The Dalai Lama's Palace

It’s evening and I just munched on dried fruit and hazelnuts that I packed….but before eating I checked all my paperwork, and it looks suspiciously like I don’t actually have a reservation for a flight at 10:40 am on March 11. Could this be true?! It looks suspiciously like I’ll promptly get to the China Airways website and hopefully make a reservation. Eek—I’m feeling uneasy about this situation.

It is time that I describe the visit to the Potala, which incidentally is named after the Potalaka, rocky mountain that legend has it the bodhisattva of compassion lives on, whether you call that bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara, Chenrezig, Quan Yin, or Kannon.

When we entered the Potala and were ascending a flight of steps, where one look at a window—very deep, like the walls must be about two feet thick—and there’s a wooden frame with no glass. I kind of doubt traditional Tibetan windows used glass—they can always close the shutters, and this isn’t mosquito country. However, it’s such a cold climate, and they have dust storms, so you’d think they’d have windows.

Anyway, on the steps, a group of three little novice monks giggled at me. They had to be younger than sixteen—like about eight or ten—but I’m thinking parents probably get them dressed up as monks in anticipation of their becoming monks at sixteen. No doubt the Chinese government doesn’t mind if this deceives tourists.

There was much climbing of stairs and you couldn’t take pictures in most places, though there were a couple places I did take pictures before noticing the sign with the No Photos symbol on it—a red circle with a line through it, in front of a black camera. This is kind of scary, since there were green uniformed Chinese soldiers all over the place. In any case, we were not at the very top roof, since it has become off limits, but we were on a roof, an area where I took some pictures of the breathtaking view. It’s usually fine to take pictures outdoors but not in. On that one occasion, a boy in a green uniform objected.

The Potala has a large courtyard where operas used to be performed with dancers wearing masks and colorful brocade costumes. High up on a balcony the Dalai Lama used to watch through a sheen red curtain. His living quarters—consisting of audience rooms, study room, libraries, meditation room and bedroom—was high up and the top of a tall and formidable whitewashed structure facing the courtyard. From the courtyard, I looked up and imagined the young Dalai Lama up there, looking down upon the courtyard. Oddly, the courtyard reminded me of the courtyard at Neuschwanstein Castle, which is a Germanic fairy tale castle King Ludwig II had built in the nineteenth century and therefore from a very different place and culture than the Potala.

We did go up and see some of the Dalai Lama’s rooms, though his bedroom is behind a closed door; presumably it still has the same furnishings as when he lived there. The “Watching room” as the balcony is called, is connected to the Audience Chamber, and it has a bright red and ornately carved stepping stool that the Dalai Lama and anyone else used in order to enter the Waiting Room. The room otherwise has the usual sumptuous brocade banners and draperies, in addition to a yellow brocade-draped wooden throne to the left, along the same wall as the stepping stool. There are long cushy-looking benches covered with patterned red, white, and yellow rugs, and some brightly painted tables in front of them.

The various Dalai Lamas didn’t all use the exact same rooms. Different Dalai Lamas had different suites, not entirely surprising given how big the place is. The seventh Dalai Lama had his own little meditation room in which a couple of the walls were mostly glass, with some red- and gold-painted carved wood around the glass. In the room, along the short wall on the right, is his meditation bench, and above it hangs a thangka. Along the long back wall is a cabinet containing gold statues, and the wall facing the bench is covered with brocade draperies.
I experienced sensory overload on a large scale at the Potala and now don’t know quite where to take this next. Oh, yes, we entered a huge prayer hall that doesn’t have the rows of red mattresses you usually see, because as my guide pointed out, “The Potala is now like a museum.” This prayer hall is on display for tourists and is no longer functional, so no monks sit on red benches to chant or play music.

I’m not sure—I think it was a different prayer hall, because I remember a bunch of people were around, but at one point I saw a monk on a bench working on something, and right behind him was a grey and orange cat,. The cat got up and scurried across the path and disappeared—clearly it wasn’t crazy about having so many people around.

We explored many rooms that contained rows and rows of gold statues, in some cases very large ones, bigger than life-size. One enormous tall-ceilinged room contained huge gold stupas covered with jewels; these were the tombs of the Dalai Lamas. Mixed in with the stupas were gold statues and little gold three-dimensional mandalas. When you see photos of the Potala’s façade, the gold roofs mark the location of the Dalai Lamas’ tombs.

At some point, we passed a closed red door a couple feet from a series of five closed red doors in a row, with the usual big round knockers; these were doors to the fifth Dalai Lama’s tomb, which are only opened on Losar, the Tibetan New Year, when countless Tibetans line up to go through the Potala. A long line of pilgrims, whom Gyantzing explained all come from the same village, entered the corridor at about the same time we did. I watched as a couple people stepped out of the line in order to peak through the red double doors that were open a crack. One guy followed them and actually pushed the door slightly more open. Several pilgrims were excited by this and moved toward the door; they all came across as simple and harmless country people.

The pilgrim’s overzealous curiosity inspired the ire of an authority figure, a guy in plain clothes, who marched up to the crowd and shooed them away from the door. He was followed by a mean boy in a green uniform who barked at the crowd and ushered them forward, and even took off a glove and slapped a pilgrim’s shoulder with it. Although that was nothing compared to the torture that I’ve read Tibetans experience, it was still shocking enough to leave me staring with my mouth hanging open. I rather suspect sheer power-tripping malice is the primary reason the authorities don’t want pilgrims to enter certain parts of the Potala, including the very top of the roof. I can understand not wanting people to take photos because the camera flash over time damages artwork.

Finally, we entered the fifth Dalai Lama’s tomb through a different door. The statues were enormous—the usual bodhisattvas and Shakyamuni statues. The stupa itself is covered with ornament and contains the fifth Dalai Lama’s ashes and relics. It was absolutely enormous, like a stupa that you expect to see outdoors, but it was gold encrusted with jewels rather than made of whitewashed earth. Typical Tibetan style, the big bulbous part had a curved window with a very old statue behind it, and another and much smaller Buddha statue sat in a niche in the base.

At some point, we passed through a corridor with, on our left, a glass-walled room with excessively long cabinets containing Buddhist statues not only from Tibet but from several countries, including Nepal, India, and Thailand. One of the cabinets contained a bunch of little reliquary stupas from Thailand. Most of the statues in this room were small, like those anyone might have at home. Some were six hundred years old.

We walked down a dark corridor, and around a corner, on the left, was a meditation cave that belonged to an early Dalai Lama—I’m tempted to say the first, but more likely the fifth or seventh. It had statues—big statues—of Tsongkapa and his Chinese and Nepalese wives, the two princesses responsible for bringing Buddhism to Tibet. The walls were dark grey and, since it was a cave, uneven and bumpy. The room also housed various bodhisattvas, such as Manjushri. At some point, the room was (oddly) used as a kitchen, and there’s a circular metal stove to the right, in front of the statues. The cooks had thought it was auspicious to cook there.

When we stepped outdoors into the sunlight, we were at the back of the Potala and had many stairs to gradually climb down. The stairs were white and fortunately included a low wall to the right, low enough that you could rest your arm on it and admire the scenery. The walls of this part of the Potala were white. From the stairs, I occasionally stopped to admire the view and usually took a picture. The sky was a vast and extremely bright blue. I could hear surreal music that sounded rather like New Age music sung by a woman, and I thought it added a dreaminess to the atmosphere.

I asked, “Is there a concert?” Gyantzing said, “It’s music for people who are exercising.”

I looked down below and could see a park in which there were indeed people exercising, and at least one of them was spinning a large strange white disk. A few feet further away, I noticed a lake, and in the center of it was an island with a small square temple with an elaborate curving roof. Gyantzing explained that this was the Naga Temple in Lukhang Lake, which is inside Lukhang Park and behind the Potala. The island struck me as a very appropriate location for a Naga Temple, since nagas are snake deities.

2

We parted at the hotel for a lunch break. From the hotel, I went to the little shop that sells bottled water, and I bought four more bottles (two of which I’ve already finished—it’s 8:25 am as I’m writing this). I took the bottles, along with the bag of postcards and a little book that I picked up at the Potala, up to my hotel room and dropped some stuff off. I also removed my extra shirt and used the bathroom. I walked from the hotel down the street in the direction of the Jokhang and turned left at the first corner. If I had been headed for the Jokhang, I would have turned right. The narrow street contained many little shops and merchant’s booths and in some cases wagons containing bananas that a merchant was selling, but I wasn’t seeing restaurants.

I saw a woman with a long table on which she served ramen noodles from a heaping huge bowl. In Tibet, Muslim women wear black snoods, and this ramen chef wore such a black lace snood under a sunhat. I walked up to her table and pointed to first the bowl of noodles and then the jar of red chili. She took a little bowl, plopped a heaping serving of noodles into it, then mixed in soy sauce and chili sauce and handed it to me, along with packaged wooden chopsticks. I sat down, opened up the chopsticks and started eating under the fascinated and amused eyes of three children who’d sat down on the bench by me. If nothing else, my eating left-handed may have fascinated them.

