HELLO FROM BEAUTIFUL TSO PEMA (REWALSAR), INDIA.

For the last three sunny days Cary and I have been in Tso Pema, the site of the sacred lake (Tso means lake and Pema means lotus), a holy place of pilgrimage for Buddhists, Hindus, and Sikhs. People come here from around the world for various retreats. It’s a lovely small town about 100 miles southeast of Dharamsala, not far from Mandi, a teaming metropolis. You drive over mountains and climb up winding roads with hairpin turns second to none, through pine forests and along cliffs which look down on terraced valleys to the Beas River flowing below. When you think you can’t go any higher you suddenly see this jewel of a lake come into view, and three Buddhist monasteries, a Hindu temple, and a Sikh temple. In the distance are the ubiquitous Himalayas with their snowy peaks.

The week after the teachings was one of celebration with the families of students Cary has helped, the first being the night before we left Dharamsala. These dinners are Tibetan feasts where we, as guests of honor, are treated to mo mos (meat or vegetable-filled pasta), unusual soups, rice, and dishes too numerous to describe or to eat. There’s the ever-present milk tea or lemon ginger served before the meal with cookies or a type of homemade fried pastry called kapse. Custom requires that you bring small gifts, usually fruit, butter, or specialty foods, and we, as guests, sit eating while our hosts and their children delight in our enjoyment of their cooking. This is unnerving at first, but you get used to it. Actually, I find these gatherings a lot of fun, mostly because of the children, who tend to act as our interpreters since their English is often better than the parents, and who are so thoughtful and attentive. One little girl even insisted on untying my shoelaces as I started to remove my shoes before entering (another tradition I like–no shoes in the house).

On March 14 we headed for Suja with Dolma Lhamo from the Dharamsala TCV school. En route we stopped at Norbulingka, the center for the preservation of Tibetan culture and arts, and visited the workshops of thangka artists, painters, and makers of exquisite wall hangings and furniture. Within walking distance was Nyingtobling, a school for Tibetans with special needs. Their artwork was outstanding. Further down the road is the monastery where the amazing Karmapa resides. We hope to visit there before we leave India.You may remember that he escaped five years ago from Tibet at the age of 16–a real blow to the Chinese, who were restricting his access to teachers and education, thus greatly curtailing his spiritual freedom.

Our next stop, as we wound over narrow country roads and through one small town after another, was the TCV (Tibetan Childrens Village) school in Gopalpur, where I met the 17-year-old student I sponsor, Tsema, who is studying art and journalism. You may be interested to know that Tibetans do not have a family name as we do. They usually have two names only. Sometimes I find this confusing, but even ‘though the first names can be the same, the second one is usually different. For example: Tsering Somo and Tsering Lhamo, or Tenzin Tselha and Tenzin Palmo.

Tsema, however, has only one name (and you thought Madonna was unusual?). He’s a bright young man who was in the middle of drawing a mountain scene on the computer when we walked in. His enthusiasm for his studies was evident. I also discovered that he and some other students have started a small band and especially like Hindi popular music (all these students speak Hindi and Tibetan, and are studying English with a ferocious intensity). He sang a song, which I recorded and played back to him, to his delight. Then we talked for an hour and Tsema was very open in discussing his feelings about leaving his family and home. He said it helped to talk about it. Like every student I was to meet, he is motivated to become educated and successful, because he knows why his parents sent him and doesn’t want to disappoint them. He considers being here a privilege and is determined not to squander it. What a wonderful visit!

As we wound around the hills I noticed that our driver was using multiple horns of varying intensity as he cut the corners or scattered the cows and people in the small villages. I asked him about this and ended up taping six different horn sounds, which he used depending on his mood and the number of people he wanted to terrify (my explanation, not his). He thoroughly enjoyed our interest and from then on played with the horn as if it were a musical instrument. It was anything but that!

For the next week we were guests of the TCV in Suja, a school for 2000 students, all of whom escaped from Tibet. The classes are set up not by age, but by the level each student has reached. Since the Chinese didn’t allow Tibetans to study their language or English, and the schools were very poor anyway, you can imagine the amount of “catching up” there is–not only in language, but also math and science. We were housed in the guest quarters and every morning, starting sometimes as early as 3:30 AM, we were awakened by young men shouting their lessons, mostly in English, as if this would plant the work more firmly in their memory. By 6 it had quieted down and you could hear the breakfast “blessings” being sung in tandem by groups of boys in the dorm near us. I have some beautiful tapes of the singing, which occurs before each meal.

I find it difficult to fathom the motivation it takes to sit outside in the early morning cold and repeat lessons over and over. But it wasn’t just in the morning that this occurred. Every free minute I would find clusters of students poring over their books. Now and then I’d stop to ask if I could help. One day I happened upon two boys sitting on the grass outside our room. The younger one was writing his ABC’s meticulously and the older one was reading a book. I asked how long they had each been in Suja.

