A Wonderful Opportunity to Help Build a Stupa

A stupa is a concentration of blessed and sacred objects, contained within a structure in an auspicious place.

As Buddhists, two of the most effective practices we can engage in on the path to Enlightenment are to accumulate merit and to purify obscurations. A stupa is an ideal setting to effectively engage in both of these activities. In Chatral Rinpoche’s A Brief Summary of the Benefits of Building, Circumambulating, Prostrating to, and Making Aspiration Prayers at a Stupa, he quotes the Buddha as saying,

“A stupa (is) the vajra essence of all Tathagatas (Enlightened Ones)…(A stupa is) consecrated by the secret essence of all the mantras of the Tathagatas…Whoever pays reverence and honors (a stupa) will eventually achieve the unexcelled and completely perfect state of enlightenment…All Tathagatas will bless the entire area that surrounds the place the stupa has been built in.”

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we had such a powerful monument to our highest potential here in the United States─a stupa as awe-inspiring as the great Boudhanath Stupa in Nepal? (above) Well, fortunately, there is a collection of people from around the world with pure compassionate motivation working on just that─the Maha Bodhivastu Stupa in the beautiful Hudson Valley of New York. (model on the right) Best of all, we have the incredibly fortuitous opportunity to help build this

stupa ourselves! Chatral Rinpoche quotes the Buddha as saying,

“If you make a stupa with your own hands, you will be able to purify your body even if you have committed…inexpiable sins.”

Engaging in the virtuous activity of building or supporting the construction of a stupa will also create enormous amounts of merit, which can propel us forward on the path to Enlightenment. The Maha Bodhivastu Stupa is prophesized by the high Oracle of Bhutan, Druk Chokyong Tsimar as a sacred structure that will benefit countless beings at this crucial moment in world history. The project is supported by many holy beings around the world. I strongly encourage you to join us in building it. The Stupa will be a focal point for our collective efforts to restore peace and harmony on the earth.

To learn more, please visit www.bodhivastu.org.

For more on Chatral Rinpoche’s teachings, please visit www.compassionateaction.info.

Adventures in Nepal

Have you ever had one of those falling dreams where you are dropping to the ground below from a high-up perch, exhilarated yet terrified? Wel, Nepal is a land where "if you can dream it, you can do it." Rebecca and I took a bus from Kathmandu to the Tibetan border to a place called The Last Resort. They feature one of Nepal's highest and longest metal suspension bridges--a perfect place for bungee jumping and an even more wild activity--"canyon swinging." This involves a seven second free fall, followed by a graceful swing above a raging river at 90 miles per hour. As my harness was fastened, my heart began to race. I stepped onto the launching plank and my rope was connected to the harness. Without delay, the instructor counted down, "3, 2, 1...jump!" I leaped off into the chasm below and yelled in frightful delight as I dropped. The rope tightened and I swung past waterfalls and back again. That was scary! Rebecca jumped several minutes later and had a blast as well.




The next day started with a mountain sport called "canyoning." It involves repelling down waterfalls with climbing ropes. We started our descent with some natural water slides, splashing into the pools below. Then came the hard part--walking down a sheer vertical cliff with water splashing in your face. You are encouraged to lean back as far as possible as if in a sitting position while you lower yourself down with a rope attached to your waist with a clip. The dramatic conclusion was canyoning down a 120-foot waterfall as it crashed on top of me.




The final day of the adventure package was the funnest--white water rafting. The deluge of Himalayan Mountain snow melt gushes down the deep gorges south through Nepal and into India. Our raft had 8 people and a guide and I served as front paddler along with a burly Englishman. We bounced and flowed and got soaking wet. On a class 3 rapid, one of my smaller raftmates was catapulted out and had to be rescued by a kayaker. We survived the class 4 rapid with the crew intact, though took on a lot of water. To celebrate, we all jumped out and swam during a calm stretch.

Traveling Alone in the Himalayas: Maratika

Traveling alone has its advantages. For instance, you can go wherever you want and however you want. In my case, I went to one of the most sacred places in the world for devotees of Guru Padmasambhava, the founder of Tibetan Buddhism: the cave where he attained immortality (by unifying with the Buddha of Infinite Life according to legend). My journey to this amazing place included traveling by plane, bus, foot, dump truck, hand-made bamboo suspension bridges, and hundreds of miles of single lane mountain roads.

