I Saw the Dalai Lama!

The veranda of the Dalai Lama's temple. The yellow fabric is draped over the throne where the Dalai Lama sits during his talks.

Last night the rain was torrential and thundery and loud and the electricity went out, so I wrote a little in my journal and wrote five post cards…by flashlight, while I was under the covers, since the space heater of course wasn’t working. I even draped my new yak wool shawl over the bed as an extra blanket, so I did rather well. Anyway, sometimes the thunder would stop or even the rain would stop, and I’d be convinced that I’d go to sleep soon. But it would start back up again.

I put on my Tibetan chupa today. It’s made of heavy dark blue cotton with a cotton Thai-style wrap-around blouse of a dull grey cotton made interesting by strips of metallic silver threat and strips of turquoise chenille woven in with the grey cotton.

This is one of the buildings at the guesthouse, Cloud's End.

Those of us who are staying at Cloud’s End had breakfast in the dining hall, which has a beautiful but cold white marble floor and an impressive fireplace with an ancient stele on the wall over the mantle. This particular building is recent and hopefully will someday have more furnishings and pictures in the big, cold and echoic room.

For breakfast, I was a bit surprised the food was very Western. There was toast and jelly, oatmeal or cornflakes (I had oatmeal), and a bowl of fruit—I had an orange and a little banana, which I broke up into pieces and mixed in my oatmeal, though I still wished it had some cinnamon. I also had a glass of orange juice and a cup of chai. Though I ate heartily, I would rather have rice, dhal, and chapatti for breakfast. John said, “It’s funny how they think we want to eat the same American food that we normally avoid at home.”

This is the fireplace in the dining room at Cloud's End

Here I am on a straw mat, waiting near the gate through which the Dalai Lama steps and it turns out that we were supposed to have a radio in order to listen to the teachings in English; I had assumed the radios were passed out when you got to the gate or someplace. Now I’m feeling terribly stupid and embarrassed—I won’t understand a word for the two morning hours—but hopefully I can dash in someplace that sells small radios with headphones. A couple people said it was in an e-mail, and they added that it was an e-mail that came rather late, but I looked out for every e-mail from Buddha Path and didn’t read anything about “Remember to bring a radio with headphones.”

However, Richard said that just yesterday Shantum had mentioned radios and a few people went into a store to buy them. And I as usual didn’t have my head screwed on properly! I had altitude sickness and was gawking at Tibetans, monkeys, and fabric and stuff in shop windows. Fabric is so much prettier than an ordinary radio. So there I was, completely oblivious when I could have gone into a shop with the others and gotten a radio. I’ll just blame the altitude sickness, even though this sounds like my usual stupidity. Given Samaya’s comment about how pale I was looking, I may have been sicker than I wanted to believe. And coming to think of it, given that my nephew has been diagnosed with ADD, it’s very likely that I also have it. But that’s just making excuses for being a total loser.

Marsha offered to go with me for a radio at the beginning of lunch break, and we’ll meet up with Shantum and the Dharma Bums at Chonor House, the restaurant that Shantum indicated last night. Conveniently, Marsha remembers where it was. I’m so glad she’s willing and even happy to do this. It’s amazing how scatterbrained I can be. It’s like I’m the high-maintenance sangha member on this trip, even though I’m normally totally independent and a loner. Ironic. You’d think that after a few years of practicing meditation I’d be less scatter-brained.

Monks are chanting, the crowd is getting bigger and bigger and so I’m sharing my mat with a couple of Tibetan women. Crows are cawing and birds chirping overhead. Sometimes it starts to rain but then it decides not to and now the sun is starting to actually beam—I should put on some sunscreen….

I just saw the Dalai Lama from just about a yard away!! Some monks came through the gate, one carrying a large metal bowl smoking with incense, and behind them walked an old monk holding something mostly yellow and stick-like, probably a rolled-up thangka, and right behind him came the Dalai Lama, who grinned and patted the monk in front of him heartily on the back. I grinned, and many people laughed. I watched the Dalai Lama go forward slowly. He smiled and waved at various members of the crowd. Eventually I couldn’t see him, and a bunch of red- and brown-robed Tibetans walked behind him. I was grinning as silly as can be and had a warm and fuzzy blissed-out feeling.