The older boy said, “Five years, but he arrived [pointing to the younger boy] five days ago from Lhasa, where my home was.”

“Oh, did you know each other before?” I asked.

“No. But he is my friend. He is my new brother.” And he put his arm around the boy.

The day after our arrival was a school festival, with games and musical performances. A jolly fete, indeed. Like our school fund raisers, everyone bought tickets and tried to win a prize. Flowers from the field were sold and there were games of chance, games of skill, kick a soccer ball through a tire, or throw baskets for rupees. Cary really got into it, and I managed to kick a ball through a tire, to my amazement. It was a riot! (Football, which is like our soccer, is huge in India and both boys and girls play in the large field whenever they get a chance.)

The children had created a lavish museum showing dioramas of Tibetan culture, and beautiful drawings and reliefs of the temples and countryside back in Tibet. They proudly escorted me around the museum and collected three rupees for their school fund. In the evening was a rock concert with three popular Tibetan singers.

Cary and I spent Sunday morning (the one free day for students and faculty) with Tsering Somo, her daughters, Tenchoe and Tselha, and her husband, Sonam Hara . Mully and Cary, and the Landel family, have been sponsoring Tenchoe and Tselha for many years, and Cary visited them when she was here two years ago. We walked through the fields to Bir, where Sonam works at the Tibetan Primary Health Center, and were treated to a sumptuous meal at his nephew’s restaurant. Mo mos never tasted better, and I actually tried some salad, with no adverse effects.

In the afternoon Cary, Dolma, and I traveled along a tree-lined road to the new monastery, The Dzongzar Institute, where the monk Cary and I sponsor, Thubten Tashi, lives. The head lama is the famous film maker, Jamyang Khyentse Rinpoche, whose recent films are The Cup, and Travelers and Magicians. The monastery (500 monks!) and temple are beautifully laid out, with well-tended gardens, and we sat in Thubten’s room enjoying a peaceful hour together. Bless Dolma, who acted as interpreter. Cary is learning Tibetan, but Dolma made the experience much richer for all of us.

Every day in the late afternoon a group of women, including Dolma, Lochoe (the secretary for sponsorships), and Tashi Lhazom, an accountant at the school, gathered at Tsering’s, for milk tea, cookies, and good conversation. Tsering teaches the newly-escaped students English, Tibetan and Math, getting them ready for the regular classes. We sat together in a space the size of my dining room, where couches become beds at night and one large cupboard holds the family’s clothing. A small refrigerator stands on one wall and a small kitchen is off to the side.

I learned much in those conversations about the organization of the TCV schools and the dedication of the staff, many of whom are former TCV students themselves. As I was walking home one night I met a man carrying his small, sleeping daughter, and started talking with him. I asked if I could tape his story. He had escaped from Tibet twenty-four years earlier and TCV had become his family and home. After college he returned with his young family and now teaches social studies. “I want to give back some of the love and compassion that I experienced here at TCV so other children can lead happy, productive lives.”

Gifts are a big thing with Tibetans. Everyone gives according to his ability and takes great joy in it. Cary and I brought gifts from the U.S. for all our sponsored students, ranging in age from 8 to 17, and those sponsored by several friends and family members. They numbered 10, and we were fortunate to meet with each student as well as visit them in their respective “homes” with their housemother. (Of course, we drank lots of milk tea and ate the homemade kapses offered us.) This was a marvelous experience. Their English was excellent, and their gratitude for this connection with interested, caring people around the world extremely important to them, perhaps even more than the monetary help. They were so proud of their rooms and their housemates. Everyone, as we’d walk around the school grounds, greeted us with “Good evening,” or “How are you today?” Such smiles and such politeness! It made each walk a joyous occasion.

The day after presenting the gifts, I was given a long letter for each sponsor, written by his or her student and usually decorated with pictures and verses, in addition to the writing. These were spontaneous, with no help from an adult. I can’t wait to send them, along with a picture, to each sponsor.

We spent a day in Bir, where Cary reserved a room for April at a former monastery, now called Deer Park. She plans to practice and to study Tibetan in a retreat situation, socializing only on the weekends. We could hardly believe it, but while walking through the main street of this small town we heard “Amala” (Mother), and there was Dorje, our Tibetan guide from Mt. Kailash, once again. He was on his way to Suja, where he had been educated, and where his niece was in the infirmary. Like many recent arrivals from Tibet, she had contracted TB as a result of poor medical care by the Chinese, and a weakened immune system. Respiratory diseases and anemia are big problems for incoming students, especially female.

