Signs 3
I have never done well with heights: My nose bleeds in Taos, New Mexico a mere 9,000 feet. When Dr. Rotelli and I visited Kunzang Dechen Lingpa’s monastery in Arunachel Pradesh—after a day of winding through heights of green pine—my breathing came in involuntary pants and sighs all night. AMS, also known as altitude sickness, is often mild and usually comes on gradually. But it can occur unpredictably, suddenly and intensely. It is the reason why I have never gone to the dizzying heights of Tibet, at 12,000 feet above sea level. The problem is not just the lack of oxygen, but the pressure changes, as fluids leak out of compartments and fills lung and brain cavities. Confusion, lethargy and death can follow as water perfuses into that tight compartment. One of the side effects, or balancing acts of the body in order to equalize pressures, is ridding itself of water with frequent urination.

As we headed into the deep of night, it seemed that Lama Pema and I were in a contest to see who had to stop the car and pee more often Climbing up towards 10,000 feet I felt uneasy and dizzy, with odd sensations and shifts as my cells tried to accommodate to the rarefied air. I had a sense of some obstacle, namely my worst fear: Being stranded on some high pass, unable to descend, and dying by the side of the road in some snowy patch of Bhutan earth. We all had a tickling cough due to fluid entering our lungs and my bladder pressure was intense, only 45 minutes after our last break. I turned my MacBook Pro on, and started playing the long Dudjom Lingpa Troma sadhana, Sun of Wisdom. I wanted to invoke the power of Chöd and of MaChik Troma. I needed distraction and some comfort from my growing anxiety. The music cheered us, as the lamas sang along and I hummed the familiar melodies.

Suddenly in the mental glint of our headlights, my fear was made manifest. An old truck from India (and they were all from India), overloaded with giant logs of pine and juniper, had toppled over into a ditch on the right side of the road. On the left was a precipitous drop of 1000 feet or more, descending into unknown darkness. There is no such thing in this part of the world as a tow truck or even a power winch. Long sticks, ropes and manual labor would be the only way this truck would be freed—over the next several days.

Rinpoche’s son Palden and I jumped out to assess the situation. About six nepali drivers were standing around stunned and looking both helpless and sheepish. Between the truck and the edge were some three feet high mounds of rock and boulders, a half finished road works project that had probably forced the truck driver to mistakenly edge into the ditch in the first place. There was a narrow lane between the truck and the rocks, only enough to walk through. I shouted to Pema that we might be able to get by if we cleared the damn rock piles away. I had barely finished speaking when Lama Pema began heaving huge rocks— boulders really—off the roadway and into the abyss below. This language of action seemed to speak to the dazed Nepali group, galvanizing them into action. Soon we had a melee of rock lifting and throwing. Within ten minutes we had cleared enough of a track to try and fit the truck through the narrow gauntlet we had created. Palden drove, edging ahead, but he entered too far to the left, and the tires became blocked by a mass of sharp boulders. We scrambled to remove the stone impediments, while I expected the tires to be shredded at any moment. With the Nepalis pushing from behind, several people shouting orders, and Rinpoche thoroughly enjoying himself in the back seat, everyone heaved-hoed to push us over the rut we had already made in the muddy ground. Several roars and revs of the engine and we were through!

As we headed up the slope, several cars and a van arrived. Meanwhile, behind us, another car had already shown up. Collecting our thoughts after this exhilarating high altitude caper, I realized that not only had we overcome this potentially serious obstacle, but, being the first on the scene, we had made it possible for all the others to go up and down the mountain! We would pass a few dozens more vehicles cover the next hour of ascent. Both those coming down and those ascending from behind us, would could benefit from our impromptu high altitude calisthenics.

We continued up towards the high pass through what became a white out blizzard. I continued to play Troma puja and recite her mantra. In a blur of white, we finally arrived at the 10,500 foot Mt. Pelle pass. With a brief “Lha Gyalo” we didn’t tarry there, but proceeded downhill. Just around the first curve was a small minivan, perched precariously on the edge of a forest cliff. The group of about six men and women had blocked the wheels with rocks to prevent any further slide towards the edge, and were ready to spend a cold night in the van, piled with blankets. No help would possibly arrive till sometime tomorrow—this is the wilderness! After chatting and commiserating with them in rapid  Dzongka, it was clear that we couldn’t be of any real assistance. Appreciating this cautionary tale, we heading downhill very slowly, with our four wheel drive on. A long two hours later, we arrived at our destination for the night, a marvellous little rock and wood hotel right beside the Stupa of Drupa Kunley, the crazy yogi who is so beloved by Tibetans and Bhutanese for his wild antics, sexual exploits and irreverent spirituality.

All the while, Troma had been wailing on my computer. Just as we arrived, we were at the place in the Troma sadhana where all the music and loud baritone voices stop. This is the Dakini offering, sung by fifty or so heavenly female voices, all the nuns and female practitioners of the Dudjom gompa in Bouddah, Nepal. Here we were, at the Drupa Kunley stupa, the great Bhutanese saint famous for his bawdy sexual behavior as a guise for his limitless Buddha activity and benefit of all sentient beings. We walked down the flagstone steps in the chill air of this dark moonless night, waking the sleeping attendants who scurried to put on a fire and begin preparing a meal. We were served hot tea and a hearty Bhutanese meal by five young and vibrant female attendants. We slept soundly in our pine panelled room, have survived the terror on the mountain. The next morning, our “Dakinis” were dressed all in green (Green is the color of the Karma family—Action Dakinis). Indeed we remarked that the heavy set, earthy cook was definitely a Ratna Dakini. The pretty, shy one was a Pema Dakini. The Karma Dakini minded the store and took care of our bill, keeping herself busy. Another, who spoke good English and wanted to see America, was a clear-minded Vajra Dakini. They were all there.

In the morning we went to Drukpa Kunley’s stupa and offered butter lamps of aspiration in the nearby Lhakang or shrine room. The stupa is one of great power, and connected to Vajrayogini. Blessing was palpable. I also purchased a wooden flaming penis, which would prove to be of great significance later!

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