The Nunnery in Dharamsala

On the Internet, I had seen a headline about Clinton and Obama, and at Cloud’s End I saw a newspaper lying on a table outside my room. It was before 4 am, when I woke from a disturbing dream. In this dream, a newspaper lay on a small table in front of me. I learned that Hillary Clinton had had a bad experience with a taxi driver—I forget what the argument was about, but the driver murdered her whole family in vengeance. I was shocked and horrified with this news, such evil behavior, and suddenly I woke up.

These are photos that I took at the Dolma Ling Nunnery in Dharamsala. It's the site of the Tibetan Nuns Project, which is about educating nuns on the same level as monks, since they have been neglected in what is yet another patriarchal culture.

We took several taxi cabs to the Dolma Ling Nunnery, a large grouping of two- to three-story white and red buildings that look pretty new. The architecture was simple and streamlined, and I’m tempted to say it looks more Indian than Tibetan, but it was impressive nonetheless. We met up and a couple of young women in chupas led us in. We walked across an attractive paved courtyard with steps and bushy plants. Surrounding the courtyard were white columns forming a sort of cloister. We climbed the steps into one of the buildings and thus entered the main hall of the Dolma Ling Nunnery.

The main hall is set up like a basic traditional Tibetan prayer hall, with long red cushioned benches facing each other and running parallel to the length of the room, and with a dais at the far end of the room, facing the doors. In the center of the dais was a brocade-draped throne displaying a large framed photo of the Fourteenth Dalai Lama. Behind the throne was a huge, colorful appliquéd tapestry, and to either side of it were glass cabinets holding traditional manuscripts and statues. Shantum led a meditation sitting, and I felt relaxed. Then he asked one of us to read from a sutra, originally given by the Buddha’s buddy Shariputra, on ways to put away anger. It is called the Discourse On the Five Ways of Ending Anger and was originally recited in Sravasti.

Courtyard, where the debates take place.

Entrance to meditation hall

Throne in meditation hall; a photo of the Dalai Lama sits on the throne. Behind it is an appliqued wall hanging.

The Dolma Ling Tibetan Nuns Project was set up in the early 1990s when nuns started coming here. The seventh Dalai Lama set up Dolma Ling in (scribble) arts and crafts—that’s here.Some people are taking a quick trip to Norbulingka Center and going to the Dalai Lama’s teachings. The rest of us followed a couple of Tibetan women to the video room to see a film called A Day in the Life of Dolma Ling.

I wrote some notes based on the documentary. The nunnery was established in 1991: 180 nuns from Tibet, Spiti, and Ladakh. It also includes a few female laypeople. The construction was completed in 2005. The nunnery will have a solar hot water system, but it’s not constructed yet. It has a clinic and even an Internet room. The nunnery includes a staff of about two hundred, including teachers. The Dalai Lama and the Tibetan Nuns Project have helped to give women opportunities for study, progress, and respect—for them to obtain full ordination. They have their own cows and sheep and fields and produce a lot of their own stuff, but they don’t yet grow their own vegetables, but will at some point. They also make their own tofu.

http://www.tnp.org/ = Tibetan Nuns Project

Tibetan manuscripts (top left shelf) and statues in cabinet

Views of the appliqued wall hanging behind the throne. Sakyamuni Buddha and Green Tara.

Avalokiteshvara (Bodhisattva of Compassion) and Buddha

Sand mandala preserved under glass. Usually these are destroyed shortly after they're made, demonstrating impermanence.

View from roof (as are most of the following photos)

Water supply for the nunnery

We took a tour that included, among other places, the computer room and the library upstairs. We took our time in the library, a spacious room with many rows of glass-door bookcases, most of which had plenty of space for more books. I noticed that some books were in English. In a far corner was a wooden and glass cabinet containing a sand mandala. We stepped out onto a balcony with a stunning view of the mountains. Some of them are topped with snow in the distance, and the sky was bright blue. Someone asked why a row of trees was chopped up so much, concerned that it might be for the ironic reason that the trees obstructed the view; but no, it’s because the branches are used for firewood and they will grow back. We stood on the large balcony, which had tubular gold ornaments at the corners, and we looked out at the water system tank, which involves a tank (the water kind), a building, and big black cylindrical tubs. We went back inside, to a large room with a cabinet displaying free copies of Tibetan Nuns Project newsletters and post cards, and we helped ourselves.