Next door at our guest house was a pediatric cardiologist from Vancouver, Canada, Dr. Marion Tipple. She is associated with TRAS (formerly Tibetan Refugee Aid Society and now The Trans-Himalayan Aid Society), an organization started by the Canadian author, George Woodcock in 1962 after meeting the Dalai Lama for the first time. He asked His Holiness what could be done to help and he replied, “Do something for the children. They are our future.” The organization was started to assist displaced Tibetans in India and Nepal. Shortly thereafter the Dalai Lama‘s sister, Jetsun Pema started the TCV schools and each year hundreds of children escape across the border. Nobody is turned down. TRAS has not only helped these schools, but has a very successful sponsorship scheme for Tibetan children and has expanded its work to help other areas in the Himalaya, including India, Nepal, Spiti, and Ladakh. They support grass roots projects directly, and have given millions of dollars over the past forty years to benefit the Tibetan people. The work of TRAS, except for one half-time paid executive, is all done by volunteers. ( www.tras.ca)

We had a very disturbing conversation with Marion about Chinese tourism in Tibet and how the religious and ecological sites are being trashed. “It’s become the Chinese Disneyland,” she said of her recent trip there. “The culture is being completely disregarded. It’s the total objectification of Tibet.”

Cary and I could see this three years ago with the impending (now completed) train to Lhasa, the mining, and the plans to build a resort near sacred Lake Manasarovar. Already the Chinese outnumber the Tibetans two to one, and Tibetan language and literature are not allowed to be taught in the schools.

Is it any wonder that these children and teenagers, who walked days, and sometimes weeks, before crossing the border between Nepal and Tibet to reach freedom, treasure this school, do their chores happily, and are grateful to be in a house with 45 other students and sleep in a simple bunk bed? They help prepare the meals, and keep the houses spotless. Flowers grow in pots everywhere, and I saw two pet goats that were kept in the yard. Everybody knows that grief, sorrow, and homesickness are part of the life here and can be shared and expressed. Then they must move on. They are strong, resilient children.

The day before leaving for Tso Pema Cary, Tsering, Dolma, and I made a pilgrimage to the Prohit Flower Nursery in Palumpur to buy plants and shrubs as our gift to the school. We had a jolly time picking out choice plants and watching the ladies bargain with the owner as only the Tibetans and Indians can. When we returned in late afternoon it took an hour, with everybody helping, to make a beautiful border around the new prayer wheel and the front walk near the guest house and administration office. That night there was a huge thunder and wind storm, and I despaired of our little plants ever surviving, but the next day they were standing erect and colorful. I swear I detected smiles on their faces.

On March 20, after Cary and I had taught two classes in English and thoroughly enjoyed the responsiveness and eagerness of the students, we took a clinic vehicle to Tso Pema with Dr. Tsering Dorjee , head physician at The Tibetan Primary Health Centre in Bir. It was a beautiful, hilly drive through pine forest, with the Himalayan peaks getting closer and closer, the higher we climbed. We had a lively discussion about the bleakness of Tibet’s future (“There will be no forests or animals, just a barren wasteland by the time we get it back”), the disastrous effects of U.S. policy in the Middle East, and the medical problems in India. He treats the children who recently escaped from Tibet and spoke of their severe malnutrition when they arrive, as well as the respiratory diseases I mentioned previously. He also said that his elderly patients show few of the illnesses of their western counterparts. No cases of Alzheimer’s and only one case of Parkinson’s. They seem happy and content, but many experience hypertension due to a diet high in salt ( i.e. quantities of butter tea).

In a lighter vein, I still am amused by the number of cows reclining halfway into the middle of the road, and the skill with which these drivers avoid them as well as the oncoming cars. The rides would be perilous (passing on hills and curves, avoiding huge oncoming trucks and buses) were they going fast.

 

We were overjoyed to arrive in Tso Pema and settle in at Sonam Hara’s apartment, which he graciously lent us for our stay. It’s conveniently located near the Zigar Monastery, in a small Tibetan enclave, and an easy walk to the lake. Prayer flags hang in great sweeping layers along the lake and thousands of sacred, but incredibly ugly carp churn the water, waiting for people to throw crackers to them. Monkeys wait, too, gathering up the remaining crumbs and cavorting noisily along the bank.

Cary had gotten in touch, upon arrival, with Lena Feral, the English interpreter for Wangdor Rinpoche, whom we had both met on Whidbey Island when he gave a teaching. After three koras around the lake, we decided to climb the hill to see her new apartment and stop on the way at the almost completed giant statue of Guru Rinpoche (Padmasambhava), the famous guru who introduced Buddhism into Tibet and is an almost mythical figure in the history of Buddhism. There are many stories about him. The one related to Tso Pema is that a king became very angry when he discovered that his daughter, Mandarava, was the guru’s consort, so he imprisoned his daughter and then attempted to burn Padmasambhava. At the end of seven days, Guru Rinpoche was still alive and there was a lake at the spot where the fire had been, with the guru sitting in the middle on a lotus flower. The king then felt great remorse and converted to Buddhism, freed his daughter, and left the two to continue their work in peace.