The cook wasn’t impressed with my method of scooping up noodles that were covered with the hot sauce and then scooping up dry noodles; she picked up my bowl and mixed the sauce up thoroughly, so that there were no dry noodles. If I had been eating spicy Indian food, I could have eaten from a bowl of bland yogurt and munched on bread or pappadums. Instead, I had nothing to alternate with the hot sauce. I plowed my way through and observed the stinging of my dry lips and sniffed because I didn’t want to blow my nose at the table.

The cook, I observed, opened a canister and placed some strange white stuff into another customer’s bowl of noodles; it was thin, squarish slithers with tiny holes, and I suspected it was fish, since the slick yellow stuff she also chopped up and put in the bowl was fish. She noticed me watching and put two squares of the holey white stuff into my bowl—I ate it, mixing with the noodles and sauce, not wanting to offend but simultaneously appalled that I was probably eating fish for the first time since 1994. While my scruples were damaged, I simultaneously remembered Shantum’s explanation that the Mindfulness Trainings, or five precepts, are guidelines rather than vows. Oh how the mighty have fallen; this is far worse than using the Worst Toilet in India. The strange white stuff had no taste and didn’t gross me out as I would have expected from fish—I was thinking it was either bread or fish, but in hindsight it may have been tofu. Scentless, tasteless, and white; it would be wonderful if it really was tofu. At some point she also noticed the condition of my nose and gave me a piece of toilet paper with which to blow it, which, amused, I did.

While I was eating and making a spectacle of myself (because, incidentally, Lhasa is a place to gawk and be gawked at), I noticed a white juniper stove in which offerings of juniper were burning. I then noticed the colorful and ornate doorway to a small white temple. This was behind the noodle stand. I also noticed, to my amusement, that I was practically next door to a real indoor restaurant that even had its name in English. After I emptied my bowl, except for some red liquid at the bottom, I pulled a fifty yuan bill out of my wallet, and the cook pointed at a ten yuan bill, so I gave her that and she handed me back the fifty. So I think I got a filling meal for a few pennies.

I got up and headed for the little temple, to be accosted by numerous beggars. I wouldn’t give any of them money, since I didn’t want to start a riot, and I kept walking toward the prayer wheels. As a young-looking ragged male beggar approached me on the right, I held my water bottle slightly out, and he took it out of my hand. This struck me as very funny and I suppressed a laugh. The bottle in fact only contained about two inches of water.

I walked the few more steps into the temple and spun the two-foot-tall gold prayer wheels with gusto; the temple contained a concise line of the wheels. I then joined the crowd of pilgrims circumambulating around an Avalokiteshvara shrine that seemed tiny after my morning at the Potala. But it was still quite ornate: the bodhisattva wore a gold crown incrusted with turquoise and coral. I circumambulated three times—this involved being pushed by fervently murmuring pilgrims through a narrow and darkish corridor. I then headed back out and down the street to the hotel, where I used the Internet for half an hour.

Sera Monastery

As we rode to the Sera Monastery, which is on the outskirts of Lhasa, Gyantzing told me that it housed five thousand monks before the Chinese invasion, and now it only has eight hundred monks. To me, that still seems like an awfully big number, but at the same time I don’t think it’s appropriate for the colonial government to limit the number of people who want a spiritual and communal life (or at least supposedly spiritual—not all monks are good, and because of the occupation, monks and nuns aren’t allowed to study as deeply as they should, and as they do in Dharamsala). Gyantzing explained that boys have to be at least sixteen years old to become monks now, and the Chinese authorities look at their background first, to make sure they have no relatives in India or relatives who are political protesters. I think that generally boys who become monks when they’re only five years old aren’t old enough to know whether that really is their calling, but on the other hand I’ve read that there’s so much for them to learn that they have to start at such a very early age. The part about the authorities checking potential monks’ backgrounds strikes me as much more oppressive and intrusive than the part about making them wait till they’re sixteen. Strangely, I didn’t think to ask how old girls had to be to become nuns, but I guess it didn’t occur to me because we were at an all-male monastery.

The Chinese destroyed the statue of Padmasambhava in front of Mount Kailash, huge statue, right after it was built. Power tripping much? They did the same with another statue—this is recent stuff if the Chinese government doesn’t approve of a public statue—like they’d approve of something Buddhist anyway!—then they tear it down. As I pointed out, it’s power-tripping politicians. But China’s not the only country that has power-tripping politicians—the USA has a blatantly power-tripping Whiteboyworld ungovernable government.

We were on the road to the monastery, when I spotted yaks for the first time, standing around amid small bare trees that I hesitate to call a forest. The narrow road was lined with merchants who had simple little booths. They didn’t look like they made a good living, with their dingy clothing and unkempt hair. The road leads directly to the monastery, where you buy tickets as though the monastery was an amusement park. That’s how the Chinese treat Buddhism in Tibet.

At the end of this road was the looming whitewashed monastery, such a different world from the Chinese streets of Lhasa. After we got out of the car and Gyantzing got the tickets, we walked up steps at a dramatic slant. I saw whitewashed buildings to my left and to my right.

The first place we visited was the printing press, a room that has traditionally been used as a printing press I’m thinking for centuries. The walls were lined with shelves and shelves full of carved wooden blocks. Some shelves contained modern books in Tibetan but I also saw stacks of the long, slender pages of Tibetan traditional scriptures, not only on shelves but also on the floor.

There were low glass cabinets forming a square in the center of the room, like in a shop. On top of the back glass cabinet were stacked black-printed banners on yellow fabric lying stacked on top of the glass cabinet. Gyantzing explained to me that these are pinned onto a door for good luck, and I decided to purchase a banner for me and another for my brother. The banners I purchased are quite different: the one with Manjushri at the top protects you from illness, and the one that I got for myself is a mandala. At some point while I wandered around this fascinating room, I noticed a couple of monks staring at me. They were doing it the same way as villagers visiting the Potala had stared at me, but it was disconcerting to be stared at by monks.

In more or less the center of the monastery is a shell of a building that was bombed after the Chinese invasion (supposedly during the Cultural Revolution, but in fact the Chinese started bombing Lhasa in 1959). One wall facing the entrance stood, still white stone blocks with black-framed windows, and it was disconcerting to see weeds growing out of the windows. Weirder still was looking through the windows and seeing the sky and the hill slanting upward, instead of seeing the interior of a building with brocade banners and gold Buddha statues. I walked around the corner, and there was very little of the opposite wall or side walls remained. It looked like an ancient ruin, and yet it had been intact before the late nineteen-fifties. It is a great shame that the Chinese won’t even admit that this sort of thing happened before the Cultural Revolution. Liars. Oh, yeah, we can’t let honesty get in the way of ideology.

We took a walk through the main part of Sera Monastery, with a functioning prayer hall and little rooms containing statues of Shakyamuni, Tsongkapa, and the like. After our visits to Ganden Monastery, the Potala, and the Jokhang Temple, the art and décor in Sera Monastery’s temples and shrine rooms seemed redundant, though nonetheless beautiful and stirring. There were a few other tourists, particularly a group of Germans. Most of the tourists in Tibet are Chinese, and this is only March, so the tourist season won’t actually begin for a couple months.

Large red double doors lead into a courtyard surrounded by a whitewashed stone wall. Inside the courtyard are some trees, and when Gyantzing and I entered it, the courtyard was also full of red-clad monks, most of whom looked between the ages of sixteen and forty. They were practicing the traditional Tibetan debating, which to an outsider looks quite comical. They split into twos, and one monk stands before the other and asks a question, stretching out his arms and slapping his palms together. The other answers, and as he finishes his answer, he stretches out his arms and slaps his palms together. This is often done with smiles and laughter. Sometimes one monk questions a group of four monks. After watching this for about half an hour, we wandered into another section of courtyard, where middle-aged monks debated in a much quieter and gentler manner, while sitting cross-legged on the ground. That wasn’t nearly as interesting to watch.

Between three and five in the afternoon, monks entertain tourists at Sera Monastery by practicing their traditional debating (Michael Palin calls it kung fu debating) in the monastery’s courtyard. Before I left on this trip, I read an online report presented by the International Campaign for Tibet; it was specifically for people who were about to be tourists in Tibet, and among other things it explained the monks at Sera Monastery still debate as they had in the past, but now it entertains tourists and the topics of their debates are much simpler than they were before the Chinese invasion. They aren’t allowed to study as much, and they are not allowed to study Tibetan Buddhism with the depth that previous generations studied and practiced. The gurus, the Rimpoches, are in exile and teaching practitioners outside of Tibet, not in it.

We walked slowly up a path that went up, up the mountain. The mountain itself was a light brown color and crumbly with rocks, some of which were quite large. Not much plant life grew high on the mountain; that’s a clue that we’re at a high elevation. Above, I gazed at bright and colorful pictures of bodhisattvas painted on rocks, some of which were very high up. I imagined robed painters climbing up to precarious locations just so they could paint Buddhas and bodhisattvas on mountain rocks.

In the distance is a yellow-painted stone temple that Gyantzing explained is in front of Tsongkapa’s favorite meditation cave. I remembered the small Tibetan temple in front of the Buddha’s austerities cave near Bodh Gaya, India. During Tsongkapa’s time, the meditation cave would have been a simple cave without any ornate temple in front of it.

