Back
to the Grinding Stone
Part 1: Go the Distance
“Well looked outside my
window, fog came up today, that grey outside is around my head, looks like it’s
here to stay” Jorma
As attentive
readers will recall, at the center of Tsenkharla campus is an ancient grinding
stone. This large boulder rests about chest high with a concave impression of
sand grinded by a smaller jagged stone. It has thick moss growing on its
Northern side. The town (I’m sorry Nancy) the village was once named
Rangthangwoon which translates to the grinding stone. It’s one of many
treasures in this auspicious locality. A young teacher told me as a matter of
fact that Tsenkharla was smack in the middle of the highway of the local
protector deities. Which also means it’s a transit way for demons too. It makes
sense with its two wide valleys spinning off in opposite directions. From here at
1,900 meters or 6,500 feet you can see hundreds of miles in each direction. One
valley stretches from Arrunachal Pradesh and the region of Tawang all the way
west to Trashigang. Another valley view gauges the distance between T-Gang and
Yangtse, a drive of over two hours. We also boast the ancient ruin of Tsangma and
the sacred temple which is my spiritual core. From the temple one can see two
rivers the Dawang Chu and the kulong Chu flowing in opposite valleys towards
Doksom. Doksom is over three thousand feet below and only 14 KM away. These
rivers share a source near Tawang and separate for hundreds of kilometers
before rejoining. Eventually they flow into the Manas River and then the mighty
Brahmaputra in India. The land around Tsenkharla is temperate forests
intermixed with terraced farmland. The mountains of East Bhutan are steeper and
more intense than any I’ve seen before. People live on cliff edges and the
valleys resemble gorges with raging rivers. What few people there are cram into
rocky slopes or hug the narrow band of water on the valley floor. Right now
maize stalks (similar to corn) tower over my head. While walking in fields of
maize I felt like Kevin Kosner (Ray) in “Field of Dreams.” I thought id run
into Shoeless Joe Jackson and James Earl Jones while searching for Manu’s
house. It’s lush and green now with terraced fields of grazed grass with stands
of pine, oak, fruit trees, abundant flower gardens, ferns, and tangled
undergrowth. It is different up here to anywhere else I have seen in Bhutan
thus far. But isn’t that always the way in this wildlife playground. Well the
monsoon is having its way too. Last night according to my bucket we received 3
inches of rain. The campus is mud soaked. Being up high the temperatures are
quite cooler than in T-Gang or Rangjoon. Microclimates abound in Bhutan.
“My sight was poor but I was sure the sirens sang there
song for me” Bouncing Around The Room
Life here
has posed more ups and downs. Over holiday my hut was broken into by some kids
who fortunately only took my beach ball, and mini soccer ball. They were merely
after toys. I assume the perpetrators were little since they squeezed through
the bars in my window which hadn’t been properly secured. I also lost my trusty
Kimock cap in Trashigang; not having a hat in Bhutan is problematic. Beyond that
I have a touch of the monsoon blues. Last weekend I met Ian, Vicky, and Bunks
and we headed to Bartsham. We stayed in a rustic guesthouse above the monastery.
Linda, a British volunteer is teaching English to the resident monks. She has
been here three years and has spent her entire adult life roaming primarily in
Asia. She swapped China stories with Vicky and Ian while Becky and I looked on wide
eyed like grandkids at the thanksgiving table. And a fine thanksgiving it was
with vegetarian delights. Bartsham was windy and in a cloud of mist. I sat in a
nice leather chair and took tea. You can’t imagine the joy of sitting in a
proper chair. The following morning the group continued on a hike to Rangjoon
via Bidung but I hailed a taxi riding the four hours home. The road from
Bartsham to T-gang is only a bumpy dirt track descending thousands of feet.
When I reached Tsenkharla I went up to my temple to pay my respects to Lord
Buddha on the day of his first sermon. The temple was empty with flickering
butter lamps gracing the alter dancing in the thick air. (Alert Bobby I have
found the sound of thick air he was looking for on “Born Cross Eyed”) I rang
some tantric bells which split my consciousness in a warm wave. On the way home
a raven whooshed centimeters above my head, bestowing on me my own invisible Raven
Crown. My principal La and others don’t seem to like all my roaming but what to
do La. They made some comments about my “safety” at lunch the other day. As a volunteer working for minimal salary I
feel compelled to absorb as much of this country on my limited time off as
possible. It is also soothing to see other BCF’ers on occasion. But I am
preaching to the choir here.
Staying
healthy and clean is a top priority nowadays with the monsoon turning the water
a muddy brown and clothes staying damp after washing. Most of the day the peaks
are obscured by clouds, with some clearing in the lower regions. It is as if I
have stepped into another world. Perhaps it happened last fall, in the
purgatory of the Bhutanese approval draft when wandering around in the void at
the Hang town Halloween Ball in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. Part of ambiance
was a spooky gothic gateway below a sentinel oak. A portal between the living
world and afterlife. After RRE’s final set I strolled back towards the stage
and “the afterlife” bumping into one of my musical consorts under the archway.
We exchanged farewells and encouraging words. From there I was on my way into
the dark abyss of unknown uncertainty crossing through the bardo into Bhutan.
Here we pick
up the threaded tale again if you can follow it, because I sure cannot. But
nonetheless here we go again as getting back to work is always a drag. Although
I am glad to see my students again. They are the best company here. I concur
with many of my BCF colleagues that many of the students writing is abysmal. (I
know throwing stones in glass houses) It’s an uphill battle as they love to
copy and make countless errors. Oh my, let me tell you about wrapping up the
first semester which felt much like subjugating a pesky demon in a mud
wrestling match. Entering hundreds of marks into a complex spreadsheet
presented specific visual challenges for me. My CN was causing my eyeballs to
twitch and I made several errors that I had to go back and correct. Can you
believe the administration gives cash prizes to top students in each section.