We walked up the steep hill to the huge unfinished statue of Padmasambhava sitting on a lotus flower. Cary was recognized by Mingchuk, the engineer in charge of the construction. They had met two years before. He was delighted to see her and showed us around, explaining about the tsa tsas, sacred texts and objects that will be put inside the body of the statue. The dimensions are enormous and his presence seems to hover over the entire town. It will be a beautiful center, with a library, meeting rooms, and restaurant, when complete.

It was great to see Lena again, and meet her partner, Joy Schulenburg, who handles the Rinpoche’s busy schedule ( www.customjuju.com/wangdorrimpoche ), and friends Pia Topgyal, a Buddhist practitioner who lives and works in India, and Nyonda Nadi, a computer consultant. I listened and learned a great deal from Lena, who had lived and practiced in the caves above Tso Pema for several years, and from Pia, who married a Tibetan Buddhist and moved from Denmark to raise her family in India. Her son is a Rinpoche and her daughter now lives in Denmark.

Lena also clued us in on a great Indian restaurant with a very unlikely name, The Chopstic Fast Food Corner, which is neither fast nor does it have chop sticks, however you want to spell them. But the Indian food (not too spicy) was unequaled in our travels. Vijay Kumar is the owner, cook, and waiter, and we spent every meal there, becoming good friends. We even told him how to improve his coffee and make a grilled cheese sandwich. The restaurant has a perfect location on a quiet street leading off the kora, opposite a smaller statue of Guru Rinpoche. Hardly any vehicles are allowed on the street, unlike Dharamsala, where sitting in front of a restaurant can be a noisy affair.

During our three days in town we met several people who are here for retreats, and all had fascinating stories. One of the young women, Jessica Black from Canada, we had met, previously, at the library in Dharamsala where she was doing research for a book. The second young woman, Audrey Haller is a practicing Tibetan Buddhist and yoga expert, whose Irish father, Ryushin Paul Haller, is the co-abbot of the Tassajara Zen Retreat Center in the San Francisco bay area. She was raised in Zen and is still assisting her father in running his many retreats. This summer she’ll go with him to Ireland for a peace meditation. Audrey and I talked a great deal and she helped me understand the three phases of the kora and many Buddhist concepts. I appreciated her clear explanation of “emptiness” from a scientific and Buddhist point of view. The young man in the group, Brook Flath from Saskatoon, Canada, has been traveling for several years and is settled here for extended practice.

While eating lunch at Vijay’s we also met Ursula Taylor from Hamburg, Germany, who comes here every year for three months of practice. She told us where to find the best parantha in town at a little stand by the bus stop, for ten rupees. What a great tip that was!

By the way, I’ve finally been able to find Indian food that doesn’t blow my head off and clear my sinuses at the same time. I’ve also branched out into a few new foods like: parantha, a chapatti filled with potato; palak paneer, spinach and veggies blended and combined with chunks of white cheese; pakora, string potatoes and some greens dipped in batter and fried, and chukki-ata, a special whole wheat chapatti. I’ve also been introduced to many kinds of curd–so much better, I think, than our yogurt–and in one case it came mixed with troma, small tubers grown in Tibet.

On our second day in Tso Pema we climbed up a steep path for an hour or more (rather than walk 11 km. up a winding paved road), past small houses and pastures, and through piles of rock to the caves when 70 nuns are living. These caves in the high mountains are Spartan, but have small stone or cinder block additions with tin roofs. Recently, electricity has been added. Cary was here two years earlier so was acquainted with several of the women. We visited two, one of whom, Orgyen Choetso, is sponsored by Cary’s friend, Mully, on Whidbey Island. We delivered some long silk underwear to her to help, during the cold winter months, alleviate her severe arthritis. It was a jolly visit, ‘though verbal communication was difficult. But there was plenty of milk tea, and, as we were leaving, Orgyen Choetso opened a large keg and gave us a bag of tsampa, the barley grain used for cereal. You mix it with a small amount of butter, tea, and sugar, and kneed it with your fingers before eating. I tried some in Suja, and it’s rather good. And certainly healthy. We didn’t understand why she gave so much to us, but she insisted. Lena said, later, that it was for Cary to use when she was on retreat. We had thought, since she mentioned the lake, that she wanted us to feed it to the fish.