We climbed up and got closer to huge painted rocks and to a tall skinny empty tower from which a huge thangka is hung on Losar. It was very narrow, with slightly slanting walls and the obligatory black-framed windows, but Gyantzing explained that inside the tower is empty; there’s a staircase but no furniture or artwork. Of course, the building’s sole purpose is to display the giant thangka.

In front of the tower was a plateau, and I stepped near the edge, amid the shrubbery, and standing at this lookout point, I gazed at the distant Potala. One of the enormous, flattish stones next to the tower was covered with several bright Green Taras. We turned to head back toward the lively monastery, and I noticed a woman sitting on the ground and wearing a brimmed hat and colorful striped shawl, and I thought she looked Peruvian.

I’m hearing a yowling tomcat out in the parking lot or some such place, somewhere outside my window. I think I heard him last night, too. He probably smells me and thinks I’m a female cat.

One Last Visit to the Asian Art Museum

I woke up to lots of voices outside—I can hear the voices from the sidewalks, even though I’m on the sixth floor. I just heard what sounded like a very agitated black man arguing loudly—perhaps an aggressive panhandler on drugs. I shouldn’t jump to that conclusion, I know, but it was an awfully frantic voice. A lot of people here don’t seem to care that others, strangers, can hear them—or perhaps they’re being dramatic, putting on a show because they’re aware that they’re in public. On Pier 39, a white woman on a cell phone was screaming in rage and in foul language—and this was on the fourth of July, a holiday when people were gathered around to have fun! There were lots of people around her, and they looked like they were trying to ignore her. Like, awkwardly trying to ignore her, the way I’ve been behaving with panhandlers (most of whom, by the way, are male and all are white or black, never Asian). And there’s a frantic, obnoxious horn honking right now. Well, that’s something I won’t miss about San Francisco! In Oakland in Topeka, there’s typically dead silence after ten pm. But if I lived in San Francisco, I’d preferably live in the Haight, not this downtown area.

I spent my last day at the Asian Art Museum. I went through the three special exhibits on the main floor, starting with “A Curious Affair”—the one about east and west meeting and interpreting each other’s cultures, which is a highly entertaining topic, sometimes comical. It’s certainly something I’ve noticed from the western side—Chinoiserie, for instance.

I got through the special exhibits faster than I expected and then it was just after 1 pm and I went to the café one last time and had my favorites, vegetable curry and Thai iced tea; but this time I didn’t grab a dessert/ snack, and my total was only $10 something. I read more of In Praise of Tara at a leisurely pace. (I’m starting to think that maybe I should read something lighter at the airport, but of course my suitcase is packed—very packed.)

After lunch, I went to the second floor to a couple sections I hadn’t really gotten to yet. First, there was one Japanese gallery I had somehow missed: it has a lovely and fully functional tea house, but it’s in a display cabinet (a big one, of course) like everything else, rather than in a garden (let alone on an island, like at the Missouri Botanical Gardens). There are also lots of 20th – 21st century Japanese baskets, from a collection of over 800 that a patron donated to the museum in 2002.

Then I went to the other end of the 2nd floor and looked slowly over a couple cabinets near the elevator that were full of Chinese goodies. Since shortly after I got to the museum, I had started jotting down notes on what I think is an important topic for understanding Chinese art: the symbols that appear throughout Chinese art. For instance, cranes represent longevity, and fungus (mushrooms) represent immortality. Just outside the entrance to “A Curious Affair” two very tall cloisonné cranes, probably at least six feet tall, hold fungus in their mouths, and at the very top is a spike for a tall candle. (They were made in China for a wealthy European.)

On the second floor, across the hall from a display cabinet of a variety of Chinese items, is a series of plaques on the wall describing the various meanings of particular imagery. So I plopped down on the floor and started writing this info in my sketchbook. However, a woman who worked at the museum came along and gave me a photocopy of all the exact same info, complete with the illustrations! We had a little conversation, including how in the fall there will be a special exhibit on this topic and it’ll be in the member magazine too. So in short, that’s something I didn’t have to copy down.

It was fun consulting the list and looking at the stuff in the display—there was pottery, snuff boxes, jade sculptures, embroidered things such as hair ornaments, etc, all with symbolic imagery. The other display cabinet that I hadn’t looked over carefully yet was about popular religion in China, how they combined Buddhism with Daoism, etc, and I took some note son a goddess who was originally Taoist but who also took on Buddhist elements. The display had two versions of her, one as a three-dimensional white porcelain figure with 16 arms, the other as an almost flat gilt picture with 8 arms and with male Taoist deities hovering around her.

It was 3:30 when I finished looking at this display, so I decided to go up to the third floor (my favorite floor) and spent time with Buddha sculptures I had previously visited. While doing this, I drew a small bronze Cambodian Buddha (standing about a foot tall—and I think this drawing turned out well), a seated bronze Siamese Buddha, and a big—like life-size—standing Quanyin.

On the way back to my hotel room, I stopped at the Disney store (I’ve passed it every day in the past two weeks). I don’t admire their business practices, namely exploiting Chinese women in sweatshops, but I have to admit that I do like some of their films. After walking uphill on pavement, the carpeting felt good on my feet (though not as good as the bath I took later), although it certainly wasn’t quieter than the street. There were lots and lots of people—I guess they get many customers during rush hour. I looked at toy animals and at action figures, but there was nothing Tim Burton related—Corpse Bride action figures were what I had in mind. This store was more kid-oriented than that (although it has Pirates of the Caribbean action figures) and might not have had Corpse Bride stuff even when it was in movie theaters.

Since then, I’ve been back to my room, and I’m packed and I’ve taken a bath. I went downstairs and used the computer—not only to send off an e-mail but particularly to check the flight—I got the terminal and gate numbers and looked at a map of the airport. I’ll probably e using the air bus again.

I’ll be getting up at 7 am. Just to be safe. I figure that I’ll be moving really slowly down Powell Street, due to my heavy suitcase full of books, and then I’ll have to wait for the subway, and then I have to get on an air train… Before I get my suitcase checked in and my ticket printed out, and at last I’ll be at the correct terminal. Once I’m there, I won’t be nervous (of course, there’s also KC airport to deal with—particularly taking the shuttle to the parking lot and finding my car).

The Fourth of July in San Francisco

Today I went to the Asian Art Museum again, because I was antsy to get up to the third floor and see the Tibetan and Southeast Asian exhibits, which I did. This time I took my camera and found out that you can take pictures without a flash. Eventually I even figured out how to not use the flash, and judging from what I could see in the little window of the camera, the pictures turn out really well without it—one of the advantages of a digital rather than disposable camera. And my I saw some wonderful Buddhist and Hindu artwork, as my sketchbook and camera prove.

(Note: I will later post the notes I took at the Asian Art Museum. Yes, I'm a nerd.)

This time at the cafeteria-style museum cafe I ordered “vegetable curry” for lunch rather than ordering it by its (perhaps Hindi) name, and I got the right dish—it was really scrumptious. I also got a lemon custard desert with fresh blueberries on top (though the curry was filling by itself), and chamomile tea. Last time, I had ordered the curry by its real name and ended up with a salad that contained green tea sobo noodles. It was a tasty meal—it had a variety of vegetables and tofu and a dark sauce, but it was a cold salad, not a hot curry dish. I had first given the dish a weird look, and the woman behind the counter brusquely insisted it was the curry dish.

I just have to mention that I saw, in the Tibet/Himalayas gallery, a Buddhist monk in red robes. At least I’m pretty sure this was a monk rather than a nun. I wasn’t staring, just doing the corner of the eye thing. I saw him again in the museum shop, of all places, while I was looking at books. He looked through a book too. Previously, Washington, D. C., when I went to see the Dalai Lama last year, was the only time I'd seen Buddhist monks in person.

I bought books on Siamese history, books on Tibetan history, a postcard book of thangkas, and a Tricycle magazine. Fun. As I was walking down the sidewalk next to the museum, I carried my shopping bag full of books with both arms, sort of hugging the bag, and I was smiling as I thought about the museum exhibit. Or maybe I wasn’t smiling till I saw a shuttle with these big purple words on the side: Purple Lotus Buddhist School. I wondered if that explained the presence of the Buddhist monk, at the same time that a group of kids in red t-shirts had appeared in the Tibetan gallery.

Shortly after I passed the shuttle, a red-haired woman came up the sidewalk from the opposite direction, and she said, “Easy come, easy go.” If she was trying to rain on my parade, it didn’t work. I was in a calm, equanimous mood after all that Buddhist artwork and relatively calm museum atmosphere (it’s free on Tuesdays, so there was a big crowd, but compared to the crowds on the sidewalks it was calm). I don’t know why mean people see someone who’s in a good mood and try to make them unhappy. Jealousy perhaps. Even if I had been smiling only because I had my shopping bag full of books, which was not the case, I’d rather have some good books than hoard money.

A minute after she walked away, I took a picture of the prayer flags and mani stones set up on a balcony of the Asian Art Museum, even though the prayer flags are very frayed and look like they should be replaced. Faded and tattered.

