"You are your own master" Gautama Buddha.
The days pass by, slowly and fast all at once. It could be one long day, I would not know the difference. Only time can tell me that it is passing. It is written on the calendar, So, it must be true,
somewhere, time is passing.
My time has been filled with monks and their soft, strong and quiet company. I give 2 classs a day. One computer class in the morning to Choeyang and 2 of his Tibetan friends. They have a tailoring shop, making traditional Tibetan fabrics and designs. One of them is married to a Scottish woman, and they import to a few selected stores in the UK. You can see and support their work t help the Tibetan community by buying their products here.
We then sometimes have lunch with Choeyang, him making momos (a Tibetan ravioli type. The Tibetans eating lots of noddles in soup), and me making a ratatouille, or noodles with tomatoe sauce, all that is missing are the spices such as oregano, rosemary, thyme and such,
In the afternoon, I meet 2 or 3 monks, depending on the days, on the grassland as they call it, a little area by the fancy hotels. Sitting on the grass, with a few occasional monkeys passing by, we read from the books they find in english. I read a little tibetan, and we write sentences.
The morning students have offered me a little phrase book, tibetan to english. An honor for me, as I am discovering in myself a patience to teach which i was not sure i had in me. Maybe a new vocation?
Most of the monks only speak very little english, if any at all, but so much can be shared with a few words.
They seem very interested in learning english, They walk around with watches on their light brown skin, and have cell phones. They use the internet and sometimes you can see some watching music videos with short skirted women in them, apparently being quite amused by the scenes. Many of them spend time in the monasteries of South India, the biggest ones, in which there are thousands of monks. Those monasteries offer more classes than in Mc Leod Ganj, but they come here once a year to hear the teachings of His Hollyness the Dalai Lama. It is the most Holly pillgramage after Lhassa.
The town is split between Hindus and Tibetains. The Tibetan community having pretty much build the town for what it is, with help from the many donations and help which the Dalai Lama generates. Both communities rarely speak each other's language, yet the town works and grows.
The Hindus include shop keepers, workers of all types, and the poorest, the Untouchables begging on the side of the street. Many of the Untouchables have leprosy, their hands and feet being tied in bandages, what is left of them anyhows. The bone deformities are many, giving the sad side of India that some take for the whole. It is said that parents mutilate thei kids in order to be better beggers, but i am still not sure of what the real cause is. ould it be also no medical care ? Kids hanging onto foreigners arms, begging, is a hard thing to experience. Watching tibetans move an aunt or a sick fly away from the road, in front of a group of deformed and starved humans is even stranger. All living in their very own systems.
For Tibetan Bouddhism, it is better to help the aunt, because it can not help itself, as a human could. It is better to feed one dog, than 100 hungry humans, and it is better to feed one bird than 100 hungry dogs. It is their universal hierarchie, it is the way it is for them, their universe. " And we can not give to every human being" tells me Tanzin Ngyi Ma (Doctrine Holder Sun Who Shines the Whole world), a most amazing monk I had the pleasure to spend some time with before he went back to Buthan. Now, that reasoning I can understand. If truly one wants to help, there are many organizations offering various types of voluntaring works, with both communities, the Hindus and the Tibetan one. That is true help, and not mere charity.
Many of the monks walk from Lhassa to Katmandu, Nepal, from
where they can get to India via a free bus. Some of the Tibetans are escaped political prisoners, coming to India to tell their horrible stories of communism as applied by the Chinese. If they do not write letters stating that they embrace communism and the socialist cause, and renouce the Dalai Lama who is a "fraud", it is more torture for them, hidden in underground prisons which no one knows about. The goal of the chinese is to strip them of any of the rich and ancient tradition which they have carried on with courage and grace.
Even with a thousand paintings, a thousand books, a place could
never be fully shared. The only way to experience anything, being to live it for oneself. The experience always being different for each individual.
Pictures can only be snapshots, moments, seen from the
eye only.
A place would have to contain it's sounds, it's smells and it's feelings in order to fully convey what is experienced at any location.
You'd have to hear the sounds of dogs barking and playing,
sawing machines and hammers, strident car horns blowing in your ears pushing you to the side of the road, and the beautifull Ensfield motorcycle engines roaring through like modern horses, birds chirpings their songs, kids playing, crying out and laughing, monks and nuns singing and blowing the traditional horns, the sounds of the cooks near by chopping and cutting food, western musics mixed with Hindus beats, and english spoken with a thousand accents, as well as the many other languages being heard through the streets, as an echo of the birds chirps.
It smells of incense, woods and mountains, piss and
curries mixed with massalas, pizzas, fresh air and car exhaust systems.
You'd have to feel the magnificience of the surrounding mountains, taste of the cheese sandwith dipped and fried in oil, the momos, and the chais.
This week end, a nice walk to the Triard, one of the close mountain tops, with 2 friends. Tim, a kind British man in his 20's doing the UK to Australia on a bycicle, sometimes accompanied by his friend Peter, who has been cycling for a year and a half around Asia. And a friend of theirs, an Australian man doing the tour of the world as a pre honey moon. The 3 of us climbed up and down to the 2 800 meters top. On top, a few groups of people, tourists and locals. A plate of rice and Dhal, and back down.
The days pass, and tonight will be a quiet evening with fresh tomatoes in a veggie salad, manguo, and fresh roasted peanuts.
Here joined pics of the monks, a cooking day making momos, pics from Bhagsu, the river close by where monks wash their robes, the water fall, a show of Tibetan dances, and the shoe doctor, who fixes my sandals India way and a Gompa in Town.
Lots of love to those that read this