Another big advantage is the opportunity to bask in the kindness of strangers, and thus make new friends. There was no guidebook available for the area I went to, known as Maratika to Tibetans and Haleshi to Nepalis. All I knew was I had to fly to a place called Lamidanda and then try to find some other pilgrims to tag along with. I arrived around lunch time at the tiny, rural airport (the only one I’ve ever seen with zero buildings on the premises) and as I was waiting, spotted a group of Tibetan monks and nuns. I struck up a conversation and when they heard the words coming out of my mouth, they remarking to each other, “he speaks just like a Tibetan!... But he’s white!” They soon became my friends and my guides to the holy cave. I treated the group to lunch and they took me along on their chartered bus along the exceedingly bumpy and cliff clinging single lane mountain road to the sacred caves of Maratika.

We arrived after three hours and it soon became clear that this was no ordinary place. Every hill and rock feature in the area had many layers of spiritual significance for Tibetan Buddhists. The three main mountains there were thought to be sacred abodes for the Buddhist deities of Wisdom (Manjushri), Compassion (Avalokiteshvara) and Power (Vajrapani), respectively. Each of these mountains have sacred caves where many great masters have meditated over the past 2,000 years. The central mountain, and the focal point for pilgrimage, belongs to Avalokiteshvara. Guru Padmasamvhava meditated here for three months with his wife, the Indian Princess Mandarava, and together they were blessed by Amitayus, the Buddha of Infinite Life, with immortality. There are many foot, head, and body prints of Padmasambhava in two of the caves and a large stone thought to be the vase that Buddha Amitayus used to bless them.

The caves are enormous and can host large groups of worshipers. They are also home to thousands of bats, who are believed to be constantly reciting the mantra of long life. These bats must themselves be immortal, as they are equally active at all hours of the day and night. There are four crevices in the main cave that are used to test one’s level of merit versus sin and whether one will be reborn in higher or lower realms. In addition to gaging one’s karma, they have the dual effect of purifying sins at the same time. Despite my 6’ 4” frame and round belly from eating lots of rice at the monastery, I managed to make it through all four (though not without accumulating a lot of ancient dust on my clothes while I cleaned away my bad karma).







I spent the first night there at a crummy over-priced guest house with a mouse squeaking a lullaby to me throughout the night from across the thin whicker wall. The next two nights were positively blissful in a tent at the camp ground I helped my friends to set up by a river. Conversing with like-minded Tibetan Buddhists over delicious campfire food was a highlight of my trip. The second day there, I took a long stroll with my new friend Khenpo-la, a prominent disciple of Penor Rinpoche, the former (late) head of the Nyingma School of Tibetan Buddhism. There was a great master staying at the monastery by the cave that we were told was not possible to meet because he was in a closed meditation retreat. His name is Taklung Tesetrul Rinpoche and he is an octogenarian living Buddha whose tractor beam of compassion cannot help but inspire and amaze you. I first met him in 2005 at Shyalpa Monastery. Khenpo-la had a hunch as we walked by the monastery that Rinpoche would be in the courtyard and that we could meet him. Sure enough, as we entered the monastery, there sat the great master taking a break from his meditation. We bowed to him and made offerings and enjoyed 15 minutes of conversation followed by a blessing. He had presided over a ceremony in 2008/2009 called the Rinchen Terdzod, which is a four month series of empowerments from Guru Padmasambhava’s treasure teachings cycle. I asked him if he would do it again in a few years, and he laughed heartily, saying that if he were to do it just for me (as opposed to the countless thousands that attended the last one), it wouldn’t be so bad, as he could do it in just one month instead of four.

On the third day, Khenpo-la and I went to one of the main caves and enjoyed a rare treat—“nectar” magically emanating from the cave wall. This is believed by the faithful to be a miraculous blessing from Guru Padmasambhava/Buddha Amitayus which grants great blessings of longevity and protection from premature death when consumed. I collected some in a bottle to share with any others who may have faith in this “fountain of youth” type of water. We then were guided by some local 8-year-olds to a Manjushri cave, which can only be accessed by climbing a rickety bamboo ladder. We both had very profound meditation/prayer sessions there and later in the main cave. At places like this, one’s experience while meditating is amplified by 1,000,000 fold in poignancy and profundity.

Some great masters, Tsoknyi Rinpoche and Khamtrul Rinpoche, flew in by helicopter on my last day there and I enjoyed meeting them and receiving blessings before my long trip to India. Maratika is a place like no other. If you have faith in Guru Padmasambhava, please make sure to visit there at some point in your life.

