Myanmar - Shwedagon - The Magnificent

I stepped into a place of absolute serenity. Not wanting to breathe for fear of disturbing the surreal sight before me. Gentle, but powerful energies of centuries past embraced each heavenly structure. Upholding the Sacred. 

Standing in awe of the splendour, the magnificence of Shwedagon Pagoda captivated my soul. Raising me into a realm of spirituality. Of comfort and togetherness. A deep sense of connection to one and all supported me. Disbelief at where exactly in the world I was, mingled with elation. I did cry. Just a little.  Being there completely on my own almost seemed selfish. I so desperately wanted to share the experience with my family and friends around the world.

No matter which religious beliefs one holds, standing in the presence of Shwedagon is a humbling experience. Professed to be the oldest Buddhist pagoda in the world, Shwedagon was built more than 2600 years ago. The rich, extremely complicated history of centuries past is deeply embedded within the glorious gold exterior of Shwedagon. Belief has it that treasures belonging to previous Buddhas were hidden on Singuttara Hill, Yangon. Once discovered, Shwedagon Pagoda was built there to house the relics in safety. The pagoda has witnessed time passing. Witnessed Man creating and destroying all below its radiance. It is believed that an ethnic group in Myanmar, the Mon people, built the pagoda. 

Shwedagon proudly stands in the heart of Yangon as the most well-known landmark in Myanmar. The bell-shaped stupa stands at just over 100 metres high. Whilst the spire reaches upwards to a height of 112 metres. Through the passage of time, and damage caused by numerous earthquakes, the Burmese King Binnya U, amongst other leaders, extended the height and made alterations to the incredible structure. Terraces around the main stupa support numerous shrines which seemingly stand protectively gazing upwards towards their beacon of light. Each shrine, in its own right, a work of art.

Four covered monumental stairways lead to the main stupa. Causing me to hopelessly confuse directions. The excitement and awe which filled my every cell, on every visit, contributed to losing track of where I was. There was just so much to see. To absorb. To appreciate. My camera worked overtime. 

Each magnificent stairway carries one across three platforms. Each platform is lined with monasteries and donation halls. The uppermost area of Shwedagon is of white marble. Beautiful. Creating an aura of purity. With this as a backdrop to the array of colourful longyis worn by most, the scene of splendour was enhanced. 

The actual shape of the stupa is exquisite. In my mind, it displays the elegance and strength of a beautiful woman. One in complete control of her own destiny. One who has captured the hearts of millions. Her body is shaped like a teardrop. Gold, in the shape of the traditional umbrella, crowns the structure. Completing her regal status as a fine work of art. Hundreds of gold-plated bells hang graciously from the crown-umbrella. Itself covered in thousands of precious stones, including diamonds, rubies and sapphires. A whopping seventy-six carat diamond enjoys celebrity status amidst the jewels.

In the 15th century, a Burmese queen donated her weight in gold to the pagoda. Worshippers still donate gold leaf to be added to the treasured structure. Huge donations of money are also made on a daily basis. It was incredible to witness Shwedagon as it glistened in the sunlight. Quite magical in fact. Throwing her golden light and power over those within her sphere, she infused a deep sense of respect and wealth. Not surprising though. The gold covering the stupa is said to be worth a whopping 100 million USD worth. The twenty thousand solid gold plates covering the exterior of the pagoda reflect brilliance. In every sense of the word. 

Vast wooden ceilings support exquisite sculptures. Colossal pillars of deep burgundy stand humbly watching over all. Most are of gold. Each one bejewelled in the most remarkable rubies and old gold braiding. Wandering through the sacred spaces, I felt as though I was walking on air. The silence was tangible. Never would I have imagined that crowds of people of all ages could unite as one in both respect and serenity. I also felt as though I was drifting along some magical journey. One taking me higher into a sphere of riches and mystery. Every space presented itself in the purest form. Revealing the sacred past. Protecting the sacred future.

With each visit to the temple complex, realities of the rich Myanmar culture were revealed. I did not need to read endless books. Or visit museums. I simply needed to find a step on which to sit for hours. I needed to listen. I needed to observe. My eyes did all the learning of both the past and the present. 

The people. Those beautiful people of Myanmar. They alone taught me about their precious beliefs. Their principles. Their philosophy. My lessons were learnt through watching them. Not on stages. Or in lecture halls. But simply by observing their daily actions. And more importantly, their attitudes. A kind, caring and sincere people. Under the watchful eye of Shwedagon, the masses come together. Work together. Pay respect to that which is Sacred. Together. This was illustrated to me when groups of people, the sweepers, moved forward as one. Sweeping away any dust or remnants from the past. They moved in silence. Clearly dedicated to the task. Surreal moments passed.

Groups of people sat in prayer. Hands clasped together. Monks held the space for deep conversations with those seeking guidance. Thousands of candles glistened. 

The rich perfumes of incense wafted between humanity. Carrying with them their own deep respect for the moment. Assuming their valuable task of helping to create an atmosphere in which time stands still. Long enough for reflection and worship to transpire.

One little guy stole my heart. Smartly dressed in his longyi, he bowed down onto the marble floor in prayer. His faith already well-embedded in his young heart. The parents and grand-parents, proudly looked on as they too bowed their heads. Three generations standing firm in what they hold sacred.

Monks dressed in robes of ochre, old gold and saffron. Bare feet with splayed toes. Walking in silence. Seated in prayer. Others forming groups of quiet chatter. Their presence swathing me under a cloak of fulfilment. I wondered silently to myself why that was. They emanated an aura of peace and sacredness. I loved being near them. Sharing that knowing look. A smile. The nod of the head. 

The fact that the monks permitted me to take photos made them seem more approachable. Within my reach. If only I could speak their language. But then again, it was not necessary. We communicated beyond words. Reality became even more defined when they used their mobile phones. It was incredible to witness the old and the new interconnecting. Modern technology was deeply embedded within the confines of the sacred ones. It made them no less spiritual. In fact, it added a sense of worldliness to them. 

I visited the temple complex each time friends visited Yangon. I explored it during and after sunset with Debbie. The changing colours of a sinking sun created a heavenly sight. One to behold forever. 

To be continued …