3.17.08

Bir, Himachal Pradesh, India

Sitting in the green grass and dead brown leaves behind the infamous Bir Snooker Hall, where most of the less than totally wholesome, though still generally kind-hearted, members of Bir’s Tibetan rogue’s gallery spend a large portion of their time.

Despite its somewhat shady locale, this place is a wonderful one to sit, write, and contemplate. Gently sloping downwards and stretching out to what looks like infinitely cascading dark green hilly mountains, and peppered with delightful medium-sized light green trees — many of them fruit — it provides an arena where one can rest the mind in a sphere of naturalness.

Little Indian and Tibetan boys, the oldest not much more than four or five, run by playfully, shouting “hello!” and “goodbye!”. Two girls perhaps a little bit older follow suit, with “hello!” and “namaste!“. The sun sets in the east behind thousands of prayer flags spreading the blessings of the lung-ta, the Wind Horse, amongst other auspicious symbols. The sun, with its peachy rays magnetizing the world of appearances and possibilities; the flags blowing indestructible kisses to the limitless directions. Somewhere, clouds of fragrant incense must be wafting.

I had to move just before choosing this particular sitting-place on account of wandering, peaceful cows, with not-so-peaceful-looking broad pointy horns of intimidating breadth.

Another peaceful protest is happening at this very moment: truckloads of Tibetans racing their way to Baijnath packed like Himalayan sardines to proclaim the truth with the rosy cheeks, so much more rosy when they lived at 12,000 feet+ elevation. The truth that Beijing does not deserve to hold the Olympics; the truth that Tibetans have every right to protest the Chinese occupation, and that none of them deserve to be jailed or killed for doing so; and pre-eminently that Tibet must be free and always should have been.

Some energy is rising with all these events. It can be felt in this world-system’s veins. A prelude to change, a pressure that’s been worked up in the subtle channels that connect the Tibetans and Chinese — and if you reach down and touch the earth goddess, as Lord Buddha did to call witness to his complete awakening to the actualization of his mind’s utter freedom, you can feel it too: pumping, pressurizing.

And like Prince Siddhartha’s rising energy in the 49 days before his awakening, it is an energy building towards freedom, but in a different respect. To the 6 million Tibetans, and all who support their good cause, it is a freedom that is almost, and to some just as, important.

The solidarity that the Tibetans have in exile is inspiring and significant, and could serve as a noble and impressive example to all those working for justice, human rights, and equality, on all the world’s fronts.

Nearly everyone takes part.

3.15.08

The end of a most interesting day. The Tibetan shops in town were closed due to the protests in Tibet and the Chinese military crackdown. Xinhua, the official government-controlled media unit, reported 10 people dead, but the Tibetans around town rumor numbers between 100 and 300. A day of mourning. Sometimes it seemed like only monks and the usual vigilant Indian taxicab drivers inhabited the central Bir market. Closed garage-like door and after closed garage-like door Indian shop door stood solemnly along the streets as reminders of over 50 years of Chinese brutality, cultural genocide, propoganda, and illegal occupation; the recent events being, in a sense, just upsurges, tidal waves, of a long-standing ocean of conflict.The Olympics being held in Beijing are the central sad figure in the mandala in which the protests and unrest are being arrayed — manifesting not only in Lhasa, but elsewhere in Tibet. In response to the typical iron-grip control tactics, and especially the deaths and arrests of protesters, most of them monks, protests are erupting around the larger mandala of the world — and especially in India and Nepal, the central hotspots of the Tibetan refugee community.

The hope is that the protests will bring the Tibet Issue to the entire world’s attention to a much greater degree, and that the Olympic games will be an arena in which a powerful catalyst can unfold; a catalyst that will eventually lead to greater autonomy for the Tibetans, and ultimately freedom from illegal Chinese rule.

It seems that it is already starting to work. The White House, according to CNN, has issued a statement that “Beijing must have a dialogue with the Dalai Lama”. Strong words coming from amounts to, arguably, World Super Power No. 1 to World Super Power No. 2. Europe and America say “Restrain yourself, China.” Chill out. At least they are saying that much, though it would be better if they said more.