I then set out on foot along a winding mountain road to the towns beyond that would eventually take me to India. I walked ten kilometers before encountering my first town, where I had some lunch. A group of 35 youth from the town came in to the small store that made me ramen noodles to watch this strange, tall creature with white skin. I then hitched a ride in the back of a dump truck with a group of about 20 other travelers. I felt quite a bit like a piece of corn on a hot frying pan, banging around from one wall of the truck to the next as we rumbled along the mountain road. I had found a great walking stick that I carried along with me, but it lost a lot of its charm after one of the fellow passengers inadvertently vomited all over it.
On this crazy ride, I met a wonderful man named Raj who was a mechanic in the Indian Airforce. It turns out that he and his family were going along the same route as I and invited me to tag along. After the dump truck ride, we walked along a rickety bamboo bridge, clearly made by amateurs without consulting with an engineer. We managed to make it across the 200 foot wide river without falling into it, however. We hopped on a bus, which precariously navigated the windy mountain roads and managed to avoid any head on collisions with the dump trucks that crept along the opposite way. We spent the night at an open-air hostel and took two more buses totaling 12 hours to the town he lives in near the Indian border. There, I was treated to a spectacular home-cooked meal and had the opportunity to clean literally two pounds of dust and dirt off of my clothes and body.



I am now in Silliguri, on my way to Sikkim. There was a hullabaloo after initially receiving news about my visa to Bhutan (it turns out the person who told me was misinformed). I have some high profile people trying to help me get in, and it is a 50/50 chance at this point. Either way, I greatly look forward to my next Himalayan adventure and will report back to you in a few weeks.

Final Destination, Nepal Edition

There is a popular movie series called Final Destination depicting graphic accidental deaths. It is quite intriguing, showing how cause and effect can lead to bizarre, fatal situations. For instance, a person leaves something on the stove, which catches fire, and then the person comes in to put it out with the bathroom towel, which naturally catches fire, so the person climbs down the fire escape, which malfunctions, and the person falls to the ground, and is then beheaded by the ladder falling down on them.


--Painting at a temple in a Tibetan refugee camp in Pokhara--

Accidental deaths have played a prominent role in my experience here in Nepal the last week. It all started when my friend Gautam told me a story of his friend, a Sherpa man from the mountains, who spent his early years as a trekking guide before marrying his Austrian trekking client and moving to Austria. He and his wife had just eaten dinner at Gautam’s house in Kathmandu two weeks before. The day before I met with Gautam, the man was going on a hike in the Alps and a freak avalanche came down and killed him.

The next day, my friend invited me to come to a bar near a major intersection close to my neighborhood. I declined because I had to leave for the mountain town of Pokhara the next morning. Within an hour of that call, a city bus that was racing two other buses in a reckless and juvenile competition, sped out of control onto a crowded sidewalk, killing six people and injuring dozens. The locals were enraged and torched all three racing buses to a crisp as they fought off police and blocked Kathmandu’s major highway for three hours.

Two days ago, my friend and I were attending a Tibetan cultural performance in Pokhara, which was meant to raise money for Tibetan schools. Our friend, a comic, was the M.C. With about 45 minutes to go in the show, two members of rival Tibetan refugee camp gangs started exchanging words, and one smashed his motorcycle helmet over the other’s head. After some punches were exchanged, the other took out a 2 foot long knife (pretty much a sword) and stabbed the other right in the center of his chest plate below his ribs. Many people screamed and evacuated the concert hall right in the middle of a performance. As my friend and I looked on, the boy’s friends helped him out of the concert hall. About 20 feet from us, we saw him, with 14 inches of the knife handle sticking out from his chest and his shirt soaked with blood. He thankfully survived after two full bags of blood transfusions.

Yesterday, my friend and I were returning from Pokhara in a taxi, and as we approached the hill to the monastery, came to a stop. I looked ahead and saw a dump truck full of rocks stopped in the middle of the road. Beneath the truck was what
appeared to be a man doing some maintenance under the truck. However, the driver got a better look at him and saw he was actually dead. We got out and saw that an 18-year old boy from the nearby Handicapped Handicraft village (a place similar to Goodwill employing handicapped people) had been run over by the dump truck. The accident was not caused by reckless behavior, but by unfortunate happenstance. Just as the truck was coming up the corner, building up speed for the steep hill, his front tire clipped the handicapped boy’s crutch and the boy fell down and his head was run over by the rear tire. The top of the boy’s skull was severed and his brain had become dislodged about 3 feet away. A stream of blood flowed down the hill, indicating that the accident had happened within a minute or so of our arrival. The driver had fled and there were no eyewitnesses. Even though the accident happened within a few feet of a town’s main intersection, we were the first on the scene. I said some prayers that the boy’s spirit might find it’s way to a better place, believing that his spirit was violently flung from his body (how ghosts are made).