Wangdor Rinpoche, who lives in a very simple room there, had headed for the monastery, so we climbed back down to town, watching the sun disappear over the mountains and the giant statue.

Lena took us to the monastery the next afternoon to visit Rinpoche. We entered his room, where he sat on a raised platform amid wall hangings, decorative candles, and piles of gifts which he, in turn, gives away. He greeted us warmly–a small man in his early seventies, who had escaped from Tibet in 1959, carrying his teacher on his back, while being pursued by the Chinese. We discussed many things, with Lena as interpreter, including his upcoming trip to the U.S. and the different Buddhist paths. The next day, before we left, we had lunch at the monastery at Rinpoche’s invitation, and were joined by Sonam Hara and his son, Thubten. We continued this discussion, which helped me understand the many facets of this powerful religion.

Before lunch we had climbed up to Lena’s, where a group of nuns from Spiti were visiting. Lena had told us the night before about their predicament since the Chinese invasion and takeover of their country. They were no longer supported by the community and compelled to do heavy road work every summer, earning about 100 rupees, or $1.25, a day (I often saw women like this in India carrying large loads of gravel on their head from one construction site to another). This money would be used for food over the winter. Some of the nuns were in poor health and getting too old for such heavy labor, but there was no other work available to them. Therefore, Lena was giving them funds to help tide them over until sponsors could be found. Cary and I decided to make a donation as well, but had not expected to be able to meet the nuns. It was an honor to help such dedicated, compassionate women.

At 1 PM on March 25 we started back to Suja, hating to leave this idyllic town, but eager to have one more evening with our TCV friends. And what an evening it was! This was Founder’s Day at the school, with speeches and dancing to celebrate the anniversary of its founding. We missed the afternoon celebration, but attended a tasty buffet where we were privileged to sit with the new director of the school and the principal. It was a treat for Cary, who received a Tibetan lesson on the spot from the director. A caring man with a great sense of humor, he tested her, urging her to translate everything I said to him. I was really impressed with her proficiency. And she was thrilled to have such a great exchange.

While at dinner we met a French lady who lives in Luxembourg, Monique Paillard, a big supporter of the TCV school in Suja. She has an organization, The Friends of Tibet, with a website ( www.amis-tibet.lu) , brochures, and tapes available. What a dedicated lady! She inspired me to start a similar project in the U.S., time and energy willing.

The next day, March 26, we were able to get a ride in a TCV car that was going to Dharamsala. Before we left, however, we had an extraordinary experience. Tsering Somo let us sit in on one of her beginning English classes, which she teaches to the children recently arriving from Tibet. What a bright-eyed, eager group they were! During the session, the new director stopped by for a word with the class. I could almost tell what he was saying by his gestures–study hard, take care of yourself and have good hygiene. Then he pointed to Cary and me (calling me Amala). Later on I found out what he’d said to the children. If they became educated they could someday take their mothers or families on a journey into the world, just as Cary was taking me.

At the end of the class I asked if I could record some folk songs. Before beginning, each child shared where he or she had come from (most were from Kham, where Cary is heading this summer), then sang in a clear voice songs that were haunting and full of passion. I looked around at the other children. They were mesmerized and following every word. One boy looked out the window as he sang about mountains and plains and his life in a nomad family. The music is so different from ours–with high runs and intervals that seem improvised, and notes held longer than usual–a timing unfamiliar to me. The tunes were intricate and flowing, painting pictures of joy, longing, and sorrow. Moments later I replayed the tapes and was treated, gleefully, to a group song before leaving.

Next episode. The return to Dharamsala.

 

MCLEOD GANJ, DHARAMSALA

Alas, the teachings ended at noon today and it left us with a bit of that “emptiness” that Buddhists talk about (only that has nothing to do with the wisdom of emptiness, a very important Buddhist concept…it’s even too complicated for me to explain after two weeks of hearing the teachings). People who had become friends over these past days together were leaving and everyone was attempting to clear the enormous open spaces of the cardboard and debris left by the crowd. The Dalai Lama‘s schedule had made it necessary to cut the teachings short, but I think we were all pretty drained and our brains needed a rest. We’d not only been attending during the day, but had been fortunate to have a review session each afternoon from 4:30 to 6 PM to help us understand the teachings and clarify any questions. Not easy, but we had a marvelous teacher, Geshe Dorje Damdul.

Unfortunately, the bad weather returned last Saturday (our room temperature hovers around 50) just in time for the annual March 10 celebration and march to lower Dharamsala in memory of the Tibetan uprising in Lhasa on March 10, 1959. But this didn’t dampen the spirits of the thousands of Tibetans and friends who flocked into the temple and stood in the downpour to hear the Dalai Lama‘s message. I’m sure you’ll find it on his website. He had warned the many Tibetans who crossed into India from Nepal not to attend or to show their faces, in case there were Chinese spies taking pictures, as in the past. Our friend and former guide, Dorje, had told us the danger to himself and his friends as a result of coming to the teachings, but felt it was worth the gamble. Still, they had no intention of coming to the march.