Snow lion sculptures over a doorway

Back to the courtyard

Rinchen Kunun, a Tibetan woman in an elegant dark green chupa, is Head of the Tibetan Nuns Project, and she also runs the guesthouse Kashmir Cottage, where about half of our sangha are staying. She has worked for the Tibetan government in exile, but her pet project is the Tibetan Nuns Project. She has been the head of the Tibetan Women’s Association in the past. She also happens to be married to the Dalai Lama’s brother, Tenzin Choegyal, who was identified as a Rinpoche but stepped down because the job didn’t suit him. We had a great interview with her at a long table, where we munched on snacks and drinking tea.

I took way too many snacks, having not considered that we’d be eating lunch before terribly long. The flaky sugary cookies were irresistible, and unfortunately by the time it occurred to me that I shouldn’t have taken so many cookies, it also occurred to me that I’d better clean my plate rather than waste food. Flakes for the flakey.

Hello, Himalayas

Among other things, as we neared the end of the talk, someone asked, “Are the nuns now writing commentary on texts?”

Rinchen Kunun replied, “Yes, they’re beginning to do it, and it’s so exciting to have commentary from a female point of view.”

Appliqued wall hanging with names of donors on leaves

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.

The Streets of Dharamsala

The main square of Dharamsala

Here are some images of Dharamsala, India, a major Tibetan exile community, where the Dalai Lama lives.

The building centered in this picture is Mc'llo's, popular hang-out for Westerners

A shop catering to tourists

See the monkeys on the roof!

Monks and motor rickshaw in the main square

Outside the Dalai Lama's temple

The courtyard of the Dalai Lama's temple, after his talk. Notice the stray puppy in the center of the picture.

The veranda of the Dalai Lama's temple. The thing draped in yellow fabric is the Dalai Lama's throne, where he sits during his teachings.

Ordinary street scene

Back to the central square--you could never get tired of that lively place.

A Free Tibet demonstration was going on in the main square.

The big white building on the right, down below, is a monastery.

Path from the Dalai Lama's temple

The Tibet Children's Village

We rode straight from the church to the Tibetan Children’s Village, which struck me as a place to get a better education than the school I attended, even though by American standards Morgan Township High School was considered above average. We walked through a large paved area surrounded by buildings that were part of the school. The main office was in a building at the top of a grassy slope, on which were large rocks painted with curled up deer, presumably a reference to Deer Park in Sarnath. The buildings looked more or less like modern variations on Himalayan architecture.

The guide, an adult male who had a high position working for the Village, took us to a dorm for little kids. The front room included a couple of wooden cabinets topped with some toy animals and below a row of colorful thangkas, and on either side wall was a door, one leading to the boys’ dorm room and the other, almost completely covered with stuffed toy animals, lead to the girls’ room. As we stood inside the boy’s dorm, the guide explained that it accommodates twenty-four kids: it includes seven bunk beds, fourteen beds, and two kids sleep on the bottom bunk. The rooms were clean and neat and I’m sure that even if it seems crowded by American standards, the living conditions are very good. Maybe if the school had more funding, it would have more space.

Door to the girls' dorm

Entrance hall to the dorms

We afterwards visited the baby room, which I thought was pretty. The cribs, under a slanting roof, were all painted bright blue, and an aisle went down the center of the room. The little room had dormer windows and a tall window at the far end, across from the door where we entered. Nearby was a spotless restroom with white porcelain fixtures, and to my amusement there were several squatting toilets in a row. I recall that the house where I live originally had just an outhouse, and it had two seats next to each other; my mother came from a family with ten children, so no doubt it was convenient, but so much for privacy.

Baby room

The guide explained that there are several locations for the Tibetan Children’s School. Ladakh--seven schools (does this note mean there are seven of these schools just in Ladakh?)We met a little girl who walked across the plateau with her little brother on her back, but her parents are still in Tibet. Tibetans come to India, all illegal in transit. This is a school exclusively for children coming from Tibet, ages ten to seventeen. Seventeen is about the top age, but a few are twenty. The school does include an eleven month old girl; her mother left her behind because she had to return to Tibet.

Our guide explained that the main purpose of the Tibet Children’s Village is preserving a separate Tibetan identity. Nehru asked what help the Dalai Lama wanted, and he replied that he wanted schools for the children, to keep a separate identify and keep their culture alive. Nehru said, “Sure.”