It is a very quiet town with very little traffic, so the people were in total shock. Some women cried and some young boys went closer to get a look at the carnage. Some people from the handicraft village arrived later, and apparently expressed their rage at the situation by setting fire to the inside of the truck. The police came to restore order and the crowd was relatively calm after that. My friend requested that I take some photos of the accident, the least graphic of which I am putting here.

The incident hit close to home at our monastery, as the truck was headed to dump rocks for a construction project we are working on. Those rocks never arrived, and sadly, the boy will never again make it to work at the handicraft village.

The lure of marrying an American

On Sunday, I attended a most unusual wedding. A 43-year-old California man married a 22-year-old Tibetan woman. The two had only met ten days earlier. Arranged marriages like this are typically done for immigration purposes only, but this was, by all accounts, a love marriage that happened to be arranged. The arranger was a prominent Tibetan Buddhist teacher. The woman was his niece and the man was his close disciple. The man looked just like Johnny Depp and taught meditation to juvenile offenders in Oakland. The woman was stunningly beautiful with a million dollar smile and a joyful demeanor. She was still studying at the high school level at a Tibetan refugee camp in Northern India, but spoke English with ease.

A wild, old Tibetan man officiated the ceremony with a series of prayers, mantras and well-wishes to the couple. The groom’s brother, who looked like a Madame Tussauds Wax Museum replica of Brad Pitt in his Seven Years in Tibet role, then led the couple through the exchange of vows and rings (minus the kissing the bride part, which would have been culturally inappropriate). They did cut a cake and put pieces in each other’s mouths, which was viewed with puzzled amazement by the Tibetan family of the bride.

The Tibetan word for wedding can literally be translated as “setting for drinking beer” and so, naturally, we then commenced with several hours of beer drinking and merriment. After the feast, we settled down for a series of animated games of Uno, the classical Mattel card game of numbers and colors. Luck was on my side that day, and I managed to win five games.

I have been asked to marry people in South Asia for immigration purposes several times. The first happened in 2000, when I stayed at a Tibetan refugee camp in South India. I became well-acquainted with a married Tibetan couple and their young son. We exchanged phone numbers and addresses and when I returned to the U.S., a strange letter awaited. The man had managed to get refugee asylum in the U.S., but his wife was not able to join him. The wife therefore wrote me directly to ask that I marry her so she can come to the U.S. too. She included a sexy photograph of herself as well, which struck me as a little strange considering she was already happily married and wanted to marry me only so she could be with her husband. After consulting with some people, I decided against the proposal.

When you marry someone for immigration purposes so they can come to the U.S., you invariably have to do a lot of lying, some of which is at the felony level. I have several friends who have gone through with it anyway, knowing they can divorce after five years and still help the foreigner out. To have the marriage accepted by the Department of Immigration, both parties have to go through intense grilling and scrutiny. You are sometimes asked intimate questions about the other’s genitals and sexual prowess to see if you hesitate or answer as naturally as someone who is already married. If they are convinced you are lying and don’t really know or love your supposed spouse, they may reject the marriage and send the spouse back to their home country. The American could also get jail time if their lying can be proven.
Someone I know recently arranged an immigration marriage between an American and a Tibetan girl. When the two met, they decided that they liked each other and would try it out as a legitimate love marriage. A friend of mine who used to live in the same house with them said they do a lot of quarreling, but they are still together.

Sometimes, foreigners will marry Nepali women for their own immigration purposes. My European friend has a fake Nepali wife arranged through an agent whom he has no relations with. Thanks to the arrangement, he can get a year-long Nepali visa for only $10 a month that can be renewed each year. A typical visa costs $60 a month and is only valid for 5 months. For her trouble, the Nepali girl receives a salary and can be granted a divorce when she is ready to settle down for real.

One of my friends on the Nepal program in 1999/2000 married her Nepali trekking guide after they fell in love. She moved back with him to Milwaukee, where they fell out of love after a few months and separated. Both of them later remarried and lived happily ever after in the U.S.

Many people here have an obsession with going to the U.S. to work. In their minds, it is glamorous and lucrative and as soon as they touch down on U.S. soil, they will be able to start raking it in. Most of them don’t realize that working illegally on a tourist visa can get you deported and rarely pays above minimum wage. They also don’t tend to factor in the astronomical cost of living in the U.S., which is easily 10 times that of Nepal. (You can buy a meal at a restaurant here for 70 cents and get a decent hotel room for $2.50). The airfare to the U.S. is also around 5 times the annual income for a Nepali (not an exaggeration). The success stories of “a friend of a friend” who went to the U.S. on a tourist visa and is now thriving are enough to keep the American dream alive and well in the hearts of Nepalis and keep immigration marriage requests coming for Americans throughout the Nepal.

