Renunciation Without a Category

Tritrinn, also known by the honorific titles Taan Ajarn Tritrinn (“Venerable Teacher”), Taan Mae Tritrinn (“Venerable Mother”), or Maechi Tritrinn, is a transgender renunciant within the Thai Theravada Buddhist tradition. Her renunciant status is both ambiguous and contested, largely due to the complexities surrounding her gender identity. Theoretically, she does not fit neatly into existing renunciant categories: She is neither a bhikkhuni nor a maechi—the latter referring to white-robed female nuns observing eight or ten precepts—because of her biological sex. At the same time, she is barred from full monastic ordination as a bhikkhu due to her transgender identity, having transitioned from male to female. Consequently, there is currently no formally recognized renunciant role for individuals of the “third gender” in Thai Theravada Buddhism. As a result, transgender women seeking a renunciant life are frequently compelled to forge their own pathways toward spiritual cultivation—developing new modes of dhamma practice, seeking alternative lineages, and carving out emergent religious spaces that accommodate their identities.

Today, Tritrinn heads two such dhamma centers—Dantham Mahamonkol Paiboonpoonsuk in northern Thailand and Dusitta Dhammasathan in central Thailand. Characterizing these hermitages as a “home” for her disciples, Tritrinn intended for them to function as sanctuary spaces for marginalized people on the spectrum of gender identity, including women, transgender, and third gender individuals seeking spiritual refuge, with many having ordained and taken residence there. The centers emphasize foundational Theravada Buddhist teachings, vipassana meditation, the recitation of selected mantras, and a distinctive form of devotional prostration known as kraab satipatthana, which is regarded within the community as a refined and contemplative mode of paying homage. Through the practice, practitioners mindfully coordinate their hands and bodies as they sit and bow down before Buddha statues or their meditation teachers three times, maintaining continuous awareness of bodily movement and physical sensation. While fairly common in Thai Theravada Buddhism, this particular form of paying respect takes on an even greater significance in relation to the new kind of sangha Tritrinn is building.

Tritrinn was born male but was raised as a “daughter” from an early age. She recognized her transgender identity in childhood, which allowed her family to treat her as a daughter rather than a son. Although her upbringing was relatively supportive, life as a transgender person remained challenging. As an adult, she underwent gender-affirmation surgery, which gave her the complete look of a woman. She later moved with her partner to a European country, where she lived for nearly a decade, operated a business, and occasionally organized meditation retreats for the local community.

Her entry into renunciant life followed a trajectory similar to that of many Thai women who ordain as maechi seeking refuge from personal suffering; it was prompted by the collapse of a romantic relationship. “My relationship failed. The person I loved betrayed me. I had no shelter for my soul in such a faraway land,” she recalls. “So I decided to leave everything behind—my relationship, my business, my life there. I returned to Thailand, donated all of my money, and began my life as a renunciant.” She began to see worldly love and wealth as impermanent illusions, and sought a spiritual path that would free her from recurring cycles of disappointment and despair. With limited options available to her—as both a transgender person and a spiritual seeker—she embraced an eight-precept renunciant discipline, shaved her head and eyebrows, adopted monochrome robes, and began residence in a monastery.

Initial renunciant training spanned multiple monasteries and lineages, including the forest tradition of Luang Pu Mun (1870–1949), the Manomayiddhi (power of mind) lineage of Luang Phor Ruesi Lingdam (1917–1992), and the magical-monastic tradition of Luang Por Kuay (1905–1979). In addition, she learned directly from numerous monks and nuns she met during her training, integrating their teachings into her practice. Though she progressed spiritually during this time, she began to yearn for a renunciant space of her own where gender identity would not be questioned or considered incompatible with monastic life.

In early public dhamma talks, Tritrinn has stated that she is neither man nor woman, positioning herself instead as sao phra phét song (a “second-type woman”). This identity creates ambiguity in formal ordination contexts. She cannot ordain as a monk, as she cannot truthfully declare herself a man with male genitalia. Yet she is also barred from becoming a bhikkhuni or maechi, since she is not a biological woman. In YouTube dhamma talks dating as recent as 2024, she acknowledges the constraints of her situation: “When I had no dhamma, I took it for granted that femininity is my true gender identity. Then I realized that in fact I am not a woman but a man [who underwent sex reassignment]. . . . I cannot change [my gender identity] now, [I can] only accept what I have done.” Coming to terms with the constraints of her situation, she finally chose to identify in a spiritual context as an upasaka, a male lay practitioner. Today, despite her formal, spiritual identification as an upasaka, Tritrinn continues to embody and express her gender as a trans woman in her personal life.

Transgender women seeking a renunciant life are frequently compelled to forge their own pathways toward spiritual cultivation—developing new modes of dhamma practice, seeking alternative lineages, and carving out emergent religious spaces that accommodate their identities.

After years of wandering between monasteries, she received a meditative vision instructing her to build a hermitage of her own. From 2017 to 2018, she established Dantham Mahamonkol Phaiboonpoonsuk in Chiang Dao, Chiang Mai province. Her mission was to create dhamma centers for those who lack religious space, particularly LGBTQIA+ individuals and women. The hermitage, surrounded by an evergreen forest and mountain silence, offered peace and a contemplative refuge. However, establishing a renunciant community in a remote area where local residents regarded her identity with suspicion proved to be a profound challenge. Construction work was particularly arduous, as building materials could not be transported by vehicle and had to be carried manually along steep and uneven terrain. Tritrinn and her disciples hauled supplies up steep mountain paths without assistance. Reflecting on the early days of the hermitage, one disciple recalled, “When Tan Mae first came here, she had no shelter, and the villagers offered none. She spent a cold night with the dogs, passing the day and night with patience and understanding.”