If this does lead to greater freedom for Tibet, let’s hope that as few people as possible have to die in the process. The Indian police were on high alert today, with Majnu-ka-Tilla, the Tibet Town of Delhi, literally being sealed off. There were reports of Indian police beating Tibetans who tried to enter or leave the colony. In the words of many of Bir’s Tibetan locals, it is “a big issue”. India’s central police headquarters informed the police in all of India’s areas containing large Tibetan populations to be on high-alert, including, as local Mingyur Dorje put it, “all the way up north here in Himachal [Pradesh]“.

A candle-lit rally began in central Bir around 6 o’clock today, where participants walked to Chauntra, a village on the outskirts of Bir, an hour’s walk. They ended at Dzongsar Gompa, the very large monastery and shedra (Buddhist philosophical institute) of Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche.

Walking in the direction of Chauntra, I had the good fortune to see Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche drive by in his car. He smiled and waved at the three of us: myself, Mingyur, and Tharchin. A wonderful experience. I had seen DKR for the first time the previous day, at the end of the transmissions that HH Sakya Trizin Rinpoche was giving. Two beautiful spiritual masters, two beautiful men, two very high and influential lamas seen for the first time, at the same time. They walked by me as they exited the massive Dzongsar lha-khang (shineroom). A feeling of great blessing.

Blares of shrill, dramatic Tibetan horns followed Sakya Trizin Rinpoche, the supreme head of the Sakya sect, out of the marble halls; those horns being so much like Scottish bagpipes to me in their droning, harmonics, urgency, and ability to inspire emotion and a kind of nonconceptual contemplation.

3.11.08

Bir, Himachal Pradesh

My second day in Bir. I’m staying at Chokling Gonpa, currently in the guest house but soon the monastery, once they have my room painted. Today has been good. Last night I had a had a hard time sleeping due to what I thought was a lack of blankets — what do you know but at around 4 am or probably later I opened up the cabinet next to the bathroom and lo! a cabinet full of blankets — I should have known better than to think that they wouldn’t provide blankets! I woke up late, around 10:30 or later as I remember; went to the internet at Ramu’s — came back to the guest house a little late for check out time, packed my stuff to check out thinking that I’d be moving into a room in the monastery today, and went downstairs to the ground floor, only to be met with “Where are you going?!” by the young monk guest house manager — the monastery room won’t be ready for another day or so, he said, and I should just stay in the guest house until then — so Ok, took my stuff back to my room — I began to meet the monks around this time — one of them, Namgyal, asked me to teach him in the evenings and I agreed to do so — I first saw him with Lama Pema, the older lama who’s coordinating my lodging situation — I was offered lunch by Namgyal, and very shortly after I got back to my room a small Indian, probably Bihari, boy knocked on my door while I was reading ‘Ask and It is Given’, presenting yummy steamed masala-ish vegetables and plain rice — simple but excellent — after lunch I was craving caffeine — so I decided to go get a coffee at the nearby shop Buckstars which I’d never sampled my first time in Bir — on the way, I ran into Pema Jinpa on his motorcyle, presumably looking for me and Namgyal had told me before lunch that he’d come looking for me earlier — I got on his motorcycle for the short short ride to the coffee shop — and I had perhaps my first good coffee in India while talking with PJ about his recent marriage. Our talk was fairly short, he may have been on break from work. Not much seems to have changed for the people I know here; it makes me reflect on how most people’s lives are relatively uneventful compared to mine, and how I often seem to be on a very different rhythm, a different wave-structure life pattern, than most — I’m wondering whether dinner is ready or not — and I think I’ll go check –

3.07.2008

3.07.2008

Tashi Jong, Himachal Pradesh, India, SAMSARA

The lights are currently out and a magnificent storm rages outside. Tashi Jong is a Drukpa Kagyu community, and the symbol of the Drukpa Kagyu sect is the dragon — the druk in Drukpa — and it sounds like there’s some drunken druks waging war in the lofty skies above this usually tranquil valley. Tashi Jong means “Auspicious Valley”.