I got back to the room, used the foot massage, took a bath, and lay down to take a nap, setting the alarm so that I’d go to Pier 39 to see the fireworks. It struck me as kind of silly to celebrate Independence Day, considering the current political situation (like, considering what a stinking imperialist government we have and how we desperately need a real revolution now), and yet it also seemed kind of silly to hang out in my hotel room while I’m in San Francisco and it’s a holiday, so I went to Pier 39 that evening.

I got in line for the trolley at the bottom of Powell St, and I actually gave a tourist directions. I had to stand on the trolley, which was kind of scary on all those hills. When we got off, I moved through the crowd toward Pier 39, and the crowd on Fisherman’s Wharf was enormous and lively. There were dancers and other people with flashy glow-in-the-dark glasses (green or blue) and some people had a glow-in-the-dark all on a stick, and eventually I passed a woman who was selling them. I just kept moving through the crowd toward Pier 39, and when I got there, I kept moving till the crowd was so thick there was no path, so I turned around and backtracked till I reached a place where only one layer of people stood along the railing. The crowd was more interesting than the fireworks. At one point in the evening, while the fireworks were going off overhead, I heard “Ar, ar, ar, ar, ar!” even though I expected the sea lions to be afraid of fireworks, three of them were on a couple of barges. There I was in a crowd in the dark, fireworks overhead, boats and sea lions straight ahead.

As the crowd was walking along Pier 39 to leave, I passed a group of rowdy people dressed as a bunch of Santa Clauses and giving out candy. After I had walked far enough to be almost off that pier, I saw some minor fireworks shoot off the pier at approximately where the Santa Clauses were.

I walked and walked through the crowd and finally got to the cable car station on Hyde Street, where a smaller crowd than usual stood waiting in line to board the trolley, and one trolley was full of people but not moving. Yellow police tape was strung in front of the trolley. I got in line, and someone ahead of me mentioned a thirty-minute wait. I was willing to wait, as long as I got a ride. The wait was longer than thirty minutes, due to the pedestrians on the streets, and there were only three trolley rides. I got to ride the last trolley on July 4! And it was free. People who stood clinging to the side during this ride ecstatically yelled and cheered when the trolley started moving and also whenever it went around a corner or a steep hill. It was a very crowded trolley, but I was seated this time.

I saw some cute little dogs tonight, but I’m not sure it’s appropriate to take dogs out in such mayhem, with the crowd and fireworks. From what I’ve seen, most of the dogs in San Francisco are small and cute, and of course if you’re living in a city it makes sense to have a smaller dog, particularly if you live in an apartment.

Chinatown, San Francisco

I walked to Chinatown with the idea that I’d walk up the street and take some pictures, have lunch maybe, and go up till I reached Broadway St., where I’d turn left and go to the Chinese Cultural Museum, which is open 1-4 on Sundays. I didn’t realize that countless shops would distract me (of course, the same goes for countless other tourists). I think a Shetland sheep dog would enjoy herding humans on the sidewalks of San Francisco. Anyway, shortly after I passed through the ornate Chinese gate, I found a shop that interested me. Put Buddhas or lucky cats or dolls in the window, and I’ll go into the shop. That easy. The tackier tourist shops were the ones most likely to be packed with tourists (I say tacky, even though I enjoy such stores myself). The stores that sold expensive antiques were the ones least likely to be packed with tourists, or the back of the store where the antiques were located was less likely to have customers than the front of the store. (It's just as well, given how many inquisitive children there were.)

Some of these stores contained really big old Buddhas that looked like they belonged in museums—these truly were antiques, in many cases. Painted wooden Buddhas, bronze Buddhas, whatever. Not just Chinese—there were Zazen and Tibetan (I must have seen four or five 11-headed Avalokiteshvaras for sale) and Siamese (I bought a two inch tall one) and even one large Cambodian Buddha. Wonderful stuff. I took pictures in a couple of stores—it was like being in a crowded storage room of a museum, and displays in the front of the store seemed as if they were set up for the purpose of being photographed. In one store, a round table was topped with (among other things) a couple of big Siamese Buddhas, and also a one and a half foot tall Sun Wu-King, Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, tagged, “Monkey King.” I thought of the line from the Chinese classic fantasy novel The Journey to the West, “Let Old Monkey take care of it.” Someday I’m going to make dolls or statues based on the main characters from that book—I even have the notes in a sketchpad.

At a corner (I can’t remember the street), not long after noon, a young woman gave me the menu and a coupon for The China Restaurant, which has been in business since 1919. So I went there and had quite a banquet. Spring rolls, veggies and tofu over fried rice, and green tea ice cream with a fortune cookie. It came out to $22.50, but I have enough leftovers for three or four meals. I’m so glad the room has a fridge and microwave.

Since I had these leftovers to carry around, I decided to go back to my room and return to Chinatown, so I headed back down the other side of Grant St. and kept getting distracted by more window shopping. On my way back to my room, I heard loud Indian music and wondered where it was coming from—this was close to Union Square. Coming down the sidewalk toward me was a group of Hindu Indian people with one guy in front singing into a microphone and behind him someone hitting a big drum—I’m not sure if everyone was singing and/or clapping, but I did get a picture quickly before scooting out of the way. There was something about the situation that delighted me, whether or not this has to do with past life experiences. I was compelled to smiled blissfully as they went by. On my way back to Chinatown, I ran into them again—they were walking away from Chinatown, and there was a different singer leading with the microphone. It reminded me that if I could only afford it, I’d be going to Indian in about six months, but I didn’t seriously think I could afford the tour.

After the Hindus drifted past, a white boy in front of me said, "I could live in India."

Just this morning, an English guy behind me said, “This city—it has so much character.”

Back in Chinatown (OK, it was about 4 pm when I was back in my room, so I knew I wasn’t getting to the Chinese Cultural Museum), I did more shopping and moving slowly through the crowd, as I had been doing since about 10 am (and it was 7 pm when I got back to my room). This time, I came to a store that was selling new dolls (some not Asian) but also antique Japanese dolls like the ones at the Japanese Fest in St. Louis. I bought one—in a bright purple brocade robe. That was definitely my most major purchase of the day. I also got a couple of moon cakes at a bakery, and small cat figures in another tourist shop (along with a gift of scented candles for my mom), and at the very last, when I thought I was totally sick of shopping, I spent thirty-one cents on a Chinese foot massage (that includes tax). I have used it already. Several times.

I definitely know the meaning of “shop till you drop.” And I’m glad that tomorrow I’m going to the Museum of Modern Art—hopefully I’ll stay away from the museum shop.

I soaked in a hot bath—so far, I’ve done more meditating in the bathtub than on the cushion, or rather two pillows off the bed—and took a nap. It was 9:45 when I woke up.

I can’t believe I forgot to mention this—
Form the sidewalk in Chinatown, I heard a marching band, like many others I had to find out where it was, what it was. Someone said, “Oh, yes, the parade.” A small marching band came in front, behind it a black convertible with about four people, and those in the back seat held up a framed portrait of an old Asian man, with a wreath around the picture, and it was on an easel. Behind that came a hearse and the usual trail of cars marked “funeral.” I don’t know whom you have to be to get a marching band at the front of your funeral parade.

Much later, during my second walk through Chinatown, I went into a fascinating store that was at least two storeys and had not a a spiral staircase but a spiral ramp, and large paper lanterns hung around. Centered in the spiral of this ramp was a huge dragon, hanging from the ceiling. This shop included a calligraphy artist who was making a picture for a little boy, and on the upper floor were the tiniest mud figures.

As I headed down the staircase, admiring the lanterns, I started to hear drums. Big drums, or a big drum. So I went out onto the sidewalk. Across the street, there were some Asian teenagers dressed in red and white. Two brought out huge red and white flags. Three dragons came out, as did a drummer boy—it was a very big drum indeed. They all marched down the street, going in the opposite direction from where I was headed.

One or two stores in Chinatown sold DVDs, and I got to thinking I didn’t see how anyone could take the time to watch TV or videos in San Francisco. Going out on the sidewalk and people watching is more fascinating.

Haight-Ashbury

I unfortunately didn’t get to the Basic Meditation class at the San Francisco Zen Center, because I pretty much got lost after I stepped off the bus at Van Ness Station. It was at least 9 am by the time I found Page Ave, and you’re supposed to be there at 8:45 for the class. So I started my walking tour of the Haight, with help from pages I photocopied out of a travel book, and I took quite a few photos. The tour included an apartment where Janis Joplin lived in 1967 (it was an upstairs apartment in a grey Victorian house, and she had a curving balcony), and the Grateful Dead house, which was a more festively painted purple Victorian house. I also passed the Free Clinic, which dates back to the hippie era, and a café/peace activism center the name of which I’ve forgotten. On one slanting street, as I passed the Buena Vista Park (which looked quite beautiful and extremely green) I actually saw the mist appear, floating through the air as if it were some sort of spirit. Before that, I had noticed rather more normal fog, which seems to be norm in the morning here.

Toward the end of this tour, I came to a store called Tibetan Style, which of course I had to visit. A Tibetan ma and pa store, that is, it was run by a middle-aged Tibetan couple, and the woman wore a green brocade chupa and green silk striped apron rather than a homespun one. Inside, the traffic was muffled, a recording of monks chanting was playing, and a feeling of tranquility came over me. It was very pleasant, therapeutic.