Cary dropped in at the temple gathering and said that the entire yellow canopy would fill with water and when the wind blew, would dump gallons onto the spectators below, who just laughed and continued waving Tibetan flags and singing songs of liberation. These are a hardy people who feel strongly about their cause. After the ceremonies, they marched, still singing, ten kilometers to lower Dharamsala and late that evening we encountered them returning, holding lit candles, still singing, and waving tiny flags. I was moved to tears, standing by the side of the narrow street and waving back as they passed.

I looked up the history that led to the March 10 uprising, which can be found on the internet. It’s a devastating story. I quote from the conclusion: 300,000 loyal Tibetans surrounded the Norbulinka palace in which the Dalai Lama was, forming a human sea of protection for their Yeshe Norbu (Precious Jewel).They feared he would be abducted to Beijing to attend the upcoming Chinese National Assembly. The mobilization forced the then 16-year-old Dalai Lama to cancel the army leader’s invitation. He was held prisoner by devotion.”

The rest is history, with the dramatic and courageous flight of the Dalai Lama and his family to India. Nobody knows how many perished that day, but 10,000 Lhasa Tibetans are known to have disappeared–either been killed or sent into forced labor.

I spoke to a Tibetan who runs a tour agency and asked him if he thought any of this did any good or could ever change what China is doing. He spoke, as so many do, by telling a story.

“A big strong man is bitten by a tiny mosquito. He tries to kill it but it bites him somewhere else. Hard as he tries he cannot get away from it and it makes his life miserable. China is a superpower, but after a while it will have to deal with the annoying mosquito that is Tibet. It is like a festering sore, a boil, which won’t heal and continues to give pain. We will not give up–never–and we will annoy the superpower so much that it will eventually give us our country back. It will be glad to get rid of us. And we will do all this without killing.”

The cold, rainy weather has continued, with a few rays of sun sneaking through during the day, greeted by wild applause from drenched, cold spectators standing under umbrellas. Hail greeted me as I stumbled down the hill this morning. Some evenings are beautiful as one only sees in the high mountains…clouds of varying grays tinged with white, and winds that prove their power to instill awe and terror. Last night I walked home late from the temple in another blackout (electricity is rather capricious in this town), having forgotten my flashlight, and met a car coming down our steep hill. He didn’t honk for a change, but just blinked his lights for me to come ahead. The rain and wind had turned my umbrella inside out, so I stepped into a doorway to let the car pass. Its wheel was a few inches off the road, but it continued down as I leapt off the stairs and straight into a gulley of water up to my ankles. Recovering, I hopped further and plunked my other foot into a similar “river.” I found one sliver of pavement on the side and ran the rest of the way home, laughing. Then I had to open a heavy, locked gate, which meant getting totally wet before reaching my double-locked room…and, well, you get the picture. Cary pointed out that no Himalayan trek could possibly top this experience for sheer endurance. She also lent me a pair of dry shoes. They’re big, but as I told you before, vanity has gone out the window.

By the way, you might want to catch her blog: carypeterson.wordpress.com She’ll be traveling until December and I’m sure the adventures will continue.

A word about these last two days. We had a very significant initiation into the study of the Bodhisattva for a group of monks from mainland China. This interrupted the teachings for a morning, but to me is a very significant gesture on the part of the Dalai Lama. I was surprised that Buddhists were allowed to practice in communist China.

I wish I could have taken a camera into the temple, for during the heavy rains of the last two days we all had to squash together so the Tibetans and many monks, who were sitting in the main plaza under the canopy and open sky, could have some shelter. This made for a merry meeting of cultures and a chance to show the compassion and patience the Dalai Lama has been promoting. Before this occurred, however, the winds had begun shredding the huge yellow canopy. The Tibetan flag also did its part as the wind blew the billowing material against it. There are 8 large panels with 24 designs altogether. I watched the patterns undulating in the wind and the silhouette of the solitary leafless trees against a steel sky. In the distance, when it wasn’t raining, you could see the fir trees poking through the mist. It was a lovely, very dramatic sight.

Today the canopy was completely gone and there was no shelter at all. At the end, after the “long life ceremony,” large buckets of small round cookies were distributed by the monks. Banks of people swarmed, with their hands outstretched, then stood, reverently, as the Dalai Lama left the temple.

We thought we had another day, but tomorrow will be a puja on long life for the Dalai Lama.