I thrive off storms like this — they make me feel energized, as if every thunderclap that resounds replenishes some vital energy within, one that can only be vitalized by thunder. Or perhaps it’s a special formula, an elemental elixir that feeds my hungry dynamic energies with one part thunder, one part lightning, one part rain… maybe one part general stormy ambience.

In the dark I’m left with almost no visual faculties to speak of. I now have the luxurious confinement of being forced to ruminate on dragons, ancient yogis, the effects of thunderstorms on mindstreams, and what’s happening in them there hills.

The Fifteen Yogis are out there in them there hills. Maybe they’re thinking of similar things. No doubt their thoughts, whether similar to mine or not, are imbued with more luminous transparency than mine.

The Fifteen Yogis. Usually, it’s the Thirteen Yogis, but for some reason two more are joining the fray right now, probably more for the sake of attaining enlightenment than for adding an unconventional twist to the numbers. Long ago, in a previous incarnation, Khamtrul Rinpoche was wondering how many yogis would be a suitable number to have as retreatants around his monastery. I’m not sure how he arrived at his numerical conclusion, but he ended up with 13. Ever since then, in each of Khamtrul Rinpoche’s lives, and presumably even between lives, it has been tradition to have 13 full-time, lifetime retreatants around Khamtrul Rinpoche’s monastery. I know not whether this is the first time that tradition has been slightly broken. I have a hunch that 13 is a minimum rather than a maximum.

According to Phopa Rinpoche, the Thirteen Yogis are generally retreatants for life, but one their main spiritual goals is to accomplish a 12 year retreat, focusing much of their time on attaining accomplishment in the Six Yogas of Naropa. The Six Yogas of Naropa includes such delightfully esoteric and impressive practices such as Dream Yoga, the Yoga of the Illusory Body, the Yoga of Transference of Consciousness, the Yoga of Inner Heat, the Yoga of Clear Light, and the Yoga of the Intermediate State. After completing the 12 year retreat, some of the yogis will come out from time to time to give teachings, conducts prayer services and ceremonies, and the like.

I wonder whether there is ever a shortage of aspirants for the job, thus forcing the monastery to start drafting people to reach the quota of 13.

“Khamtrul Rinpoche wants YOU to attain unexcelled, complete and perfect enlightenment! Join the 13 Yogis today! Special sign up bonus of 13 yaks for your family if you enlist before Losar!”

I’m even more curious about the possibility of meeting with one of the Thirteen Yogis.

The lights are still out. I contemplate what it would be like if the electricity never came back. There’s no doubt I’d spend less money, and also probably read, write, and study more. And wake up earlier.

…

I want to merge with the storm.

I want to be a giddy daka, jumping from raindrop to raindrop, being pushed this way and that by the fierce winds, but always in control, the skies above Tashi Jong my playground, the rain and wind my seesaw and swings, the lightning-trails a harmless obstacle course, the thunder a joyful punctuating din, adding a dramatic tone to my rythmic raindrop hopscotch.

I miss a step, miscalculate the direction a wind current will take me, and I slide into a grumpy cloud who’s still willing to break my fall: two backwards somersaults and I’m back in the game.

I’m a male sky dancer

I ride the waves of empty space

I’m a pawo: a hero, and all the gandharvas are there to test my resolve to have undistilled fun; all the dakinis are there to cheer me on, but I choose not to see them. I want this to be a lonely game tonight: I’m flying solo, just me and the storm.

The storm at once has no stake in the game, and yet displays giving rise to helpful and harmful intentions, all quite naturally. But all is calm in the storm’s heart. It knows what it is doing. And so do I.

Like the impossibility of the ultimate physical union which the sexual act unspokenly strives for, I attempt to blend seemlessly with the storm, even though I cannot — at least not fully. I take a little bit of it in, and it takes a little bit of me in. Some sort of child is produced by the twain, if nothing else but the exhilaration of contact, the exultation there in the trying.

I’m a sky dancer, baby.