There was clothing on sale (mostly shirts like the one for which I made a pattern off the import a friend Jill gave me after she cleaned out her closet), lots and lots of jewelry, and meditation supplies such as colorful brocade cushions and prayer wheels and dorjes. I lost count of how many prayer wheels I spun—I must surely have improved my karma quite a bit. There were a couple of antique portable shrines and a silver-and-turquoise antique needle case, and ritual items like dorjes and bells. Lots of jewelry—I saw a mandala pendant made from silver, coral and turquoise, and a Tara pendant made from the same materials plus some sort of green stone that I didn’t recognize but that reminded me of Egyptian faïence. There were many many Buddhist pendants, countless. Also necklaces made from dzi beads, and malas. I picked up a prayer wheel pendant to purchase (it was $19 and spun really well). I eventually made my way to a far corner full of ritual items, including bigger prayer wheels that I spun, and there were tiny tiny statues, very detailed although only about one inch tall, and selling for $5 each. I bought several—a medicine Buddha, a particularly detailed Green Tara, a yogi, and a deity riding a peacock that I’m sure I can look up in the handbook of Tibetan symbols.

The Tibetan store also included a larger and heavier figure (all of them were metal, probably bronze) about two inches tall that I’m thinking is a dakini—actually, she rather looks like a Sheela-na-gig! And I purchased her also. Now I wish I’d been less timid and had asked whether she was a dakini. (While typing this: now that I’ve gotten home and have taken her out of the box, I think she’s the most intriguing thing I brought home, and that she may be a dakini or something from the indigenous Bon religion rather than Buddhism. Also, the Asian Art Museum has on display a whole bunch of little metal things that Tibetans think fell from the sky—things that farmers and nomads found in the dirt, and I wouldn’t be surprised that she’s one of those, which would suggest that she could be really old.)

I walked into Golden Gate Park and after much wandering got to the Japanese Tea Garden (as did many other people—this was a Saturday). It was very lovely and pleasant with winding paths around a pond containing coi and crossed by Japanese-style bridges... and very compact compared to the Japanese garden at the Missouri Botanical Gardens.

The Japanese garden includes an outdoor café, where I bought three bags of cookies (fortune, sesame, and almond) and had a cup of jasmine tea with a snack of rice crackers and cookies. That was lunch. I’ve decided that I prefer jasmine tea to traditional green tea. After eating, I wandered around and took pictures. Lots of tourists did the same thing. A group of Indian (as in India) tourists, mostly children, stood in front of a big beautiful Buddha (made in 1790 in Japan), and the guy with the camera asked me if I’d take their picture. I said, “Sure, if I can figure out the camera.” Well, I did. I also used my own, simpler camera to take a couple pictures of the Buddha, one close up and one through a gate.

Near the cafe is a tourist shop, or teahouse, and although it was very crowded I went in and shopped. I’m taking home a cute Asian boy! I mean I bought a doll. He’s made in a Japanese style, but he’s actually dressed like a Chinese (Mandarin) emperor rather than wearing a kimono (this kind of doll is usually female, wearing a kimono, and sometimes in a glass box), and he sits on a blue and white porcelain barrel. I also got something that reminded me of Jill: wooden Japanese nesting dolls, since she collects both Japanese dolls and Russian nesting dolls.

After I got out of the park, I headed down Haight St. to go to the Anarchist Book Collective, which was the only store I had meant to shop in. But hey, it’s an adventure, and it’s not like I frequently come to San Francisco. I did a lot of window shopping, and before I got to the bookstore, I came to a store with big Buddhas and Ganesh in the window. Fascinated, I just had to go in and wander all over the store. I spun more prayer wheels and saw many many statues—that was the specialty of this store—including more Tibetan Bodhisattvas (like a Manjushri that was probably a foot tall. I didn’t look at the price on most of them, in part because I’d spent so much on the doll. There was really cool Indian music playing, like a cross between traditional and techno, and I bought the CD. I put the change in the hands of a four-foot wooden Buddha statue. Oh, yes, there was also a four-foot Ganesh in the middle of the store, on which people had placed both American and Indian money.

When I got to the bookstore, I realized that I had passed it that morning without even noticing. But it had been closed then, and I wouldn’t have wanted to carry a bunch of books around all day. The store was smaller than I pictured, but packed with cool rad books. The employees are all volunteers, they don’t have a computerized register—they use an adding machine—and they only take cash.

After the bookstore, I kept walking down Haight—I got to be back in the residential area—when I came to a bus shelter and looked at the map. The first bus that came along did indeed go to Powell St., so I didn’t have to do nearly as much walking as I expected. But from the time that I got off the bus that morning, I had done a great deal of walking.

My First Full Day in San Francisco

I walked from the Dakota Hotel to the Adelaide Hostel for breakfast—basically, they serve scones, toast, bagels, butter and jelly. So I had a buttered and jellied (marmalade) bagel with a scone. Afterwards I walked from there to the Asian Art Museum, sightseeing the whole time. There was a paved sort of courtyard by the Civic Center Station that was called U.N. Plaza, with quotes engraved on a cement water fountain and in the pavement, and there were big stone buildings and a lane of pavilions where merchants sold stuff like Buddhas and jewelry. I spotted a beautiful Buddha statue—probably Avalokiteshvara.

The U.N. Plaza faces a big neoclassical building with a huge dome. It looked like it could be a museum (now I’m thinking it’s probably City Hall) and I was ready to cross the street, when I looked to my right and noticed that the Asian Art Museum was the big grey stone Neoclassical building next to me—first I noticed the banners advertising exhibits and then I noticed “Asian Art Museum” carved at the top of the front, columned façade. (The Asian Art Museum was in Golden Gate Park until about 2002, so this building—or rather pair of buildings linked by a modern glass lobby—wasn’t originally the art museum but I rather think used to be a library.)
Benches flanked the front steps, and a couple occupied one bench, so I went to the other bench, because I was fifteen minutes early. While I sat there reading, a little old Asian man came along with a really cute little white, fluffy dog. I think it’s called a Bisson Frieze or something like that—not a vicious yappy poodle. It seemed like a well-behaved dog and even seemed to be smiling. When I thought the museum was about to open, I moved to the front steps to where people lined up. The security guards remained by the front doors for long enough that I came to the conclusion that either their clock was slow or my watch was fast. Meanwhile, I saw little kids go up to the dog and pet it.

When I did get inside, I went ahead and signed up for a membership. It’s $40 for people who live out of state (and in southern California)—and the woman who helped me gave me a bag of goodies (a poster, a magazine, etc) and a pair of temporary, hand-written membership cards.

I had seen that an exhibit “Elephants on Parade” was currently going on, so I headed up to the second floor. There’s a hallway exhibiting Vietnamese blue and white porcelain that has recently been found in the ocean, thanks to ship wrecks hundreds of years ago. Before the elephant gallery, I had to go through galleries of Korean art, and some of it attracted my attention. I stopped to take notes and sketch in front of an Avalokiteshvara hanging, that was close to a big screen illustrated with tigers and mynah birds. I also saw a beautiful, embroidered brocade robe made for a bride, and near it some accessories (like hair combs) and patchwork silk wrapping cloths. Oh, the things you can do with fabric scraps.

The “Elephants” exhibit was in a small gallery and included a piece of fringed and embroidered velvet for draping over an elephant, and over that a silver gilt throne for a Raj, to be placed on an elephant’s back—it was elaborately decorated with lions, etc, and upholstered in red velvet, and there was a an embroidered and fringed red velvet parasol. A display case contained bronze elephants, and the walls were lined with stuff like photos from around 1903, and more cloths behind glass. The next several galleries contained Japanese stuff—there was one room with ancient Japanese pottery, dating back to a time when, as island dwellers, they were out of touch with other cultures and not influenced by them, so they had their own style. This included wonderful clay figures, including a couple that represented female shamans.

I kept going, and there was a gallery devoted to Buddhist art (not to mention a couple of Shinto sculptures representing Kami spirits, and a wall panel explaining the Shinto belief in spirits that shed a lot of light on Japanese anime). There was a gallery devoted to everyday life in Japan, that included a collection of netsuke--a bigger collection than that in the V & A in London, and an off-white (trimmed with navy blue) set of field clothes—robe and pants—dating to at least the year 850. They were made of flax or something very breathable, and I’m thinking that when I use the Japanese field clothes pattern (a Folkwear pattern I bought a few months ago) I’ll use cotton. I didn’t get through the whole Japanese exhibit, when it was nearly 5 pm and I headed for the coat check.

Oh, yes, I didn’t mention that right after lunch (they have a café that serves a variety of Asian food and where I discovered the delights of Thai iced tea), I saw an artist demonstrating Noh mask carving, and there were lots of masks on display. One even was the "Girl with the Pearl Earring," and another was the "Mona Lisa," though there were also traditional masks.