1.6.09 from Kathmandu: Snowy Paradise

Helambu is heaven on Earth. In the book I put together called Compassionate Action, I have a chapter on this region, which the Tibetans call Yolmo. It is considered a paradise for Buddhist practice. Ian Baker discussed this region with Chatral Rinpoche, and he wrote, “Beyond Yolmo’s visible terrain of mountains, streams and forests, (Chatral Rinpoche) said, lies an inner level corresponding to the flow of intangible energies in the physical body. Deeper still, the subtle elements animating the environment merge with the elements present within the practitioner—the secret level. Finally, at the innermost level lies a paradisiacal dimension revealed through an auspicious conjunction of person, place and time. Chatral Rinpoche contended that this is not merely a metaphor for the enlightened state, but an ever-present, if hidden, reality.”

Chatral Rinpoche wrote about Yolmo, “…Surrounded by moats of water and walls of earth and rock, graced perpetually by clouds, mist and rain, the valley is naturally sealed from the outer world. If from among hundreds there are a few endeavoring to practice Dharma from their hearts, I say ‘Come to this place for the attainment of Buddhahood in this life.’”

It sounded like a perfect place to spend my New Year’s holiday.

On December 31st, I woke up at 1 a.m. to a strange sound—a heavy downpour. It only rains in December in Kathmandu “once in a blue moon.” Sure enough, on the blue moon day, it rained heavily. This was great news for me, because it meant that up in the mountains, where I was headed, there would be plenty of fresh snow to greet me.

I left the monastery at 5 a.m. and walked an hour in the dark to the bus stand. I had no idea what was in store for me. It turns out the $1.50 for the 5 hour bus ride was like putting six quarters into a mechanical bull riding machine at a bar in Texas. The single-lane mountain road descending into the mountain valley of Helambu had gigantic ruts and potholes throughout, made worse by the fresh rain. I bumped my head on the bus ceiling no fewer than five times. Once, when the guy next to me got up from his seat, the seat itself flew up about 3 feet in the air and onto the bus floor.

I survived the ordeal and met a local man who was going in the same direction as I, a village called Tarkegyang. It was 3 straight hours of uphill climbing, but the waterfalls and spectacular mountain scenery eased the pain in my legs and lungs. I was delighted to discover plenty of snow in my village, and after checking into my hotel, got to work making a snowman. I usually try to build an epic snow creature at least 9 feet high (one of which made the front page of a local newspaper in Northern Wisconsin two years ago), but since dark was fast approaching, I scaled it down a bit.

My quaint lodge, called Mountain View, offered a room for $1.35. I was the only guest and become well acquainted with the lodge owner, who thankfully spoke Tibetan. (Most people in this mountainous area speak a unique dialect that combines Tibetan and Nepali). He cooked up a New Year’s Eve feast for me that included steamed dumplings stuffed with cabbage picked fresh from his snowy garden, an omelet, and a pint of Everest beer. I am quite fond of games, especially around the holidays, so he taught me a popular Nepali card game called Marriage. The game involves three full decks of cards and took me three full nights to learn. By the end of my stay, I became quite adept at the game and managed to score a 45 in one game, which was considered by the hotel owner to be quite an achievement.

That night it descended into single digits Fahrenheit, but I stayed warm with six layers of clothing, a heavy-duty sleeping bag, and a thick blanket to top things off. The next morning, I set out on a steep, snowy trail that would take me to Chatral Rinpoche’s famous three-year retreat center in a place called Lhakang. The trail was very peaceful and quiet, with the only disturbance coming from the machine-gun fluttering of a family of mountain grouse. As I reached the mountaintop and began my descent to Lhakang, I met a menacing-looking local mountain man with a curved machete prominently displayed on his belt. He confirmed I was on the right trail and I soon arrived at a cascading stream, where I had my lunch. I entered Chatral Rinpoche’s compound and was greeted by a huge black yak. Must be the security guard. As I came close, he threatened me with his horns, and so I took a detour to get around him.


As I circumambulated the temple, I saw something strange in the distance—a couple of large white monkeys! I didn’t think there were monkeys in the Nepali mountains and was quite perplexed. I heard some people chanting prayers in the distance and continued past the helicopter landing area to a row of ancient stupas. Below me, a large herd of goats ran over to their feeding troths. As I descended to the edge of the compound, I was greeted by a wild-looking Tibetan man with a dragon shirt named Sangye (Buddha in Tibetan). He was very friendly and invited me for lunch. When I gave him a copy of Compassionate Action, he jumped around joyfully like a leprechaun. He made me a delicious dish with fried potatoes, vegetables and yak cheese and introduced me to the other retreatants there. One man, who looked very much like a young Chatral Rinpoche, had been there 10 years. He told me that Chatral Rinpoche last came here in the spring of 2005 and that there was no longer a lama in the compound, so they were more or less doing their 3-year retreats on their own.