The Dalai Lama, during the teachings, talked a great deal about science as well as other religions. He encourages everyone to practice the religion of his or her choice, but not be lax or lazy in understanding and following it. He is a brilliant mind and continues to be a voracious student, obviously. The study of Buddhism should not be taken lightly and will not be accomplished easily.

We met several people who volunteer in the audio-visual field and are working on a documentary about the Dalai Lama‘s work as well as an upcoming conference he is hosting for world-renowned scientists. I believe they are called Mind and Life conferences and they’ve been held in the spring for eight years. The subject covers science and how it relates to Buddhism. You can find out about this on the Dalai Lama‘s website. I was struck with the selflessness of these individuals, giving their time, and requesting not to be mentioned by name. It is their service and although they are Americans, they despair of the material grasping they see in their country, and the egotistic need for adulation and recognition. As you can see, we’ve had plenty of chance for discussion during these weeks.

One rather prosaic note as I leave you. I’ve hardly seen any smokers…two I believe…and nobody drinks. The town is dry and mostly vegetarian. And there is, happily, great coffee and cappuccino.

On Friday Cary and I leave for Suja and Bir, with stops at Norbulingka and several other places I’ll relate next time. We’re hoping to get in a little trekking, or at least walking in the mountains…if it stops raining. We met Dorje, again, and talked at length after the teachings. His English has improved greatly, but I’m trying to figure out what books to send him to help in his study. Books from English to Tibetan do not comprise a burgeoning market! He said that this weather doesn’t bother his 83-year-old mother at all, because she’s used to it. Tibetans are tough.

Hey, the sun is out!! And we’ll have a sunset. Hooray!

March came in like a lion here in Dharamsala…

March came in like a lion here in Dharamsala, but now we have clear skies and balmy weather and absolutely no complaints. This is a magical place! Picture thousands of monks in maroon, orange, or yellow robes, depending on their country, and add to that hundreds of people from Tibet, Asia, Western Europe, the U.S., Canada, South America, and every country where there are pilgrims eager to hear the Dalai Lama‘s teachings. And imagine all these people sitting on mats in the vast open-air piazza of the Namgyal Temple with yellow columns separating various groups, a bright yellow canopy on which is woven many replicas of the endless knot (one of the eight auspicious Buddhist symbols), fluttering over one section, and the Tibetan flag waving proudly halfway between two sturdy trees. More trees, huge firs, grace the remainder of the open area.

I walked three times around the second level of the temple early this morning, doing the kora. The sun glistened dramatically on the Himalayan peaks, which looked close enough to touch, but a bit too threatening to climb just yet. The monks were chanting, producing a low, rich sound so different from the Hindu chanting in Lakshmanjhula. The deep guttural bass boomed forth intermittently, followed by repetitive prayers, which ended with a heavy downward slur, like a record winding down. Then it would begin again, in a slightly higher key. I walked past several banks of large bronze prayer wheels. Shoes were piled next to the monks, who sat cross-legged on the floor. An incongruous sign in English and Tibetan caught my eye and I smiled: Make sure your shoes are not stolen. In a temple no less.

We were all searched and had to show our identification badge, which had been obtained at the security office beforehand. This was a thorough search, for security was tight. Once inside it was a sea of color, and amazingly orderly and quiet. We were all grateful for the good weather where the multi-colored umbrellas could be used for the sun, not the rain.

At 9 A.M. the Dalai Lama appeared and walked slowly down the center aisle flanked by monks. He bowed slightly, gesturing to friends, smiling, and greeting the throng. There was no elaborate pomp and circumstance. Just silence. The crowd was visibly moved and acknowledged him with their hands in a prayerful position. The same thing occurred at the end of each session, sometimes accompanied by low chanting and once with some kind of reed instrument. It was a quiet, dignified procession.

His Holiness sat on a large raised seat and talked without notes for two-and-a-half hours in the morning, and, again, in the afternoon. Butter tea and rolls were dispersed both in the morning and in the afternoon by monks carrying large tea kettles. Sometimes milk tea was substituted.

People had selected their “spaces” four days in advance and taped their names to the floor. A very old Tibetan lady, creased, toothless, and bent, muscled into my space, but we all managed to accommodate her and she has now become somewhat of a mascot. We move around, however, and today I sat very close to the Dalai Lama and watched, with utter fascination, as he moved and gestured, punctuating his speech with highs and lows and the deep laughter the West has found so endearing. His delivery is animated, powerful, and mesmerizing. He is, indeed, a great teacher. The interpreter, a young monk educated at Oxford, is brilliant and, to my delight, sits near my space. I’m fascinated by how he can simultaneously translate the complexities of Buddhist theology so eloquently and interpret the non-stop commentary, which is based on the teachings of the Third Dalai Lama (being used as our text). There are also French and Portuguese interpreters.