In the evening, after a little time in the hotel (to rest my feet), I went to the Geary Theater, a short walk away, and saw the American Conservatory Theatre’s production of Happy Ending by Kurt Weill and Bertold Brecht. It was a wonderful performance, and the music of course reminded me of The Threepenny Opera. Also, the theater auditorium reminded me of Powell Hall, home of the St. Louis Symphony, although instead of gold and white it was gold, green, and mauve, and it was built more upward than outward so that the balcony steps were steep and the second balcony, where I sat in the second row, was above the stage; I had to look down at it. This wasn’t too bad; the scenery included a walkway high up, and the orchestra was on the stage, just behind this walkway.

British Museum

Notes Taken at the British Museum

Sakhmet—Leonine Goddess whom the Egyptians regarded as a bringer of destruction to the enemies of the Sun God Re. Temple of Mut—statues at British Museum.
The solar disk surrounds the head of the Goddess, and she clasps the symbol of life in one of her hands.

Nereid Monument—SW Turkey—Combination Greek and Persian style (I took a photo)

ANCIENT INDIA:
As Indo-Aryan populations spread through India, ideas about social stratification—the caste system—became increasingly important. Theoretically, the priests (Brahmanas) and warriors (Kshatriyas) were the dominant groups; lower down the scale were traders and agriculturist (Vaishyas) and labourers (Shudras). Outside this hierarchy of traditional Indian society were the outcasts—menials, tribal groups and foreigners.

Ritual Equipment (Hinduism):
In the sanctum of a Hindu temple, the deity is invoked through acts of ritual; following this, offerings are made and worship takes place. These activities are collectively known as Puja and invariably require the attendance of a priest, or Brahmin, and various items of ritual equipment.
The ritual element may require the recitation of sacred texts accompanied by the ringing of bells. Other actions make the temple residence of the deity in the in the shrine as pleasing as possible and special vessels are provided to hold the water required to keep the image cool and clean. Lighted lamps are offered to the god; some are permanently suspended in the shrine, while others, often with many wicks, are reverentially waved in front of the god’s image.

Yakshis—female tree spirits, with command over fertility
Ganesha—son of Parvati, the lord of beginnings and placer and remover of obstacles [he’s a bit more than an elephant-head boy].
The Great Goddess—the evidence for a goddess connected with the earth and with fertility can probably be traced back to the sixth millennium BCE at sites in Baluchistan west of the Indus. The religion of a powerful female deity developed further in historical periods. She was sometimes seen as a consort of Shiva, but also as a fiercely independent figure [personally I prefer the latter].

She, like Shiva, is worshipped both as a symbol (the female organ, yoni) and also as a human figure. Her concerns, both benign and malevolent, are with human and agricultural fertility as well as with epidemics and disease. She is also associated with the fruitfulness of rivers of India and is sometimes regarded as the very land itself, Mother India.

The Great Goddess of India has many names; in her fierce aspect she may be Durga, Kali or Chumunda; in her benign form she may be Parvati, Ganga (Ganges River), or Annapurna. She is also worshipped in sets of ‘Mothers,’ especially in the group known as ‘the 7 Mothers’ (Saptamatrika).

INDIAN RELIGIONS
Yantra—metal plaque used to invoke the presence of deities, usually goddesses. Combo of script with circles, squares and triangles (the latter symbolic of female power) is considered highly effective. [At this museum, they’re between three and six inches across, and a dark reddish color.]

Yantras are visual versions of Mantras, for they are signs specific to individual deities. The iconography associated with goddesses contain a variety of Yantras, mostly based on interlocking triangles and circles—the triangle being the symbol of female power. [I’ve come across that in books on goddess art, from various cultures around the world, and at least one modern doll artist has incorporated the triangle into stylized dolls.]

Mandalas are powerful diagrams similarly connected with individual deities. In schematic form they represent the divine palace where the deity is enthroned surrounded by courtiers. They occur as paintings, as temporary diagrams in powders, as sculptures in 3D form—and even as temple plans. In Buddhism especially they are used as aids in meditation. [I’m tempted to get myself a Tibetan Mandala thangka some day, and I’ve bookmarked a website from which they can be purchased.]

Mantras are short verses or sometimes single syllables which, as chants, are thought to be intrinsically powerful and have particular connections with individual gods or goddesses. The most frequent: Om, at beginning of many prayers and texts.
Hariti—was fierce ogress who ate children. Buddha converted her to protect children. Consort of Panchika, general to Kubera the god of riches.

BUDDHISM
Buddhist art from Gandhara--Hellenistic features—big influence from Greece.
Ghandhara is the ancient name for part of NW Pakistan where an influential Buddhist art flourished in the early centuries CE. Although the campaign of Alexander the Great (327-6 BCE) left no impression on the region, the succeeding Hellenistic state in Northern Afghanistan (Bactria) soon expanded south and east of the Hindu Kush and into the plains of NW India. In the Punjab, the kings were Indo-Greeks. During the early centuries CE, the empire of a central Asian dynasty, the Kushans, controlled the region and for a time much of the Gangetic plan to the East.

JAINISM
Is founded on the teachings of an historic figure, Mahavira, who was probably born in the mid-6th Century BCE in Eastern India, and was a contemporary of the Buddha. He, like the Buddha, found the constraints of orthodox sacrificial religion too rigid and sought a more humanistic approach to existence.

As in all Indian religions, release from the continuous cycle of births was the basis of the teaching of Mahavira. He thought the necessity of a measured lifestyle, especially the avoidance of all life-taking. Any activity involving killing would mean an accumulation of bad karma and a lower rebirth in the next life. Jains consider vegetarianism to be essential therefore, and professions which involve the taking of life are to be avoided.

The goddess of learning, Sarasvati, is particularly honoured by the Jains: their monasteries have traditionally maintained substantial libraries where scriptures detailing the life of Mahavira as well as large collections of secular works are preserved.

Sarasvati—the Jains have a pantheon of 16 Goddesses of Learning, the most important of which is Sarasvati or Shruta Devi, the ‘Goddess of Sacred Learning.’ The importance of learning in Jainism helps explain why Sarasvati is shown holding a book; in her other hands she holds a noose (to tie ignorance) and a club (to subdue evil). The missing hand (in the sculpture) would have held a rosary, an emblem of meditation and inward knowledge. [Is it any wonder that Sarasvati is my favorite Hindu goddess, at least that I’ve read up on so far? And like quite a few Eastern deities, she’s not for just one religion—that’s cool that she’s also Jain.]

[Somewhere I’ve read that Jains tend to be so anti-materialist that some of them don’t even wear clothing. Excuse me, but can you tell me; is this a monastery or a nudist colony? They also tend to not travel—a good thing if they’re naked. If they went to an airport, they’d get arrested. Besides, they wouldn’t have any money for tickets anyway. I can just see the headlines: NAKED JAIN MONKS HIJACK PLANE. OK, don’t get me wrong—really, I respect their religion. This just went a little overboard. I’m not entirely sure there are Jain monks, or if they’re the homeless wandering sort.]

THE INDIAN TEMPLE
In South Asia, the temple is considered the location on Earth of a deity or a figure worthy of veneration. The earliest surviving temples are rock cut Buddhist shrines dating from the late 2nd century BCE. This tradition of excavated shrines continued for almost a thousand years in the Deccan and includes Buddhist, Hindu and Jain examples. The most enduring form of Indian temple architecture, however, is of a constructed building.

Temples are made up of elements which replicate ideas of the Indian universe. In a Hindu temple, the deity is placed at the centre encircled by consort and court. A towering superstructure is usually built above the deity to recall the mountain home of the gods. Surrounding the shrine is a courtyard separated by protective deities providing access.

SACRED ARCHITECTURE
Architectural features in Buddhist, Hindu and Jain temples: ground plans which reflect the need to proceed around a central shrine, to make eye contact (Darshon) with the image and to make offerings.

Different materials were used in temple building in SE Asia. Terracotta panels on outside. More usual—use of stones for Hindu, Buddhist, and Jain temples. Wood was commonly used for temples in Nepal, in the foothills of the Himalayas and in the forested regions of South Asia.

Indian terracotta:
Unlike stone or bronze, which were commissioned by wealthy patrons, terracotta was inexpensive and perishable.
The objects displayed illustrate important uses of terracotta:
-Images from religious cults, which are among the best records of popular Indian religion from the earlier periods
-Modeled bricks, ranging from 5th to 8th centuries CE, which testify to the popularity of brick and timber architecture throughout Indian history.
-Terracotta icons, such as votive plaques, which served as vehicles for disseminating religious ideas.

Bodhisattva Prajnaparamita—embodiment of Mahayana texts, the Prajnaparamita or ‘Perfection of Wisdom.’ Her most important attribute is the text itself, visible on the lotus above her left shoulder. [She's also considered Mother of the Buddhas.]

A monkey…gave honey to the Buddha, at Vaishali. The monkey fell into a trance while he worshipped, was drowned, and was reborn as a god.

Vishnu’s wives are Bhu Devi and Shri Devi (also called Lakshmi). Bhu Devi is the Earth Goddess and Shri Devi, the Goddess of Wealth and Auspiciousness. [No wonder I remember Lakshmi—apparently she’s really popular in India].

