Sister Yeshe

After the translator’s teaching, I went out into the courtyard and tied my two clusters of multicolored string to ropes in the foreigner’s section. The ropes hold up tent-like structures here and there. I went to Chonor House and wandered into the little shop just outside the restaurant and visible from the balcony where we eat lunch. I stepped outdoors and met up with the group at the balcony for dinner. Sister Yeshe is a Tibetan Buddhist nun who’s from Australia, and she joined us at dinner. She’s working with organizations that support nuns, mostly Western, and also Buddhist Dalits.

“Connecting with the energy” of nature—that’s a phrase care of Sheila. Pat and Gill (the funny British sisters) have been talking about a study showing that plants grow better if you’re nice to them. You should talk lovingly to them; plants that you swear at die. “The plant whisperer,” I said. Pat also said that plants taken care of by people who are depressive don’t grow as well as other plants. That might explain my rather bad luck with gardening in Topeka. Sheila mentioned a book called Eco-psychology; it’s an anthology, about 15 years old, that incorporates nature etc as spirituality.

When everyone finished eating and the conversation was loud, Shantum gently hit a fork against a glass, making it chime. He said, “This is the voice of the Buddha.” He explained, “The Buddha reminds you to come back to yourself,” as does the bell. “Anyway, blaah-blaah. Now we can go inside, upstairs, and blaah-blaah there.” We did just that, going upstairs to the Norbulingka Room, where we had “Strucks” with Sister Yeshe and a couple of Indian friends of hers whom I believe are Buddhist Dalits.

Although I’ve tried to suppress or ignore it, I have felt depressed since last night. It certainly hasn’t been as severe as my depression in Kansas customarily is, but I have had a sense of inferiority, a faint wish to be invisible, and a feeling of shame at being who I am. These are probably emotions that I’ve experienced all my life, but now that I’ve been meditating for several years, I’m more aware of such emotions and more inclined to observe them.

Sister Yeshe spoke to us about the Untouchable caste, because she is a member of an organization that helps the Untouchables and wants them to become Buddhists. She said, “Dalits do the worst kind of work, and atrocities happen to them every day.” She has been living in the slums, sleeping on the floor with a family of five. I was rather shocked that this still happens, especially on such a huge scale, in the twenty-first century.

“Slums and Buddhism go well together,” one of Yeshe’s friends pointed out, to our amusement.
The Untouchable, or Dalit, class is having a movement toward conversion to Buddhism, a movement that Doctor Ambeker, a contemporary of Gandhi, started more out of political than spiritual motivation. That is, Buddhism is casteless, and Ambeker came to the conclusion that in order to eliminate the Untouchable caste, Dalits had to give up Hinduism. To this day, Buddhist Dalits are trying to eliminate caste. Buddhism died out in India centuries ago, but this Dalit movement is helping to revive it, as is the large population of Tibetan refugees.

India is dominated by caste, and the information authorities have their own mindset. “It is embarrassing to some this is the state of India, especially around foreigners,” one of Yeshe’s Indian friends said.

“They’ve come a far way from where they were. The last president of India was a Dalit and was interested in Buddhism,” Shantum said.

Also, Shantum said, “They are the Indian sangha.” It seems to me like last year at Bodh Gaya he was dismissive of Dalit Buddhists, but I guess that was just some in particular, when we passed what looked like Theravada Buddhists and Shantum said that beggars can put on robes.
Tonight’s discussion really makes me want to read the book Untouchable, which I once checked out from the public library but didn’t get around to reading. Actually, I’d like to study up on Dalits in general, not necessarily just that book.

I was impressed with Yeshe and the causes that she works for: what amazing, compassionate, hard work. A self-absorbed part of my mind, however, became conscious that I am a truly useless human being. I grabbed onto that negative label and became acutely, painfully aware of being a totally useless and inadequate person. Another part of my mind harshly and scathingly chastised me for being so self-centered, so self-absorbed, as to think of such a thing. I should indeed forget about myself.

At some point far along in the discussion, we did our regular “Strucks.” Arturo said of the Children’s Village that it is a similar situation to the poverty and suffering in Spain. Someone mentioned Thich Nhat Hanh’s book Anger, which says that “the seed of violence or love and compassion is planted in children.” I scowled at the coffee table, thinking of my extremely unhappy childhood. I reminded myself that I’m in India and shouldn’t be so negative and gloomy here; I didn’t think I was capable of being depressed in India. Arturo also spoke of the impression these happy children, who have been displaced from Tibet, made. Sheila contrasted the children at the Tibetan Children’s Village with the children on the streets in Delhi.