Tritrinn and her disciples also encountered hostility during their alms rounds. Only a few villagers would offer food, and some villagers at times shouted at them, chased them away, or hurled stones. Because the only access route to the hermitage passed through tourist bungalows and residential areas, such encounters were difficult to avoid. The villagers were reluctant for the renunciants to pass through, fearing that their presence would disrupt communal leisure activities and the worldly atmosphere they wished to maintain.

The robes worn by Tritrinn and her disciples likewise became a point of contention. Initially, they wore the white robes consistent with eight- or ten-precept lay practitioners. Later, they changed to the dark ochre robes associated with the Thai forest tradition. Thai monastic authorities, however, instructed them to change the color, stating that they had no right to wear robes resembling those of fully ordained male monks. Subsequently, they returned to white robes, which they still wear today. 

Confusion around Tritrinn’s gender status extended to forms of address. Thai linguistic conventions require speakers to use gendered honorifics. She recalls how initially upon meeting her, locals often whispered, “Is she . . . a ladyboy?” Many eventually referred to her as maechi, though this is inaccurate. The limits of renunciant categories were a point of struggle and confusion for Tritrinn herself. Initially, she asked to be addressed as Taan Mae (Venerable Mother), emphasizing her femininity and nurturing role. Later, she preferred Taan Ajarn (Venerable Teacher), a title foregrounding her pedagogical authority rather than gender. Throughout it all, she has insisted that gender is maya (illusion), relevant only to the mundane world. Dhamma, she argues, transcends gender entirely.

Over time, Tritrinn’s perseverance in building her hermitage and her relationships with the surrounding community gradually transformed local attitudes. As infrastructure improved, the hermitage became capable of hosting meditation retreats, which brought more visitors and attention to the area. Shortly after getting the center off the ground and running, she entered a solitary retreat lasting three years, three months, and three days—modeled on the reclusive practice of Kruba Boonchum, the renowned monk of Thailand and Myanmar. During the retreat, she refrained from speech, limited her diet to forest roots and leaves, and lived in strict seclusion. When Covid-19 struck mid-retreat, locals sought help from the hermitage. Tritrinn broke her vow of silence to coordinate the donation of money and goods through written communication, while maintaining solitude otherwise. Her ability to balance intense retreat practice and community outreach during this time was deeply respected by surrounding villagers. They later spoke admiringly of her transformation over the three years. “When she came out from the retreat, her skin was bright and vibrant,” said Pong, a villager who later became Tritrinn’s disciple. “We were spellbound by her aura.” She began to receive steady support and warm daily interactions from the community, especially during alms rounds.

In 2024, during northern Thailand’s yearly smoke season—caused by forest and agricultural burning across mainland Southeast Asia—Tritrinn relocated temporarily to Suphanburi, at her disciples’ invitation. Although she intended only a short stay, she soon initiated meditation retreats that rapidly grew in popularity. Hundreds participated in each course. Donors initially pledged land and facilities to support a retreat center but later rescinded the offer and attempted to rent or sell the property at an inflated price. The dispute was complicated, as Tritrinn had started building more shelters on the land. So the case went to court, where Tritrinn prevailed. She chose to forgive the donors and not to pursue further legal action. She stated, “I was surrounded by wealthy disciples who had much to offer, but donations come with expectations. They expect me and the dhamma center to be what they want. I must step back, cut off those expectations, and focus on my mission. I am here to free myself from all bondages and help others attain dhamma—not to please people.” The center, now named Dusitta Dhammasathan, was relocated to a deserted area formerly used as a pig farm. The land, donated by new supporters, is undergoing construction and reforestation, with hopes of beginning retreats this year.

Tritrinn has gained a significant following through social media, including Facebook, TikTok, YouTube, and Instagram; her Facebook page alone has more than 440,000 followers. Despite her visibility, she maintains that her aim is not popularity or financial gain but spiritual liberation and the guidance of others on the path. She has made a determination (Pali: adhitthana) to pursue the path of a solitary Buddha (Pali: paccekabuddha) named Narata (Pali: Narada), “the one who is liberated on her own.” 

To date, Tritrinn has walked the dhamma path for nearly a decade. It has been difficult, particularly as a transgender practitioner navigating a tradition that lacks institutional space for her. Acknowledging her imperfections and the ongoing challenges of renunciation, Tritrinn openly admits that she is not a perfect renunciant, not someone who can simply extinguish all desire and declare herself fully liberated. For her, renunciation is not an achievement but a journey, a lifelong training of the mind. Some days she succeeds, other days she stumbles. Yet she keeps going. As she beautifully says, “When we fall down and still manage to stand up and take a step—even the smallest step—it means we are progressing in our dhamma.”

♦

Adapted from Transgenderism, Othering and Third Way Buddhist Monasticism in Chiang Mai, Thailand by Amnuaypond Kidpromma, PhD, and James L. Taylor in TRaNS: Trans-Regional and -National Studies of Southeast Asia, 2024.