Lakshmi was originally a mother goddess and personification of the Earth. Later she became the Goddess of Riches and Beauty. She is most often, as here, depicted carrying a lotus.

Kinnari—the female form of a semi-divine being; the upper part human, the lower part avian. They are the singers and musicians of the gods and are known in all Indian religions.

Writing After Leaving the Museum

At Tottenham Court Station (we were footsore after walking around the British Museum), we did not come across a cat named Grizabella, but we discovered the true meaning of rush hour at a Tube station. We got into the station, and then suddenly I saw wall-to-wall humans, moving slowly because of the crush. I truly think a person could be crushed to death at a Tube station during rush hour. An official person announced that if you’re taking the Northern Line, use the spiral staircase to the left, so we followed those directions—at the same time following a huge crowd of people down those metal, curving stairs, around and around, a metal staircase, and I really should have put my book bag in my right hand and used the railing against the wall, because my feet were too big to comfortably use the inner end, which was very narrow, especially when moving that fast. I was afraid I would fall.

Here we are at the Fitzroy Tavern, but it’s very crowded, with no empty table upstairs, and also very loud and containing smokers, and my sister didn’t recognize any of the people there—she only knew the Dr. Who fan group from the Internet, not face to face, and has only seen one photo each of a couple of the people we were supposed to meet with. I asked at the bar (after we went to the basement and didn’t see or hear people hanging out there), but the guy at the counter didn’t know of a Dr. Who fan club, and he suggested downstairs, which makes sense because it’s the place for writers group meetings. So we went back down and really looked around—there were two guys putting away photography equipment or something, and soon they left and we were the only ones. So we went back upstairs, wandering around shyly looking at people, got drinks, and came back down here to the basement. That’s right, I ordered a pint! Of Coca cola.

I had a great time at the British Museum all day, in any case. I saw the Elgin marbles and an ancient Greek temple and the Egyptian statues—I was really looking for a Bastet statue and thought I might have seen one somewhere around the front entrance—I settled for buying a Bastet post card. I want to sculpt a Bastet, complete with a pierced ear so I can put an earring on her. Better her than me.

In any case, I spent most of the day in the Asian art exhibit, mainly Hindu and Buddhist art, and also some Jain. It was really impressive—in the long gallery containing Asian religious art, they even have quite a bit of Tibetan art (not to mention the museum shop has quite a few books on Tibetan art, and even one on the indigenous Bon religion of Tibet). I saw ritual musical instruments--the big long trumpets, a very elaborately decorated conch shell, and large cymbals, that sort of thing. I also saw about four hand-held prayer wheels (including a fairly large one that had lost its handle), lots of Buddha and lama statues, including a small bronze Malarepa. Big, big gold Avalokitesvara Buddha standing in a display case that you can walk around. Another one still had lots of little bits of coral and turquoise. Most of the Tibetan stuff was 18th and 19th century, though some was as old as the 14th-15th. Oh, yes, I saw a pair of carved wooden nesting tables painted in bright, lively colors—red, yellow, blue, green, white---flowers and I think birds. (Gee, they’d look good in my dining room.) Three butter lamps, one of which was really big, about a foot tall.

After we got back to the hostel, my sister mentioned the Rosetta Stone—she was so happy to see it at the British Museum and had not known it was there, and my mouth dropped open as I suddenly realized: I had glanced at it for just a moment and walked past it. I was so absorbed in looking for cat goddesses like Bastet, not a simple rectangular chunk of pinkish stone. Oh dear.

Musicians At Tube Stations

On our first or second day, a flautist was playing at a fork in the underground tunnel—I forget which station, but it reminded me of the character Lear in Neil Gaiman’s fantasy novel Neverwhere. There was another musician between that and today, but I forget what they were playing. This morning, a good-looking musician with a dark ponytail and an electric guitar was playing a Beatles song (“I once knew a girl…”) at the Tottenham Court Station, and long before we reached him, the music trailed down the tiled tunnels—impressive acoustics. Later, on our way back, we passed another guy (not nearly as good looking—quite homely, actually) in approximately the same spot, playing a non-electric guitar.

Asian Art at the Nelson Atkins Museum

NOTES TAKEN AT THE NELSON-ATKINS MUSEUM OF ART (ASIAN COLLECTION)

Summer 2003

Jin Ping Mei—earliest Chinese novel, anonymous (risqué, too)

“May I, Song, enjoy a myriad years and the bushy eyebrows of old age.” --From an inscription inside a ritual vessel. Bronze c. 1100-771 BCE. I pictured the bushy eyebrows vividly.

A [17th century Chinese] Scholar’s Study
The architectural setting for a traditional Chinese scholar’s study gave expression to a life of refinement & leisure in which practice & enjoyment of all the arts were prized. A special environment was created for these activities [reminds me of my house]. Idyllic gardens, ranging from a few bamboos to an elaborately designed naturalistic space, surrounded the ideal rural or urban retreat. The imaginary occupant of this study [the one set up in the museum] could gaze out through 17th century wooden latticework & draw inspiration from every transformation of nature.
…. Here, an aficionado of life’s elegant pleasures could spend a quiet moment painting, practicing calligraphy or seal carving, playing the qin (zither), or perhaps appreciating & studying his collection of books and curios. In leisure hours he could share the appreciation of a fine art object with one or more friends, collaborate on a painting, host a literary gathering, or simply enjoy tea with a companion on the kang (couch). These activities not only poignantly contrasted with but also represented a retreat from the often troubled world of the late Ming period.

*

From “The Tibetan Room”—which is to say the breathtaking room full of Buddhist art, including Tibetan prayer wheels, but the first time I visited I didn’t know it was called the Tibetan Room.

BUDDHISM AND ITS PANTHEON
Buddhism was founded in India by Shakyamuni Buddha in the 6th to 5th centuries B.C.E. The earliest form of Buddhism, often called the Hinayana, emphasized the Buddha’s role as a teacher and the teachings themselves: renunciation of a worldly life, meditation, and practice of moral virtue. The goal of Buddhism was to escape from the ties that bind the individual to the universe. Most of the art from this period represented narratives from the histories or previous lives of the Buddha.

During the early centuries C.E., Buddhism was transformed into a deity who ruled over the universe. This movement, called the Mahayana, believes that there are many Buddhas (enlightened beings). Anyone can become a Buddha if he [she] attains sufficient knowledge. Beings are assisted on the path toward salvation by Buddhas-to-be called Bodhisattvas. Both Buddha’s and Bodhisattvas began to be represented in art.

In the third stage, Tantric Buddhism or the Bajrayana, the most prevalent type of Buddhism in Nepal & Tibet, the Pantheon increased manifold and became elaborately systemized. There is a supreme Buddha, called the Adi-Buddha, 5 transcendent directional Buddhas, and innumerable specialized Buddhas. There are Bodhisattvas & Goddesses, dharmapala (guardians of the teaching) & yi-dam (protective deities for individuals). Also encountered are images of honored historical figures, such as lamas (esteemed Tibetan monks), arhats (renowned disciples of the historical Buddha), and mahasiddhas (yogins imbued with magical powers).

Some Buddhist Goddesses:
(who can possibly be found on the Encyclopedia Mythica online database)
Vasudhara
Durga (Chinese & India/Hindu)
Green Tara (or Tara—various different colors—I’ve come across White also)
Mahabhairavi
Yama (god) & Yami (goddess)
Ushnishasitatapatra
Yaksh (nature spirit)
Parvati (Indian)
Ganga (Indian)

Green Tara
This particular sculpture: Probably 18th century/ Eastern Tibet/ Bell metal
Tara’s name can mean either “star” or “saviouress.” She is a compassionate Mother Goddess and also the partner of the Transcendent Buddhas or Bodhisattvas. She exists in many forms and colors. Here she sits in a relaxed posture on a lotus seat, her two hands performing the gestures of charity and teaching. An open and a closed lotus appear at her shoulders.

Vasudhara
This sculpture—14th century/Nepal
Vasudhara’s role as the Goddess of abundance is suggested by her attributes: a stock of grain in her middle left hand, an overflowing vase @ her lower left, a jeweled pendant, . . . in her middle right hand, and the gesture of offering gifts executed by the lower right hand. This Goddess was popular in Nepal.

Durga—Originated in Indian Hinduism as a Goddess created by the gods to fight certain demons. She became popular in Nepal as well. Here she rides upon her usual mount, a lion, brandishing a sword and shield. Her lower hands perform the charity and reassurance gestures.

A Mahasiddha
16th-17th century/ Central Tibet/ Silver with turquoise inlay
The Tibetans honor a group of 84 Mahasiddhas, who were originally historic persons. Each attained such a high level of knowledge of the Tantric texts & skill in practicing esoteric arts that he was able to fly and perform miracles. This figure sits on a lotus seat, performing gestures of discourse with both hands. He wears a crown of skulls and a lion’s skin about his loins. His fierce expression beneath furrowed brows suggests the intense concentration of his mental and spiritual powers.