And I’m ready to re-cognize my mind as endless space…

I look out the window. The sky pulses with a red-purple pigment, a kind of radiant opacity. I can’t tell if it’s my eyes playing tricks on me, but it’s thick, weird, surging, and sexy.

some thoughts on dakini day

Familiarity scares me. I get anxious thinking about going to places where people know me. I thrive off unfamiliarity, off being a stranger; off not knowing anyone anyone or anything, and them not knowing me. I wonder why this is.

I get easily bored and disappointed by people and places. I have inner ideals which almost no one and no place lives up to. For me life is largely about a constant refinement of these ideals, a reevaluation of them in light of the contrasting experiences of my life. And yet I generally forgive people for falling so short of my expectations. I fall short of my own expectations, and it’s hard to keep on going without forgiving myself; it would be unfair to not do the same for others.

At this point, very little about America interests me. I have almost no desire to be there. And yet I know that it is not America, as a thing in itself, which bores me, disappoints me. It’s most of the people, most of the places, most of the structures, most of the cultural dynamic; most of what American culture does even to things I revere, like Tibetan Buddhism. Ignorance prevails; not the kind of ignorance that these Himachali Indian locals have, but some of kind of profound disconnect with the basic energy of life; with how to handle your mind, how to deal with yourself and others.

I’ve lived in a whole lot of places. I’ve moved an average of every 5.8 months since graduating highschool, with a whole lot of traveling in-between. At this point it’s hard to imagine being in a place for longer than a year.

I feel that I am distancing myself somehow from everything that has come before. It’s painful, but liberating. Constant refinement. I am constantly refining my ideals, my desires, of where I want to be and what I want to do. And recently, constantly trying to examine the self-limiting concepts that tell me that I can’t be in those places and do those things; as well as trying to simply focus on the desire for what I want, knowing that with focus, all can be obtained.

Happy Dakini Day. A reminder to revere the Divine Feminine. It happens every month in the Tibetan calendar, and is usually celebrated by practicing female deities such as Tara and holding tsoks, ritual feasts which are an offering to particular deities and a celebration of the connection that we have with those deities.

3.02.2008

3.02.2008

Paprola, Himachal Pradesh,

The Noble Land of India (Tibetan: Gya-gar Phag-pa’i Yul)

  Sitting here in Paprola again, at what I think is the only internet “café” in town, with two computers in its cyber-arsenal. Tashi Jong just got 1 computer, my friend Rana’s father’s international phone place. When I walked down from the colorful festivities of Ajay’s wedding, down past the breakbeat Indian village dancing, over through the verdant wheat fields - the greenest green this man has ever seen - Rana Sr.’s shop was a closed blue metal garage door. At that very moment a taxi was taking off, and I ran to catch it. A Tibetan family was on their way somewhere, and I got in next to the father. He didn’t seem to happy about not having his daughter next to him, as she was displaced to the front seat due to my ghetto taxi hitch tactics. Spontaneity doesn’t always leave everyone pleased.

In India, international phones are referred to as STDs. Communicable diseases. Communication is diseased, in most cases. Diseases propagate themselves. Health and well being is innate, but it’s the diseases which get the headline news.

Buddhism says that both well being and sickness are innate. Well being is nirvana, one’s buddhanature, which is timelessly the case, always there from the very beginningless beginning. It’s what’s really there. We just don’t usually experience it due to our emotional and cognitive obscurations. Sickness is samsara, the self-perpetuating round of bewilderment, confusion, negative emotions, and misunderstanding. It’s superficial. It characterizes most of our experience. It’s not really there, ultimately. Sickness is what we go through due to our emotional and cognitive obscurations.

There is something about India. As if whatever you want automatically appears. Just a few moments ago was a case in point. I wanted a cup of chai. Even in India, which is inherently stimulating, I need my caffeine. I was intending to ask the shop owner if he could tell me how to order a cup. Suddenly a boy appears with a freshly steaming cup of that sweet sugar-milk goodness. “For me?” His response was some kind of affirmation. But really, it’s been like that. People are tuned in. Like how the taxi suddenly appeared - and like how so many other things have happened in the 5 ½ days I’ve been here, seemingly perfectly aligned, perfectly arranged, exactly in accordance with need, desire, and inclination. Exactly in accordance with something that I can’t even conceptually fathom, perhaps. 