I looked forward, suddenly aware of much movement in the crowd as people turned to the right to face the temple instead of the walkway. I looked up and saw many red-clad monks standing on the temple’s balcony. The balcony itself is painted a bright yellow and has bright red banners, trimmed with black and yellow, strung all the way across on both levels so it was a festive display of red and yellow. Now the monks are seated, I think facing away from us and chanting. Many monks are chanting. It’s a soothing sound. I might meditate while the Dalai Lama is speaking, since I don’t have a radio. It’ll be rather different this afternoon—hopefully—when I’ll hopefully have a radio at last. What a total flake.

2
Yesterday Etiel said that she’s decided she didn’t want to go to Tibet after all, because she’d like to stay a little longer in Dharamsala. I smiled and said, “When it’s not such a madhouse.” But I hoped it wasn’t because of my personality. I’ve been flaky as usual, of course. On the bright side, I’ll have no roommate, so I’ll have some solitude and do quite a bit of yoga and meditation in the hotel rooms, even if it’s only in the evenings.

I lucked out with the radio situation: the Dalai Lama was just chanting all morning, and Richard and I followed along in his copy of the English translation of the Tibetan Dhammapada.
We went to Chonor House for lunch. As I headed for a table on the balcony to set down my paraphernalia, I passed Shantum, who said with a smile, “Fancy dress, huh, Susan?”
I said, “Yeah, I’m in costume!” even though I didn’t feel like I was in costume and have worn this chupa to work many times. My coworkers are accustomed to my weird clothing.

The hilltop restaurant had a simple buffet of Chinese/Tibetan food, but some of us had to use the toilet first. We stood in line downstairs, but someone said another toilet was upstairs, so Sheila, Shantum and I went upstairs and stood in a line almost as long. However, as we went up the stairs, we were treated to many beautiful framed embroidery and appliqué pictures, mostly Tibetan. A large appliquéd Tibetan flag hung over the stairs. While waiting in line, I commented on the beautiful needlework and took a better look at a couple of the works of art, some hanging above a couch. As I did so, I noticed a mala lying on the back of the couch; it was mostly wooden beads but with two pale blue glass beads and one silver skull-shaped bead. I said, “Oh, look, someone left their mala! In a manic goofy mood, I added, “Well, gee, if they don’t come back for it, then finders keepers!”

Sheila said, cheerfully rather than sternly, “No, no, bad karma!” Duh.

“Oh, yeah, I guess you have a point.” I wasn’t even thinking about the precept that includes not taking anything that isn’t freely given, despite my having done the Mindfulness Trainings. Incorrigible! Maybe I should stop picking pennies up off the pavement. Whatever I do, I need to banish thoroughly all thoughts that are simply repeats of things my mother said throughout my childhood, such as “Finders keepers.” Question authority! Such comments have been, I suppose, stamped on my memory. I felt rather foolish despite my euphoria. Nonetheless, I was still concerned about whether the person who lost the misplaced mala would come back to get it.
Sheila reassured me, “They’ll come back for it.”

“Are you sure they’ll figure out where they left it?” I asked, looking at the beads and picturing someone running up the stairs for them. I wondered how long they had lain on the back of the couch.

While Sheila was in the restroom, it occurred to me that, if nothing else, an employee would find the beads and give them to someone who’s poor. I remembered the pushy beggars on the steps as we went up to the restaurant. When Sheila came out of the bathroom, I said, “Hey, do you think an Indian beggar would like a mala? Just kidding!”
Sheila said in a comic voice and with a wagging finger, “Ah, you funny girl!”

We had lunch on a balcony with a fabulous view overlooking the valley; we could also see the monastery and monks moving like ants on the balconies of a large white monastery on a hillside. I had tea, rice, stir fry broccoli and pink carrots, rosemary potatoes, and stir fry cabbage. I sat with Sheila, Samaya, and Shantum, who sat down after we had already scooted the chairs so that none had their back to the amazing mountainous view. Shantum asked, “Why are the chairs arranged like this?” Samaya and Sheila explained that it was for the view.

The conversation at some point turned to Shantum’s kids, who seem very well-behaved when we’re around. Samaya asked if they’re “really as perfect as they seem around visitors.” Shantum said that the older one (Nandini) is very good, “but the younger one has been acting like a brat.” I was a bit surprised at such a harsh judgment coming from Shantum.
Sheila asked, “How old is she?”
“She’s three,” Shantum said.
“Well, you see, that’s why.”
“She contracted lice,” Shantum said. He went on to explain that she’s been fussy and scratchy because she had lice. Well, it’s no wonder! While we were at the Seth house, she had a couple of times flopped down on Shantum’s lap and he had held her while he was talking. She definitely did not come across as a brat.

