, rice, water, and cigarettes can often be seen on the sidewalk outside a business. These are deliberate tableaus: the first outside a hotel; and, the second in front of a restaurant. Passersby do not disturb these.

Altars can be found along the street where people know spirits reside, like these ones, the first built into a tree and the second one of a tree. While tree spirits are not confused and hungry, their world has been disturbed by development. It is respectful to acknowledge them. This animism sensibility is older than writing. The water is offered for those wandering spirits who might be passing by.

And of course there are altars in front of burial grounds.

And there are often prominent burial ground monuments within active rice fields, where the bones of the ancestors can nourish the crops.

Most homes have their own threshold altars or at minimum, incense holders which are regularly replenished. It’s not superstition. It’s domestic infrastructure.

Places of commerce like this marketplace, situated between a river and a busy street, which handle a lot of traffic and many diverse transactions, need special appeasement of energies. This altar faces the river.

It’s an occupational safety recommendation to balance the energy in workplaces which hold risk of danger. 

On special days, like the first day of the lunar month, many businesses set forth a formal altar to appease the restless spirits and ensure an auspicious month. 

Where there are offerings, incense establishes communication and boundary, calling spirits to receive an offering and then depart. The formal tables set up at the beginning of the lunar month may even include red joss paper which is ritually burned an hour or so into setting up the tableau. After burning, joss paper becomes money which spirits can spend to pay passage through spiritual jurisdictions (the afterlife here has absorbed many characteristics of Chinese bureaucracy), settle debts with other spirits (one can only imagine the bargaining that must go on), avoid harassment or punishment from higher-ranking entities (will it ever end? you ask.) Or to secure temporary shelter. In short, it helps them maintain a modicum of dignity, so they are less likely to interfere with the business to meet its needs. As for cigarettes, you know how badly one can want a cigarette. You don’t want to unwittingly slight a nicotine addict. The new moon is significant because it’s a day when obligations must be cleared before the cycle resets. Many businesses do this again on the full moon, in the middle of the lunar cycle, to smooth things out as the cycle peaks and to maintain prosperity as it has been flowing.

Let’s further break down the offerings on this table. This is at the mini market closest to where I’m staying. The offerings are for the local earth and place guardians. After all, they host this space. And for the wandering spirits, the unsettled souls. They are also for human spirits linked to this road or who once lived nearby. And finally, they are for ambient water and movement spirits, that is, to energy directly, to keep it flowing. The two red candles flanking the incense keeps spirits calm and visible so nothing chaotic wanders in unseen. Light denotes presence, clarity and safety, and red: vitality, luck and protection. One on each side to balance the yin and yang energies. Fresh flowers are offered as a sign of respect because they are beautiful, plus yellow flowers usher in continuous prosperity. When it comes to fruit, pomegranates are favored if you can find them as many seed equates to many customers and opportunities. The fruit of course does not disappear. Wouldn’t that be something? But you can be assured that the wandering spirits have fed from the essence. Brightly colored candy is important so the spirits are sure to see them. These candies are pretty much all over the place on new moon nights when boundaries are thin and spirits roam more freely. You’re not supposed to touch these or clean them up. They keep wandering spirits sweet-tempered. It’s not like they want to be malevolent; they are just suffering from displacement. Why small bowls and spoons? It needs to be made clear that this is an intentional meal just for them, not just leftovers. Cigarettes acknowledge earthly habits and comforts and keeps rougher elements satisfied. With all of this to consume, of course they are going to want some water. Sealed water, like the spoons, shows respect. This is uncontaminated. It’s just for you.

A even more extravagant tableau may be set out at the end of the lunar year in gratitude for blessings bestowed. My mini market set out three tables which included more of everything and an entire roasted duck.

Of course, incense is burned. Incense is burned regularly at thresholds here. Nearly every home has a receptacle for burning incense at its threshold, filled and lit regularly, if not placed on a nearby altar.  Incense marks the boundary, authority over a doorway. It announces that the space is occupied, ordered and not open to interference. Grouped incense strengthens the signal and creates balance, often three or five are lit for harmony and the five elements to gently harmonize internal and external energies. There is a good deal of significance to numbers and directions in Taoist geomancy, which we won’t get into. Don’t worry, if you need to do something specific the most auspicious way, like find the right placement for your grandfather’s grave in your rice paddy, you can call a ritual specialist. Lunar calendar apps can help with easier decisions like when best to negotiate contracts or wed.

The Buddhist tenet of right action has been adopted, giving due respect to animism. It could as well be called mindfulness. Or Taoism with elements of Confucianism. This is a small-scale fishing farm for catching tilapia, carp and catfish. Water is not neutral here nor a resource to be dominated. It is considered alive, but unstable. Its flow is sacred. It can nourish, erase lives and property, and it can carry spirits. Its flow is not something to be disrupted. Floods are to be expected seasonally as water reasserting its paths, spirits clearing congestion, imbalance being reset. Water passes through this aquaculture farm unimpeded. The site is only borrowed. The Vietnamese live with the earth. They don’t try to control it.

Standing on the bridge between the beach, the rice paddies and the village overlooking this temporary farm, contemplating the sensibilities it is structured around, I finally was able to find the words for happened to me when I came upon the Grand Coulee Dam in the USA. It is one of the largest energy infrastructures on earth using the power from the mighty Columbia River, which it blocked, submerging villages, fishing sites and burial grounds and ending all fish migration, including salmon runs that had existed for millennia. I was looking for a place to set up camp for the night without realizing I was approaching it. My chest tightened and I became nauseous. I pulled over to see this. It felt like a horrible calamity waiting to happen. I understand now that my body, my nervous system was reacting somatically to the immense force halted there. 

I am at ease here in Vietnam where the prevailing ethic is to recognize life’s natural energy flows and align with them, making small corrections where it feels they are needed to keep things moving in a healthy rhythm, and trusting that the universe is unfolding as it should. Much of life is liminal, in a transition state, because movement is the nature of the universe. It does not need to be named or fought against. It needs merely to be held respectfully and lightly.

The Golden Bridge in Da Nang, Vietnam. Photograph originally posted to Flickr by xiquinhosilva at https://flickr.com/photos/7138083@N04/48572591852.  https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0.