Paula talked about the trek. She wasn’t sure she’d make it up the hill, and Jagdish had turned around and said, “Paula, stop thinking.”

Marsha turned to Yeshe and asked, “Why doesn’t India have compulsive education?”
Yeshe said, “It does. But it’s hard to keep it organized with over a billion people. There’s a baby born every two minutes. Under the circumstances, it’s amazing the country isn’t in total chaos.”
“And then there are these Australians moving into the country,” Shantum said, “adding to the population.” This was followed by much laughter.

Marsha pointed out, “She’s not having children,” which triggered more laughter.
When it was Inge’s turn, she said she was upset about “people sending their children away, until Paula said that’s what Jews did during the Holocaust.” The room was dead silent.
Etiel said, “Ever since I got into a plane to come here, I haven’t heard a child cry. I’ve seen many children all over.”

Stacy said, “You weren’t on my plane.”

Richard said that Shantum’s younger daughter was on the pilgrimage for the first ten days, and she never cried. I remembered the Dalit child crying in the dig, after we had stepped out of the Oracle’s temple. That may be the only time I’ve seen a child crying in India.

Mimi said, “The trek was about mindfulness, being in the present moment.” (I could have said the same thing). She “finally felt at home,” in part because she had a lack of fear.

I looked down at the coffee table and said, “During the trek, I didn’t use a mantra, but it was like meditation. You can’t be spacing off or daydreaming, when you’re carefully stepping on a bumpy rocky path or moving along a very narrow ledge of a mountain. The scenery was beautiful, and I remembered something I’d read about Shambhala, that it’s not a stereotypical paradise but rather it’s about being challenged and transformed…um, I thought the Oracle was bizarre—it was about ceremony and was just weird. And a cow steadily pushing past me reminded me of being in a crowd of monks, it was a gentle push.”

“A groovy group of people,” Yeshe said after we each spoke.

Sister Yeshe, a Western monastic herself, also works to help Western monastics, who come to India and are not supported and can’t stay in Tibetan monasteries. They often disrobe because of this lack of encouragement. Unlike Tibetans, they are not supported by the government, so they are in need of support. Yeshe told us that if a Westerner goes to a Tibetan monastery, they’re told, “Sorry, no accommodation, but you’re welcome to sponsor us.”

“Please leave your wallet. We’ll teach you about impermanence,” Gary said.

Richard sees the Dalai Lama’s teachings as esoteric, and not a lot of political struggle seems to be coming from his teachings. But, as Yeshe and Gary pointed out, he’s the most popular and successful refugee and has gotten people to notice Tibet and help refugees. Richard or someone spoke of organized religion as elaborate rather than meaningful; I could have added that power-tripping males use their organized religions as a tool to oppress others.

“What does karma mean? It means your life is in your hands,” Yeshe said. Theravada monks from Sri Lanka are the ones teaching Dalits, who want to go with the Theravada tradition, which is much like the Buddha’s own practice. It’s therefore the tradition that they’re into.

I’ve seen many ex-patriots in India. Last night there was the British young woman Richard was talking with at the restaurant about her activism with victims of torture. Then there was Yeshe tonight with her activism for Dalits and for Western monastics. Richard talked about this a bit during “Strucks”—some Westerners go and stay abroad for spiritual reasons, some for a political movement.

Part of my mind is full of the wonderful impression I get from the work people like Sister Yeshe are doing, and another part of my mind is disgusted with myself, my worthlessness and inadequacy, my utter dysfunction in human society. These are self-centered, selfish thoughts or feelings, but the truth is I have them, and rather than try to block them out, I should look at them straight in the eye and poke them with my foot. But I have my writing, and that is something that can help to change the world. I have nothing to offer except my art, my writing, and perhaps that is trivial, but whether or not it is, I should do what I can to get people to read my writings.

I also sense—certainly not for the first time—that I’m stupid and shallow and not very spiritual. So what if I can make Tibetan-style clothing? That’s no way to reach Enlightenment! On the other hand, I have to create art, including clothing as an art form; it’s what I’m capable of doing competently and compelled to do….even if I’ve had instructors who might disagree.

I’ve got a sore throat and had a cough yesterday; I definitely have a cold, which may be affecting my mood. Enid said this cold is because of the pollution in Delhi. I’m not the only one in our sangha who’s congested. Here there’s gasoline, probably diesel trucks, and open fires, but I don’t think Dharamsala has enough pollution to cause this congestion. But we were in Delhi for a day, and stuff gets into the respiratory system and takes a bit of time to be noticeable.