During our lunch break, Marsha asked around for a radio at Chonor House. It was great having her take care of me; she wasn’t timid about speaking up. Shantum let me use a spare radio, a small and simple one with an antenna. Rachel let me use her headphones, but I have to return them by tonight. Shantum confirmed with Kathy that I could use her extra set of headphones, which she didn’t have with her but could lend me later, at Cloud’s End. It was rather crazy, but at last, I have a radio and headphones to use throughout the Dalai Lama’s talks.

Everyone has been your mother in a previous life…seems like everyone in this sangha has been my mother.

3
During the Dalai Lama’s afternoon talk, he told the Jataka Tale about the lioness and cubs, how she was about to eat them out of desperation, and that particular incarnation of Siddhartha Gautama—or the Bodhisattva, as his previous incarnations are called in the Jataka Tales—plunged to his death so the lion could eat him instead of her babies. It was about generosity. Still, it doesn’t truly put me in the mood to jump off a cliff so a lion and her cubs can eat. Really, I have a great deal of writing to do in this lifetime, and I think that’s what’s kept me from committing suicide even during my most despairing moments. Practicing generosity, the Dalai Lama points out, is benefiting yourself. Sure, it feels good to help others and to in the process forget \about my lame ass self; generosity takes away depression. Sharing, generosity, almsgiving—such as getting some tea and powdered milk to donate to the monks and nuns who are serving the crowd during the Dalai Lama’s talks. They walk around carrying big teapots, and Marsha noticed that some people give them donations of tea boxes and powdered milk. It’s butter tea and I didn’t bring my tumbler, but I can bring it next time and find some tea to donate.

I’ve been experiencing a lot of generosity on this retreat. The group waited for me at Gandhi Smriti, and everyone’s been helping me out: with the radio, altitude pills, tissues to use in the bathroom, Enid letting me use the nice bed on the first night, Samaya telling me I look pale and suggesting I ask Shantum to stop at a pharmacy, everyone looking out for me and making room for me. Of course, I can’t forget to include Jagdish getting my taxi driver’s attention, jumping into the cab, and giving me a hug. I really needed that; it was the right moment. It’s as if everyone in the sangha is indeed my mother. While we were at Shantum’s house, he said, “Your body is my body. We should be not only a collection of individuals, but a sangha, interconnected with each other as a whole.”

But part of my brain is telling me that I should also help out sangha members, and I haven’t so far. I don’t know what to do to help. Maybe I’ve never been anyone’s mother in a previous life... with the one possible exception of cats. I’m nurturing with cats, if nothing else.
Leaving, the Dalai Lama waved in the direction of the crowd where I was. I waved back and happily smiled. Despite my seeming uselessness, I certainly felt euphoric, thanks to the Dalai Lama. While the crowd was getting up, Etiel got my attention from behind a railing and soon I was also with Lynn. She was on my side of the railing, so we spoke first and moved toward the railing, to wait out the crowd for a bit. Samaya and Sheila and Mimi were also there, and I agreed to go to a coffee shop with them. The Dalai Lama’s talk ended at three, so we had an hour before the English language translator’s talk in the Kalachakra Hall, at the Dalai Lama’s temple (we’re there now, as I write this).

The crowd leaving the teachings was congested. The crowd gently pushed us along at a remarkably slow pace and we held onto each other, forming a sort of chain. I mentioned my claustrophobia before it hit me for real—we had no personal space, no path through the crowd, only an ocean of people oozing out of the temple’s courtyard and down the path out onto the road, which was packed with people. Mostly red-clad monks surrounded us. I warned Sheila, who was right in front of me, “If my claustrophobia drives me crazy, I could be screaming and shoving everyone out of the way.” She laughed with me and expressed gratitude for the warning, and I added, “Not that I would really shove a bunch of monks around. Sounds like bad karma.”

We had moved through the crowd, through the street, till we had some breathing room, and Samaya said, “It’s three-thirty.” We only had half an hour before the next talk! So we turned and headed back, since it would take a long time to return to the temple, but on the way we stopped for big skeins of blessing strings and for mala beads before we got back to the temple.

