Posts Tagged ‘bhutan’

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.

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Signs 1
The road trip began. We set out on our long journey from Thimpu to Tashi Yangtse, mounting the first heights overlooking Bhutan’s small capital city. Within a few twists and turns of the road, we were consumed by forest and mountain, wild rock and broad sky. As we rounded that first curve on a road that led steeply away from human habitation, a black Yak came into sudden view. It was unusual to see these wonderful creatures at this low elevation and so near the city. Yet as we rounded that bend, we saw all five black yaks and a central all-white one—facing towards us as we mounted the hill. No eating, not moving, just staring back at us, as our  truck bounced past them. Had we seen their rears, it would have been a different sign to us, but their welcome gaze cheered and delighted us. We knew that MaChik and the five-deity mandala of Troma would guide our path from here onwards.

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It had taken three years, a lot of disappointment and considerable stress to get here. But finally, it had all fallen into place. I could still use the ticket I bought last year, a mere day before it would expire, and Rinpoche and Pema had come through on the arduous visa process, in which I was an invited guest. This avoids having to pay $240 dollars per day as a regular tourist, something most dharma practitioners can’t afford. After three days in Kathmandu, I boarded the small aircraft and headed over the Himalayas. The short one-hour voyage was pleasant but uneventful, as clouds preventing us from seeing the majestic snow-covered ranges. We did see the mountains however, for Bhutan’s one small airport is nestled in a valley, and in order to land, the pilot has to deftly thread through the crags and peaks, to the horror of some tourists!

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One of the most humbling experiences of my life occurred today in Thimpu. As I strolled through the DungKor, the prayer wheel house, turning the huge cylinders filled with millions of prayers, I was suddenly surrounded by a throng of elderly Bhutanese faithful. It is traditional for many devoted lay practitioners to spend their later years close to sacred shrines, stupas or temples, turning their hand-held prayer wheels, malas and continually reciting mantra. It is a community of faithful, many of whom are clearly of little material means and in various states of failing health and the decay of aging. Their minds and hearts burn bright with devotion. On seeing me in my Ngakpa garb, they drew forward to ask for blessings of both themselves and their well-worn rosary beads. I was taken aback. These holy robes draw strange stares, derision or confusion in many parts of the world. But here, they mean what they really mean. I wear robes as a practice. They convey tremendous blessings and just carrying them on my body is of immense benefit. They are a reminder, they contain one’s behavior and demeanor and remind one always of the tremendous compassion, purity and integrity of the lineage. Robes are something to live in, and something to live up to. However, I dont wear them all the time. Always at work, while doing healing and doctoring, always at dharma events, and when I am in a place and culture where the sight of them benefits others. If viewing them creates animosity or confusion in others, there is no benefit and no point in displaying them. However, even in Western dharma centers, Ngakpa robes are generally misunderstood, direspected and their meaning lost in the self-absortion of spiritual materialism that pervades the West.

Here, they mean someone devoted to mantric practice, to Mahayana compassion, to Vajrayana transformation. They devoted, simple and straight-forward beings, who approached me with smiles and sacred intention, reminded me of my own practice, of what I could do if my mantric strength ever reached its potential—or even came close. I looked at each of them as they offered their malas, and spoke the mantras appropriate to each: White Tara, Vajrayogini, Amithaba, Chenrezig, Hayagriva. Their inner joy and focus is the precious stuff of dharma, the real practice of Cutting Through self-clinging and devoting one’s being, surrendering one’s egocentricity, to the unborn, unelaborated purity which is our real “identity.”

http://picasaweb.google.com/lamajinpa9/BhutanPIlgrimageMarch09#

The desolation and loss in Nepal is palpable. The choking smell of burning garbage, the debris and filth litering every streeet, the pervasive dust and pollution. Four hours of electricity two times per day, water shortages. And such a sense of deficiency and despair. I used to call India the land of the hungry ghosts. Nepal was a place of happy and fulfilled people. Not anymore. The global slow down and the grinding political chaos and corruption on all levels has turned this former kingdom into a third-world nightmare.

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