My new friends asked me to take some pictures of the thriving goat herd to give to Chatral Rinpoche, and they gathered all 88 goats from their respective fields for the photo shoot. They were all male goats, and so did a lot of head butting as they sparred at the feeding troth. We then walked up to the temple and they gave me a tour. Chatral Rinpoche’s portrait was painted on the wall along with his root teacher and the main figures of the Longchen Nyingthig lineage. There were also Buddhist figures important to the region painted on the wall. Chatral Rinpoche is known for embracing the local culture in addition to flawlessly preserving his own Tibetan Buddhist lineages. The Hindu/Buddhist shrine he built in Pharping in 2008 is an example of that.

My friends built a small snowman and we all posed for a photo in front of it. I hope to return next fall for a one-month retreat if I can get the necessary permissions. They gave me one of their goat herding sticks and it seemed to possess magic powers to prevent fatigue. The same hill that had taken me 45 minutes to climb down took me 30 minutes to climb straight up.

That New Year’s Day Evening I took a photo of the full moon that I had no idea my digital Powershot SX10 camera was capable of. I admit, I am quite proud of my 80x zoom. To celebrate the photographic achievement (and the New Years of course) I invented an exotic mountain drink that combined hot chocolate and a locally made coffee liqueur called Mustang Roksi.
The next day, I climbed to the top of the highest mountain in the area, and thanks to the magic stick was able to climb it one hour faster than local estimates. A Guru Padmasambhava stupa topped the peak of the mountain and circumambulating it, you could see mountain ranges in every direction. I have captured that on video here. I spent four hours doing meditation and prayers there (and taking pictures of course), the best of which you can see here.I made a smoke/incense offering in the large burner by the stupa and repaired a number of prayer flags that had been knocked down by the wind. This mountaintop felt like home to me and may very well be my favorite place in the world.


The next morning, I descended toward the river to visit a cave that Milarepa had meditated in. Milarepa is the most famous Tibetan-born Buddhist of all time and you can read about him here. I meditated in his cave for ½ hour after offering a large butter lamp (Buddhist candle) and it was easily the most poignant meditation of my life. Thanks to being supercharged by this experience (and with the magic stick of course), I made it from the cave to my destination (Thimbu, where I caught my bus) in less than half the time estimated by the locals.

Yolmo is truly a paradise for Buddhist practitioners and I will do whatever I can to return in the fall.

12.28.09 from Kathmandu: Monks and Blood-Guzzling Dogs

Many people have asked me what a monk is. Do they get married? Are they highly evolved spiritual beings? How do they become monks? Who supports them?

Monks are by definition celibate and live in monasteries away from society. Some of the monks here are orphans, some of them were sent by their parents to receive an education, and a handful came here because they wanted to pursue the spiritual life. They are supported by local and foreign patrons of the monastery, and some by their families. They receive spending money when they are asked by a sponsor, for instance, to say prayers for a deceased or ill family member.

Monks are students in a same-gender boarding school, which happens to focus on religious topics such as rituals, prayers, meditation, and philosophy. As you know, I teach them English and they sometimes receive other kinds of secular instruction as well. As with any school, you have your students who would rather play than learn, and those who have an insatiable intellectual curiosity. The former often times become householders when they reach their 20’s and they have received an education. The latter may stay on and get the equivalent of a Ph.D. in Buddhism at a Buddhist University or a monastery study program and become teachers or leaders for the next generation of monk-students or Western Buddhist students.

Every Friday is song day in my middle school class, and over Christmas I taught them such classics as Frosty the Snow Man and Jingle Bells. Along with singing the songs, we had highly animated dance moves choreographed for every verse. If I would’ve brought my video camera, it may well have become the biggest YouTube sensation since the Philippino prison workers did the Michael Jackson Thriller dance. Maybe next time.

The most notorious resident of the monastery is Kali, a ferocious black dog that bites pretty much everyone not wearing a monk’s robe. The dog’s name comes from the Hindu Goddess Kali, who is considered to be the most avid blood guzzler in the universe. In Nepal, Hindus kill many thousands of goats, sheep, buffalo, and chickens at her shrines and spray the blood on her statue to satiate her thirst. In the movie Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, all of the blood sacrifices that go on, including human sacrifices, are done in her honor.