4
At four pm, we attended the Dalai Lama’s translator’s talk in the Kalachakra Hall. It was back at the temple and in the center of the second floor. We went up a flight of stairs and turned left, and then we passed a hall in which someone was teaching a crowd in the Tibetan language. Outside the double doors leading into the Kalachakra Hall were shoe racks, and we took off our shoes and lined them up on the wooden racks before setting foot inside the big thangka-decorated hall. The room has several columns that, like the walls, display colorful thangkas, Tibetan Buddhist hangings framed in brocade. The floors are covered with cloth, which in turn is covered with meditation cushions. Everyone goes in and picks a cushion, and we sat along one wall, closer to the back than the front. The Dalai Lama’s translator, a younger monk in red robes, appeared at the front of the hall, and some people bowed and scraped and he told them that wasn’t necessary. He fortunately used a microphone and spoke very clear English in a pleasant voice. In fact, his is the same voice speaking English on the radio during the Dalai Lama’s talks. The following are the notes that I took during the talk.

He gave a very eloquent and engaging talk about the four noble truths. He also talked at some length about being devoid of inherent existence, which basically means that something is made of a bunch of things that come together, and a thing or a person is constantly changing so you can’t put your finger on what this thing or this person is. He talked about mental fabrications, such as someone having a hallucination and describing a flower that’s supposedly sitting on a table; one person describes the imaginary flower differently than do other people.

He said, “Say you’re dreaming. You’re so hungry you dream about eating food, suppose someone says wait here, and all this food disappears. This obsession with food doesn’t go away when you wake up. Wherever did it go? It was just a dream, it wasn’t real, it was a part of your own mind. It appears that dream food is real food. Everything you see around you is nothing but a dream. But don’t think that we’re dreaming now. You do exist, but in a different way than you think you exist. There is a gap between appearance and reality. In reality, there is no such thing as solid and independent; as soon as you wake up, you have no such attachments to the dream. When you face reality, obsession disappears.”

Recommended reading:
Dalai Lama: How to See Yourself as You Really Are
By Nagajuna:
Fundamental Wisdom of the Middle Way
Precious Garland
Supplement to the Middle Way
Commentary on Bodhicitta
Ocean of Wisdom: Commentary on Nagajuna’s Wisdom of the Middle Way

5
Taxi Ride
In the taxi back to the guest house, I was in the front seat, clinging to the “Holy Mary handle” as my brother has called it, a bar on the roof by the window. This was after attending the Dalai Lama’s translator’s talk. It was a terrifying ride. Looking through the windshield, I kept thinking the driver would hit other taxis or pedestrians or bikers. When we were driving close to the ledge—the passenger’s seat was on the left, and until then I only sat on the right side in back. And so there was a sheer cliff just to my left, and I kept expecting to fall off. Fortunately, lively conversation took place in the back seat, and I was frequently turned to look at the other passengers, Shantum, Samaya, and Sheila. Gee, we all have names that begin with “S.”

The conversation had to do with among other things Vajrayana (or Tantric) Buddhism, which Shantum described as having “a lot of mumbo jumbo.” Like me, he considers compassion and lovingkindness more important than knowing how to do esoteric Tantric stuff. Furthermore, he’s quite skeptical about Vajrayana but then pointed out that Nicky, a Tibetan Buddhist monk from the USA, whom we’d be meeting tonight, has quite a different attitude and knows more about it.

Shantum’s also critical (for good reason!) of monks, at least in the Tibetan tradition. Sheila—or was it Marsha?—mentioned a friend who was caught off guard by a monk (I interpreted this as rape, but it may have been “only” harassment or attempted rape), which she totally didn’t see coming simply because he was a “monk.” Generalizing, Shantum pointed out that “Monks are nasty” and that “They’re boys in robes.” In the Tibetan tradition, they can start out in a monastery when they’re five years old, and they study to be monks without necessarily being especially spiritual, and eventually they might decide to not be a monk, now that they’ve been educated for nothing else and are a burden on their parents. Yeah, I remembered the book Being a Buddhist Nun when the subject of monks as sexual predators came up.

When we arrived at Cloud’s End, other white cars were already parked and a tall Caucasian monk in red Tibetan robes stood by one of the taxis, and Shantum said, “Nicky’s already here.” We got out of the car, much to my relief, and Shantum apologized for being late, but Nicky said he only just got here. Samaya and I introduced ourselves and shook hands with him, and we all went in. I went to my room in order to use the bathroom before going to the meeting, and Enid was already in there. (At dinner I learned she had gone to the room and spent the afternoon there to have some solitude.) She said, “Do you know who Nicky Breeland is?”
I said, “He’s the Buddhist monk we just met in the driveway.”