This school teaches both in Tibetan and English up to the fifth year, then Tibetan is the main subject and language. From the sixth year, they learn more English. Sixth through eighth years, they learn Hindi too. Up to Class twelve, they learn Tibetan and English. There’s no compulsory Hindi, but from class nine they study the Hindi language.

Richard asked, “Do most of the boys become monks?” The guide said that a few become monks. He didn’t want to tell the percentage, because more and more monks become laymen nowadays.

This ferocious beast attempted to scare me off, but I was fearless.

Parents don’t support the school because they can’t, but they give to His Holiness. The distance between here and Tibet is about one hundred miles as the crow flies (rather shorter than I thought). Mann is a village on the border, and it’s closer to Tibet than to Delhi. Kids go to monastery school up to age six; Shantum said that’s typical in India. After that, they have ordinary schooling. It was weird to hear about parents coming to Dharamsala and dropping off their children before returning to Tibet, thus abandoning their children, and some members of the sangha expressed concern about this. But parents return to Tibet because the Chinese authorities hold their families hostage when they take this trip. It’s too expensive to get an education in Tibet, and it’d be Chinese anyway. I kind of think it’s amazing the Chinese authorities even let the parents take their kids to Dharamsala for an education; you’d think the authorities would be more inclined to let the kids remain illiterate. Still, they’re a bunch of bullies.

We were walking around at the Children’s Village, along a path with Tibetan-ish bungalows on our right, when we passed by a group of Westerners standing around talking, and I looked at each of them, and then I made eye contact with an Indian guy who looked like he could have been Shah Rukh Kahn’s brother. The resemblance was quite startling, and he even had the same eyebrows. We made eye contact and exchanged a smile. I didn’t mean to be flirty. I guess that’s called accidental flirtation.

Some of our group (including me) sneaked into the back of a math class for teenagers. Surprisingly, the class was entirely in English. Gee, it’s convenient to have a first language that’s so popular; it seems like people speak English almost anywhere.

This is the entrance to a classroom, where teenagers were taking a math class in English.

Stones on the hillside were painted with curled up deer.

After we left the children's village, we went to the city center to have lunch at Chonor House, the restaraunt where we almost always had lunch.

Now it occurs to me that I should go ahead and snail mail Shantum a printed copy of the manuscript, since he doesn’t keep up with e-mails all the time, and since it’s a five hundred page manuscript. The printed copy would be much easier to read than if he tried reading it on a computer. I’ll mention that before we part. I’m hoping he’ll enjoy and appreciate the book—I’m really hoping he enjoys it and thinks it’s well written. I’ve gotten for the most part positive feedback about the quality of my travel writing.

Monks lining up in the street, to enter the Dalai Lama's temple for his teachings

By the time we got to the town center, it was past 12:30, and monks were lining up in the street to go to the temple. After we parked and started moving up the slanted pavement to Chonor House, I stopped and turned to get a picture of monks in line; usually I don’t have my camera with me when we see them. I went a little further up and took a picture from above, because there was a mass of red-clad monks and slowly moving white taxis. Quite a view.

Veranda in the back of Chonor House

We had a delicious buffet lunch on the customary balcony. We had a mushroom stir fry and a broccoli and cauliflower stir fry, and I just barely remembered to refrain from putting milk in my tea. Last night I realized that my stomach was upset because I had consumed so many milk products throughout the day.

View from Chonor House. The big white building in the center is a monastery on the hillside.

I hadn’t realized we’d spent that much time at the Children’s Village—for the first time we were hearing the Dalai Lama’s deep and musical voice from the balcony of Chonor House. I had left the radio behind in the room, taking it out of my bag when I found out that we would be going to the Children’s Village; I had wanted to lighten my load, but I should have known better! About half our sangha has been listening to the radios, and I’ve been writing in my journal and listening to crows. We’re supposed to meet up here again at six, which gives me time to use the Internet and attend the four o’clock teaching. That gives me plenty of time, and some time to wander, too. I’m going to go off in just a moment, after I use the restroom, since this restaurant has two that are nice. I’ve also been listening to and imitating the crows. A pair of them seemed to say, “Uh-oh! Uh-oh!”

Back on the street, after lunch