Kali the dog has seen me many times per day every day for about two months, but still can’t resist lunging at me for a good leg munch once in a while. I thought we had a truce going until I came home one evening last week from my friend’s house. The other three dogs recognized me and didn’t bother getting up from the chairs they were laying in. About 3 feet from the hallway of the building I lived, Kali jumped up and clamped her chompers right into the back of my knee. I yelled at her and took a swing with my foot. My shoe was not all the way on, and flew off my foot about 30 feet into the air to the top of the monastery roof. The monastery caretaker intervened and helped to subdue the seemingly rabid demon-dog, but not before I had a painful wound on my leg. I now carry a stick to ward off attack.

12.23.09 from Kathmandu: Pharping

I first heard about Thinley Norbu Rinpoche in 2004 from my friend Adam in Nepal. I was told he was an other-worldly, amazing spiritual master, but kind of scary at the same time because of his dynamic energy and powers. It was rumored that it was nearly impossible to meet him now days, because of his advanced age, reclusive nature, and protective students. I was intrigued. Thinley Norbu Rinpoche arrived in Nepal last month, amidst much fanfare to inaugurate a monastery. An arch was constructed over the main highway in Kathmandu next to the airport to display a message welcoming him. Even though he was at the monastery leading ceremonies, it was still “not possible” to meet him according to various sources. I basically gave up on the prospect and assumed that he left the country while I was in Malaysia. While at my Tibetan friend’s bookstore last week, however, I heard from my British friend that he was still at the monastery for a few more days.

Last Friday, I hopped on a bus to Pharping, the town where I lived during the fall of 2004. The bus was packed and the roof was only 5’10” tall (plenty high for the average Nepali), so I had to stand in a bent position for the bumpy 2 hour ride. I was very happy to see my old town again and went to the guesthouse I had stayed five years earlier to get my $4/night room. I then walked to the home of one of Chatral Rinpoche’s close disciples to get some advice on the best way to make offerings to Chatral Rinpoche (who no longer meets people). He kindly asked his wife to drive me to Chatral Rinpoche’s home to set up an appointment with Chatral Rinpoche’s daughter.

Later that evening, I walked to the spectacular new monastery with offerings in hand and joined about 200 others in the beautifully decorated temple. We read through a Tibetan offering prayer that went on for about 90 minutes and featured melodious chanting and many prayers I was familiar with. Thinley Norbu Rinpoche had not made an appearance during these nightly prayers for three days. As the ceremony neared the end, I looked to my left and an elderly man walked into the monastery wearing large trekking boots and a huge poofy jacket. He had amazing long hair that made him look like a mystical wizard. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that this was the great Thinley Norbu Rinpoche. He walked around for a while to inspect the offerings and sat for a few minutes in his throne in the front before leaving through the back door. We all assumed that was the last we would see of him that day.

After the ceremony, I asked one of his assistants if I could meet him, and naturally, was told it was not possible, but I could get my mala blessed if I put it in a bag. I filled the bag with an offering, ceremonial white scarf, and a copy of my book on Chatral Rinpoche to accompany the mala and gave it to the assistant. As I walked into the courtyard, I noticed everyone was frozen and looking in awe at something in the distance. Thinley Norbu Rinpoche was talking with some friends of his close disciples. His five person security detail was not pleased with all the loitering students and asked them to “keep it moving.” I managed to drift back and wait for the right opportunity to meet the great master. I made it through a few layers of security and then spoke in Tibetan with one of his guards to ask if I could listen to the Dharma talk he was giving to one of the people he was meeting. This was the “secret password” and got me within a few feet of the legend.

I managed to get in line with some “special exceptions” to the doesn’t-meet-anyone rule (such as a child with a terminal illness) and prepared my offering. As my turn came, I introduced myself and presented him with a copy of my book, which featured old photos of his father Dudjom Rinpoche, and a chapter on the relationship his father had with Chatral Rinpoche. He seemed genuinely interested and asked me where I was from. He made a joke that my name Zach sounded wrathful. I shook his hand and pressed it to my head for a rare blessing and he put a white scarf around my neck. I thanked him and floated the two miles back to my guesthouse in the pitch dark.

The next morning, I get up early to meet with Chatral Rinpoche’s daughter and delivered 25 copies of the book Compassionate Action for her to distribute to his English-speaking disciples. She asked for my help publishing a few books of one of Chatral Rinpoche’s Western disciples and I gratefully received a protection cord, blessed pills, a holy text, and other sacred objects.

After breakfast, I hired a local man to take me to all the monasteries and holy sights in Pharping. Many spectacular photos can be found here.

I took the bus home in a way more accommodating to my height, by riding on the storage rack on the roof with about 50 Nepalis in their 20’s. Aside from the tree branches that regularly brushed our heads as we descended the mountain road, it was an enjoyable ride that offered a beautiful view of the Himalayas and the countryside.