I was beginning to write a piece about this in my moleskin journal, which I unfortunately lost on the bus to Baijnath. This felt-sense of psychic communication which seems to operate in this country. It was prompted by the fact that shortly before I boarded the bus, a man appeared and sold me a combination pen/flashlight. “Only ten rupees sir.” It was truly what I needed, a pen and a flashlight.

So what could this psychic phenomena be chalked up to? I wondered.

Well, first of all, I need to say that, the fact that India as a country works at all must be the workings of some kind of supernormal apparatuses at work. A land of contradictions, indeed, even in the most broadly generalized conceptual terms: a seemless mix of chaos and harmony, of suffering and happiness, of the ancient and modern.

Well, first, there’s the religions. India has a yogic tradition going back at least 5000 years, which claims to be able produce psychic, extrasensory, powers. Even omniscience, in the case of Buddhism. Omniscience aside, it is not thought strange in the context of the yogic traditions of India to be able to read thoughts. This is actually considered a pretty mundane accomplishment. These people were doing meditation, yoga  and contemplating the ultimate nature of reality, on a large scale when most of my ancestors were trying to figure out how to build houses.

Of course, most Indians aren’t yogis or sadhus. But there’s little doubt in my mind that India has produced the most sophisticated forms of spiritual practice. There’s lots of evidence that Hinduism and Buddhism even influenced Christianity and Islam, even at the early start of their careers- it’s actually pretty undeniable. Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism had highly developed forms of prayer, contemplation, devotional practices, yoga, meditation hundreds of years before Christianity and Islam.

Over the course of so many thousands of years, it’s not too much to conjecture that India’s religious traditions, which were always so central to it’s culture, would pervade the human evolution of its people - including the psychic phenomena which its traditions can produce - reading others’ thoughts and emotions, intuiting the future, etc.

India’s religions put such a strong emphasis on the third eye, the chakric energy center of intuition, vision, insight, wisdom, and knowledge. I don’t think it’s a mere coincidence that Indians have such large, beautiful, penetrating, knowing eyes. Which in my experience, seem to go straight to your heart.

writing as re-programming

Writing is a most powerful form of programming, of spell casting. By giving inky flesh to ideas, those ideas become more real, more palpable. Their potential to manifest becomes stronger. Their potency is thickened.

If one wants to re-program oneself; if one wants to express one’s innermost thoughts, feelings, and inspiration; if one wants to imprint onself and others with certain concepts, beliefs, and reformulations of one’s experience of reality; if one want to become clear about what one’s aspirations are, and give force, self-honesty, and power to those aspirations; then writing is one of the most powerful ways to go about doing that.  

3.01.2008

3.01.2008 CEPaprola, Kangra District, Himachal Pradesh, The Noble Land of India

Sitting in Paprola (not sure about the spelling), the closest town to Tashi Jong, the heavenly little Tibetan community I’ve been living in for the last few days. So much has happened. I just got a haircut and a shave for the whopping price of 20 rupees (about 50 cents), with after-cut chai included. Today is so beautiful; the sun shines like a radiant deity bestowing blessings, empowerments, and tan lines. I’ve been taking lots of pictures, which I hope to put on here soon. This trip has thus far been seemingly endless waves of auspiciousness, beauty, fun, and opportunities. It feels like I am becoming much more self-realized in the process.

In New York, I met Remy, a 26 year-old neurobiologist and musician from Quebec, who came to India to study sitar, intending to find a sitar master in Varanasi. We hit it off quickly, especially when we found out we had the same book on the Law of Attraction - his in French, mine in English - Abraham-Hicks’ ‘Ask and It is Given’ (Note: I highly recommend this book to anyone. It has already changed my life considerably. I plan on writing blogs on Abraham-Hicks’ teachings in the future. Buying the book in New York has turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve made in a while).

I’m going to switch computers - to be continued.