The paradoxical life and death of a revered monk

The much-revered monk played a prominent role in the lives of millions, thanks mainly to his reputation for blessing amulets and his ability to convey the dharma in simple terms that everyone could understand.

 As part of his relaxed style of teaching, he preferred sitting in a crouch to the more traditional cross-legged pose on the floor, and referred to himself using the informal “koo” and to others with the familiar “mueng” (“I” and “you”). His unaffected manner earned him universal appeal. People from all walks of life flocked to his temple, Wat Bahn Rai in Nakhon Ratchasima.

 As a young man he entered a forest monastery tradition and spent 10 years meditating and studying on the borders of Laos and Cambodia. During those years he also absorbed the local lore that he later put to use blessing amulets for his followers. On completing his forest pilgrimage, he turned his focus to raising funds to rebuild Wat Bahn Rai, of which he ultimately became abbot. 

The latter half of his life was dominated by service to the community that took on a commercial aspect. Everyone from poor farmers to politicians and millionaires visited the temple seeking the monk’s blessing. Most of them came for one simple reason – to receive the “spiritual benediction” they believed came with a promise of material wealth.

Luang Phor Koon’s popularity grew in parallel with the economic boom times of the late 1980s and early ’90s. Devotees with land to sell would ask him to bless the title deeds. Though firmly grounded in the dharma, the monk acceded to the wishes of his more materialistically inclined followers. He diverted the resources gleaned from his rising popularity into the construction of schools, temples and hospitals in Nakhon Ratchasima.

Reluctant to discuss his reputed supernatural powers, Luang Phor Koon preferred to use easy-to-grasp language to instil basic Buddhist values in his followers. Ironically, while “helping” them to get rich, he was also teaching them about detachment. And the paradoxes don’t end there: he was credited with sticking to “core” teachings, yet at the same time earned a reputation for blessing more amulets than any other monk in living memory. 

 Still, he lived a simple life at the temple. His was neither the path of a Dhammakaya monk nor that of a philosopher like Buddhadasa. 

His last wish was that his followers recognise the truth of life’s impermanence and follow his example of non-attachment. In his will, he asked that his death not be marked by a royal-sponsored funeral or any such fanfare. Instead, he directed that his body should be used for medical research, thus avoiding the possibility that his remains would be exploited by misguided or unscrupulous devotees.

“My body could be a burden for others,” he wrote. “It could create a lot of trouble, because there are both good and bad people among my followers. Some are greedy and might exploit my death, fearless of karma. Some might claim that they are related to me, but if they were my real relatives, they wouldn’t make trouble.”

Luang Phor Koon chose a death that would best serve Buddhism by reminding us all about the truth of impermanence and suffering and the “antidote” of detachment. However, his directions have proved unable to control other factors surrounding his reputation. His death has also sent prices for his amulets skyrocketing. The paradoxes that surrounded this revered monk in life continue even after his death.