12.14.09 from Kathmandu

Between dodging cows, chickens and goats and negotiating tractors and a swarm of motorcycles on both sides, Kathmandu is probably one of the most challenging cities in the world to drive. One of our monks, a 17-year old Tibetan boy, just received his driver’s permit and we are using him to drive the monastery van from place to place. On one of his first trips, a senior monk instructed him on when to hit the clutch and the brake and when to shift based on his experience playing video games that involved driving. I myself took the role of driver’s ed instructor when we took the van to get another monk’s foot injury looked at. He was quite scared of the higher gears (perhaps because of past experience stalling on steep uphills) and I had to plead with him to shift into 4^th gear as the RPM’s hit 9000 on the highway around Katmandu. Fortunately, though, he finally became comfortable with the higher gears and showed great improvement from that trip alone.

As the assistant of a spiritual teacher, you must have great flexibility to do anything and go anywhere at any time. Thus, on November 27^th, I was told that I may be going to Hong Kong the following day and asked for my passport so plane tickets could be arranged. I went to the travel agent on the day of the flight to pick up tickets, and only after a few hours did my name clear the wait list. While in the area, I went to the Royal Palace, which is now a museum after the illegitimate king and his murderous son (see previous entry) were kicked out of the palace. It was quite fascinating to see all the royal rooms, including the king and queen’s bedroom, office, dining room and so on. The mixture of Buddhist and Hindu iconography throughout the palace was particularly interesting for me, as the previous king was considered an emanation of a Hindu god and I didn’t expect him to have loyalties to Buddhism as well.

The splendor of the palace rooms transitioned into the macabre sorrow of the 2001 royal massacre sight, which was an adjacent billiards hall. The building where the massacre took place was dismantled but signs commemorated the events and there were some bullet marks still visible in some of the walls left standing. Later that day, I talked to my Nepali friend about my “conspiracy theories” and he confirmed my belief that the criminal-minded prince most recently kicked out (who survived the massacre) was most likely the one who carried out the plan.

After the palace, I made my way to Mike’s Breakfast to purchase an authentic American pumpkin pie to bring to my friend’s Thanksgiving party. Mike was a Peace Corps volunteer in the 90’s and founded this American food oasis about 15 years ago. When I was on the UW-Madison study abroad program in 2000, we enjoyed the food and atmosphere on several occasions. I then stopped by the fancy grocery store in town to pick up ice cream and beer for the party and caught a local bus to my friend’s house.

The Thanksgiving party was quite the scene—primarily ex-pat Americans who had lived in Nepal for 20 or more years, as had the hosts (the Director of my UW Nepal Program and her husband). To preserve the spirit of the original American hippies who first came to Kathmandu in the 70’s, marijuana-laced desserts were even past around.

The primary cooks for the feast were Manbahadur, a chain-smoking tough guy Nepali with a heart of gold and Baidai’s son. Baidai and Manbahadur were the cooks for the UW program when I went on it 10 years ago. Baidai died of cancer, but his son took over for him and worked for the UW program until it shut down in 2005 due to political instability. Hopefully, the UW will renew the program soon and they can feed a new generation of college students with their considerable culinary talents. I ate as much as I should due to the spectacular and rare nature of the foods available (at the monastery there is only rice and lentils).

That same night, I left with 14 monks to the airport with a plan of going to Hong Kong. That’s when things got interesting. The customs officials at the Kathmandu airport had been drinking and it was closing in on 11 p.m. They felt like getting some spending money by essentially hassling the Tibetan monks in an effort to get bribes. This was in part due to the fact that some of the monks didn’t speak Nepali, yet had Nepali passports. One monk, a big burly character who only spoke Tibetan, had in his mind to answer every question posed to him with the location he obtained the passport, “Sindhupar Chowk.” Therefore, when the official asked his name, he replied with great enthusiasm and his finger in the air, “Sindhupar Chowk!” When he was asked what country he was headed to, he replied with great vigor, “Sindhupar Chow!.” This incident provided many laughs for the whole group throughout the trip.

The other monks’ passports were questioned and backup documents were demanded. One of the monks took a taxi back to the monastery to retrieve the back-up documents, but this did not satisfy the officials. They wanted a bribe. One of the group leaders in Hong Kong talked to one of the Nepali airport officials and promised them that “Tenzin from Boudha” would give them whatever sum of money they wanted if they just let the group through to board the plane. (Boudha is the Tibetan part of Kathmandu). The official took down the cell phone number and stamped all of the passports so we could leave.

To be continued... Photos at www.flickr.com/photos/crunkman29/