It’s now the fifth day of the teachings and I’m profoundly moved and inspired. These are not simple concepts, nor is this beginning Buddhism. It deals with 2500 years of history and the application of the Buddhist message of compassion and love in this troubled world. The Dalai Lama is a master storyteller and sometimes I turn off my FM radio and just listen to the timbre of his voice. The repetitions, the change in tone, the inflections. For me it is high drama and every moment is electric.

Outside the temple it’s a carnival. Food vendors, honking taxis trying to shove their way through intransigent crowds, beggars under foot, hawkers. Cary and I have found some fabulous Indian and Tibetan restaurants and some interesting new friends. At our guest house just up the hill from the temple are three Canadians, Doris, Jan, and Louise, two captivating Hollanders, Trees Muijlaert, and Joris Broeders, and an occupational therapist, Laura Simonian . Close by is a friend we met at Majnu Ka Tilla in Delhi, Tamara Blesh, who is a high school library technology specialist in Gardiner, Maine and is on her way to Ladakh to set up a library at Siddhartha School in Stok, 18 Kilometers south of Leh. A talented and interesting lady, who also sponsors a Tibetan student inside Tibet.

We’ve had the privilege of spending time in the home of Tenzin Youdon’s family just after Joser, the Tibetan New Year. Tenzin married an American who lives on Whidbey Island, and Cary delivered gifts to her parents and sisters, who, coincidentally, live just up the lane from our guest house. Their son is a rinpoche and two of the five daughters are living in the U.S. It was an emotional meeting as they talked about their absent children. This is a typical, very close Tibetan family.

Our most poignant experience this past week, however, was a visit to the TCV (the Tibetan Children’s Village) school in Dharamsala, a non-profit, charitable institution for the care and education of orphaned and destitute Tibetan children in exile. Cary, Martha, my grandchildren, and I, plus friends in Maplewood and Whidbey Island sponsor students at this school and the one in Suga, near Bir. The stories of their escape from Chinese oppression is well-documented and widely known, and these children are still coming across the border in ever-increasing numbers and at great cost in human suffering.

We met with Cary’s friend, Dolma Lhamo, formerly of the Suja school, and now the secretary for the sponsorship program coordinator of the Dharamsala school, Tashi Lhamo (no relation). Both women are dedicated educators whose lives are spent insuring that there will be a home for these youngsters, while at the same time they are preserving the rich heritage that is being obliterated in Tibet by Chinese persecution.

We met Martha’s sponsored “son,” Lhakpa Wanghal, an 18-year-old physics and biology student whose parents smuggled him across the border when he was only four, the youngest of six children. They wanted at least one of their children to have a future. This young man is extraordinary! He showed us his academic work and his extra-curricular projects. He had designed his own logo. and in large letters incorporated the school motto underneath: Others Before Self.

These schools are run like large families, with surrogate mothers and the children referring to one another as brother and sister. All classes from the 5th grade on are in English and the education is first rate. Many children, like Lhakpa, have not seen their parents since they left Tibet, and many never will.

I urge you to visit their website and find out more about this amazing network of schools. www.tibchild.org

I mentioned before that the owner of our guest house is a young Tibetan man named Pema Yeshe. He is also the librarian at the foreign language section of the Library of Tibetan Works and Archives here in McLeod Ganj. Cary and I walked through the woods and down the steep slopes with Pema to visit this beautiful library. We were shown ancient manuscripts that had been carried out of Tibet at the time of the Dalai Lama‘s escape in 1959. Some were written in simple block print and others were executed with gold hand-lettering. These were long, narrow rectangular pages wrapped twice in orange, then yellow cloth and tied carefully to preserve them. A large room held thousands of these precious manuscripts.

The building also housed a museum with a superb collection of artifacts that have been smuggled out of the country since the Chinese invasion of Tibet. Most of these were given to the Dalai Lama, who, in turn, entrusted them to the museum. Others can be found in famous museums throughout the world. There were two unusual mandelas, one in colored sand and one in three dimensions, as well as a superb butter statue of the Potala Palace in Lhasa.

Pema told us a great deal about the history of Buddhism, and one thing I found interesting was that the prayer flags we so often identify with Buddhism were really flags used by the Bon religion, which was being practiced at the time Buddhism was introduced into Tibet.

After leaving the library, we visited the Nechung Temple of the Oracle of Tibet, which was close by.

Every day we wander on new paths, through woods that are finally heralding spring as trees of blood-red rhododendron blossom on the hillsides. Each morning the mountains greet us, white and radiant. And although we are just above the temple, it’s quiet. We are in a world totally isolated from the frantic bustle of main street.