Photo: Kristine Sherred
Chicago Zen Buddhist Temple
Past Wrigley Field, past the crowds in red and blue, the sunburned faces, the men selling umbrella hats, the bars and bros and drunken hos, the noise and sweat and smoke. Down Addison past the taverns, tucked away on the corner of Cornelia and Paulina is the Zen Buddhist Temple. It seems such an odd little brick building, out of place on the loud streets. Brightly colored Korean paper lanterns strung outside the entrance sway in the warm wind. Stepping inside all sound is sucked away. A woman in the lobby bows her head in greeting and points to a shelf where others have set their shoes. The brown tiled floors are cool against bare feet. It feels like another universe. The temple is at the top of the stairs. More paper lanterns hang from the ceiling. The room is lit solely by natural light coming from the walls of windows, sweet-smelling jasmine incense fills the space and four stone statues of Buddha and his followers sit smiling from the altar. No one speaks. Everyone sits cross-legged on round pillows atop square cushions, adjusting their feet to point upward on their knees. The gathering is small, maybe twenty-five people, and is a mix of obvious newcomers and devoted Buddhists. In the back corner two tattooed skinheads begin to hum in low steady tones. Read the rest of this entry »