As we headed for the door, Enid explained that his mother was a major Vogue Magazine editor who coined the line, “Pink is India’s navy blue,” a comment that I recognized. We were both struck by the contrast between a Vogue editor and a Buddhist monk, one so worldly and the other so not.

“What could be more frivolous than a fashion magazine?” I said. “Actually, I say that even though I find fashion interesting from an aesthetic perspective.”
Enid said, “I like fashion. It’s really interesting.”
“I don’t like it in a let’s-promote-anorexia sort of way, but just in an artistic sort of way.” I could have added, as Ani DiFranco has sung of the fashion industry, “Women should be allies, not competitors,” referring to an attitude that the fashion industry promotes. I set my own fashions rather than follow them; sometimes things I want to wear become available anyway. I discovered this not long after 9/11, when I felt like wearing more Bohemian or Hippie-inspired clothing, and coincidentally embroidered kurtas appeared in catalogs.

For Nicky Breeland’s talk, I was one of the last people in the room and sat on the floor in front of everyone else. During the discussion, servants brought us a strange hot beverage that had ginger and honey in it; it was probably a variation on ginger lemon water. And it was in glasses and steaming hot.

Nicky Breeland is a Buddhist monk who runs the Tibet Center in NYC, and Shantum met him there twelve years ago; they’ve also met in Sarnath and Delhi. Nicky’s own teacher is here and has been coming to the teachings every day. Someone said, “A wise man changes himself.”
Nicky talked about Mahayana and Vajrayana Buddhism, which is an esoteric and tantric Tibetan practice that is for the purpose of gaining enlightenment in a big hurry. He talked about suffering and transcending suffering, having compassion for everyone (even those who are very wealthy, since they will not always have so much. The discussion was a lot about removing others’ suffering and being a bodhisattva.

Nicky said, “Initially you’re trying to remove your suffering rather than change others. If you have compassion for others but don’t acknowledge your own suffering, it’ll be pretty flimsy compassion. It is not enough to wish to remove your suffering and not enough to have compassion for others. You must also have the suffering of change.”

He said some misnomers about Hinayana Buddhism that I’m rather tired of hearing and reading. Theravada Buddhism is Hinayana, which Mahayana Buddhists (such as Tibetan and Zen) smugly call the lesser path. If it’s so “lesser,” then why do I get the distinct impression that what we Theravada Buddhists practice is the same as what the Buddha himself practiced? It is a tradition handed down directly from the Buddha’s original teachings, the Pali cannon.

Nicky said that the Mahayana aim is to work toward attainment of a state where we can help others. Um, guess what, the same goes for Hinayana, which is much closer to the Buddha’s own practice. I’m kind of tired of this dismissing Hinayana Buddhism as self-centered. If it’s so self-centered, then why do Hinayana Buddhists practice metta, loving-kindness? He said, “To pursue one’s own happiness is Hinayana,” but that’s merely what’s popular to say about Hinayana. Sure, Hinayana practice is about healing yourself, but you heal yourself in order to be more able to save the world. If you’re helpless and can’t even change yourself, then how do you think you’re going to save the world? I’m getting tired of Mahayana Buddhists spouting this arrogant misnomer. He also said, “Mahayana, out of wish to help all sentient beings, works to attain state of Buddhahood.” As if Hinayana doesn’t!

He also talked about being devoid of inherent existence and used a candle as an example. “Lots of ingredients make a candle (cotton, bee’s wax). Likewise, there are different me’s—the mind me, the physical me, the way I think about myself. That core “me” is changing moment by moment. According to that truth, as the Buddha used it, there’s no permanent me—the self is a bunch of parts put together because we think of ourselves as individuals. The candle is a changing thing that has seemed real—it exists in time and gets shorter and eventually disappears. Changeability makes it possible for us to develop, to become a Buddha.”

After the discussion, Nicky Breeland joined us for diner in the big cold dining room where we had breakfast. We had rice, dhal, a potato dish, roti, and another curry dish. I didn’t touch the mixture of plain green peas and square carrot bits, because I’m not a fan of peas. Desert was apple sauce mixed with yogurt and honey. Once again, I ate too much. Restraint! So far, I don’t think we’re doing anywhere near as much walking as we did on the pilgrimage, so it’s not like I’m getting lots of exercise to make up for my eating big meals.

We passed around birthday cards for Jagdish and John, and each of us signed the c cards. So Jagdish is six months older than I am.