Thangkas—the sacred pictures painted on fabric—
Arhat—highly accomplished monks who had originally lived in India.
Tsongkapa (1357-1419) was the founder of the Gelukpa or Yellow-cap Sect of Tibetan Buddhism, the sect which has been most powerful in recent centuries. He is believed to be an emanation of the Bodhisattva Manjushri, and therefore holds Manjushri’s attributes, a sword and a book, which appear on lotuses @ shoulder level. At Tsongkapa’s feet sit his 2 favorite pupils, the founders of some of the great monasteries of Tibet.

4 Mandalas
18th century/ Central Tibet/ Colors on cotton, brocaded silk mount
4 Mandalas float in a landscape of mountains and sky. At the center of each mandala is a female deity, who is surrounded by a number of attendants. A mandala is a guide to meditation. A meditator moves mentally through the various parts of the diagram, the outer circle, and gateways, the walls and inner circle, each of which represents some aspect of Buddhist doctrine. As he/she reaches the Goddess in the inner circle, his/her own consciousness has dissolved and he/she melds with the deity. When meditation is over, he/she moves back outward again, returning to the phenomenal world. Other deities are located in the clouds in the background.

Tsongkhapa
19th century/Tibet/ gilt bronze
Tsongkhapa (1357-1419) was a teacher and reformer who founded the Yellow Cap sect of Tibetan Buddhism, the most powerful sect in recent Tibet. He performs preaching gesture [one hand is touching the palm of the other].

Vajrapani
Late 18th-early 19th century/ Tibet/ gilt bronze with paint
Originated as a form of the Hindu king of the gods, Indra. In the earliest Buddhist art of India, he served as an attendant to the Buddha. In Tibet he became a major Bodhisattva. Here he is depicted as a fierce Dharmapala, a protector of Buddhist teaching. His fiery hair is decorated with skulls, and severed heads are suspended from his garland. He tramples on serpents and brandishes a vajra, the Buddhist symbol of the Absolute [it’s the little gold stick with curved pieces at the end forming almost a ball—Tibetan lamas use it while creating a sand mandala].

Ushnishasitapatra
19th century/ Central Tibet/ Colors on cotton
This benign goddess stands upon a lotus pedestal, crushing with her 1000 feet a multitude of humans and animals who represent all the bad states of existence. She has a thousand faces and a thousand arms, the latter arranged in an oval pattern behind her, each containing an eye. The many heads, eyes, and arms demonstrate her tremendous protective capacity. Her principle attributes are a white umbrella and a wheel. Buddhas and Goddesses appear in the clouds above her. Below 3 identical Mahakalas (protective deities) dance on prostrate figures.

Padmasambhava
18th century/ China, Tibet-Chinese thangka/ Colors on cotton
A mystic whom an 8th century king of Tibet invited to come from India to drive away the indigenous spirits and advance the cause of Buddhism. In this painting Padmasambhava has been depicted in his fierce role as an exorcist. He holds a vajra in his right hand before his chest, and in his left a skull filled with blood. He wears an individualistic red hat with turned-up lappets topped with a ½ vajra. His own special staff, toped with a skull & 2 human heads, leans against his left shoulder. The five fierce deities across the bottom of the painting represent the Tibetan guardian of the North, Pe Har, with 4 members of his retinue. Pe Har became the guardian deity for the Samye monastery in Central Tibet, which Padmasambhava founded.

[Main colors of Tibetan thangkas: red, green, orange, white, blue, off-white, black. Very bright colors! Maybe I’m subconsciously using Tibetan colors while painting the house.]

*

Buddhist Cave Chapels—something to look up (archeology)

Lotus Sutra—most popular Buddhist scripture

Chinese lion—Guardian of Buddhist faith, appropriate for flanking doorways. Not only used in temples and monasteries but also in family homes, in the front room. Eventually symbolized emperor, but still is symbol for protection and honor.
Whenever I saw what I thought was a Foo Dog, it turned out to be a lion or a chimera.

Tree of Life (South India)
The tree’s overall shape…is that of the sacred banyan tree, a symbol of male, spiritual, ethereal elements of life. The stem, with its rhizomes, is that of a lotus, representing the female, fertile, earthly, watery, aspects. The two combined betoken the whole of creation. The serpents, another symbol of fertility, and the central blossom, here used as a solar or spiritual symbol, also suggests the quality of high, combined, represents the unity of creation. Two pairs of confronting animals are frequently encountered flanking trees of life. The geese perched at the ends of the branches and eating of the fruit of the tree represent individual souls who partake of this life but have the freedom to escape from the cycles of life, which is the major goal of Indian religious thought.

MAIN FEATURES OF A BUDDHA IMAGE
(Also found on Goddess images, Bodhisattvas, etc)
Mandorla: almond-shaped halo surrounding the Buddha, indicating the divine light radiating from his body
Usnisa: Protuberance at the crown of the head, shaped like a royal turban [or bun] and symbolizing Buddha’s expanded wisdom.
Urna: jewel in the center of the forehead considered a third eye, and sometimes depicted as a small tuft of hair. Denotes the Buddha’s all-seeing nature.
Three rings of neck fat: remembrance of the moral Buddha’s status as a wealthy prince prior to his enlightenment.
Monastic robe: Buddhas wear simple, unadorned robes like monks.
Mudra: symbolic hand gestures identifying the particular Buddha represented and conveying a sacred message
Elongated ears: denotes the mortal Buddha’s status as a nobleman from ancient India whose ears were stretched by wearing heavy jewelry
Lotus petal throne: Buddhist deities sit upon thrones like those of secular rulers. The lotus plant symbolizes purity as its flower rises nobly from the mud of the earth.

Mudras: symbolic hand gestures of Buddhist deities.
Some common sacred hand gestures are mudras, found on Buddhist statues & paintings throughout the museum’s Asian galleries are illustrated below. Names are provided in Sanskrit. [I drew them in a sketchpad, but of course that’s not happening on this word document.]

Bhumisparsa--touching the earth gesture. The Buddha calls upon the earth gods to witness his triumph over evil demons.
[Left hand hanging down]

Dyana—gesture of concentration (2 variations). [Elbows bent, palms up in front of lap, one hand resting inside the other. Variation is with thumb and forefinger of each hand forming circle.]

Adhaya (right hand)—gesture of dispelling fear. [Elbow bent, hand held palm up with pinky sticking out to the side a bit.]
Vara (left hand)—gesture of benevolence. [Hand held with palm hanging upside down.]

Luohan (Sanskrit: Arhat), disciples of the Buddha Sakyamuni, are fully emancipated beings who concentrate on personal enlightenment and withdraw from the world. This figure is one of few known to have survived from a group found in the caves in the high cliffs of Yixian, Hebei Province. The Luohan is seated on a base of weathered rocks with his hands in Dyana Mudra, signifying a profound concentration & spiritual presence. The slightly over life-size sculpture displays a portrait-like quality . . . it is a masterpiece of Buddhist sculpture which follows late Tang style.
Tang Dynasty= 600’s-1100ish.

Seated Guanyin Bodhisattva
[This is the exact same Guanyin figure as the one illustrated in the book Heart of the Goddess! My mouth dropped open when I turned and there she was, towering over me a few inches away. Seated, she’s about 9 feet tall.]
Wood with Polychrome/Liao Dynasty, AD 907-1125/Shanxi or Hebei Province
Bodhisattvas are deities who, unlike Buddhas, forgo Nirvana until that time when all sentient being shall have attained enlightenment. Of these, Guanyin became the most popular as the deity of mercy & compassion, answering prayers & protecting the faithful from catastrophe. The fabled home of Guanyin is an island in the Southern Sea called Potalaka [sounds like the Potala is named after it]. The deity sits in the position of “Royal Ease” on a mossy rockery representing Potalaka. Originally the rockery probably continued up & around the image creating a grotto by the sea.

This image epitomizes the best qualities of a tradition in which a new kind of humanism imbues the image with a gentle and benign calm. The high deities are more approachable & immediate in emotional appeal than were the more austere, but more religiously profound images of an earlier time. The artistic manner is ornate. The paint & gessoed designs date from the 16th century.

The rock that her foot rests on has lotus design in red, and the rocks are generally green. Green, red, and gold costume. Gold dragon designs on Guanyin’s skirt, at the knees.

Note by the wooden Bodhisattvas—
Buddhist sculpture, largely in wood & clay, of the 12th & 13th centuries marks the last important phase of religious sculpture in China. The images are gentle, humanized and immediately appealing. The figures are full-bodied but not clumsily heavy, and their garments flow easily & naturally, eddying about the figure with numerous twisting scarves suggestive of stately movement. The carving is deep, producing a rich effect of black shadow and high-light playing movement. The style is typical of the Fen River Valley are in Sun Shaxi Province.

Chinese Tomb Figures
It is an ancient and wide spread belief that a carved or modeled image of a person, animal, or object captures the spirit of what is represented and can substitute for the real thing in the spirit world of the dead . . . All such pieces [tomb figures] were intended to be buried with the dead and have been recovered from tombs.
Saucy camels, fat Mongolian ponies, crazy gnome figure, people like musicians and women bearing offerings (cups). Doll house-like sculpture of a 5-story home (it’s about the same scale as a standard doll house). If I’m not cremated or taken to Tibet to be cut up and fed to vultures, I’d like to be buried with clay sculptures of saucy camels and fat Mongolian ponies.