And the student’s rankings with names are posted on the wall for all classmates
to see. It’s sad that most of these kids will be educated farmers and never
leave their villages. I suppose Bhutan needs its farmers. Only a few will have
an opportunity at higher education at the Sharubse College. What will happen to
the affable Dawa Dema or the hapless Norbu who ranked at the bottom of their 7A
class? I must teach to the bottom pupils knowing their time is nearly up. Boy
man is life different here as was evident tonight. One of our class 9 students
died over break in Mongar from some undisclosed sickness. Tonight the students
prayed chanting in the assembly hall in their white and red scarves for several
hours. Their devotion and communal spirit was moving. What’s unmoving are their
filthy trash habits. I can’t comprehend how they can devote hours to prayer but
refuse to tuck plastic rubbish into their gho or kira. Yet Bhutan is more
special then I realize. This is the last Himalayan Buddhist Kingdom. No more
Tibet or Sikkim gobbled, up by China and India. No more chortens in Afghanistan
near the Swat Valley where the precious teacher (Guru Rimpoche) was born. This is
the pure vision of The Buddha slipping away with each television set and piece
of plastic. This is one of the few pockets of wilderness remaining with lush
jungles supporting elephants, tigers, and unicorn rhinos and unclimbed unnamed snowbound
peaks among the worlds highest. The throne of the gods. Perhaps the last refuge
of humans and deities alike at least in the Buddhist realm. I often forget how
privileged I am to be here. It’s a hard scrabble life for a tenderfoot like me
with visions of cheeseburgers dancing in my head. I am not sure what will be
gained or hopefully what will be lost. I am still Tim with all my flaws at the
end of the world. But here the hope of individual metamorphism lies in
Trashiyangtse, “The Land of Spiritual Awakening.” Goodnight from no man’s land.
Part Two:
Hazelnuts
“Broken ground open and beckoning, to the spring, black
dirt live again” Let It Grow
Today I had
an unexpected visit from some felincpa’s (foreigners) they were here to check
on newly planted hazelnut trees. This is an ambitious project started by a
British man named Shawn. Shawn has rugged movie star looks and a personality to
match. He had Nicole and Yon a Polish-American couple with him on his team. The
couple lived in San Jose and Nicole was a Stanford graduate. Go Cardinal! Shawn
also had an entourage of Bhutanese and Indian surveyors. Of course Shawn had
dined with Nancy on a few occasions. Anybody who is anybody in Bhutan knows
Nancy! In the evening the students tended the trees and made some adjustments to
the seedlings such as adding soil or digging trenches for drainage. This
project intends to help subsidize farmers in East Bhutan with supplemental
income. There are 2 million hazelnut trees planned in the region with low
impact on the environment. The trees utilize constructed terraces. The trees
thrive over 1,600 meters at high altitude. I had read about the project so it
was gratifying to see we are taking part. The trees will not yield nuts for
almost five years but when they do the school will turn a profit. The nuts end
up in some big names companies but it will be a symbiotic relationship for the
Bhutanese. Shawn remarked it would be cheaper to grow in Nepal or China but the
company has interest in helping Bhutanese farmers. I don’t know the whole story
but it seems an intriguing meeting of big business and grass roots. How many
big businesses for better or worse have their root in third world countries? (Thankfully
you can get a Coke in any hut in the world.) I will do my best to aid the
hazelnut projects efforts anyway I can as several trees are planted right by my
rock below Deki’s farm.
As for
school I turned in my consolidated grade sheet and am officially done with my
first semester! Phew! I am reviewing five paragraph essays with my students and
spent the day correcting the majority of 120 essays. This is a tedious process
I am undertaking to help them prepare for their final. Essays will be on every
exam until class ten. It takes up valuable time to individually meet with each
student and I wish I could do it more often. One advantage of reading the
essays is it provides an invaluable look into the life of a Bhutanese teenager.
These kids are amazing. They all go home and slave away in the field helping
their parents. Tasks include herding cows, working in the fields, gathering
firewood, cooking, and cleaning. Some kids even work construction jobs earning
up to 4,000 NU which they hand over to their folks. Can you imagine USA teens
taking on these responsibilities? Yeah right!
It inspires me to work harder as a teacher when I read their accounts. At
school they live on a simple diet of rice, potato, and dal every day and sleep
thirty to a hostel the size of my hut, sometimes sleeping two to a bed. To
summarize these are some gritty kids.
Dogs are
dying all over campus. It’s a grizzly sight with pussy soars, emaciated torsos,
and carcasses surrounded by flies as we wait for them to die. Meanwhile the
kids cut the grass looking like little reapers in ghos and kiras. I went up to
my temple but it was uncharacteristically locked. So I found a new trail into
the lush cypress grove. The cypress trees are similar to Redwoods but not as
tall. Their needles cascade off the branches like a forest goddess’s wispy
green hair. In the grove things are cool and fresh and only here can my mind
relax a spell. The sounds of the forest fill my soul as day washes into night, six
months after arrival in Bhutan.
But Wait
There’s More!
“It rained and rained for fourteen long lonely days, they
don’t care how you feel, they say it ain’t no big deal” Rainbow, Zeke
My day began
with the students standing in their gho and kira for assembly. A girl scout
marched up to the flag pole and saluted before they sang two prayers and the
national anthem. The students appear as an unarmed army in purple patterned
attire. It is a beautiful sight. My day closes with the tinkling of cow bells
and a half rainbow over the borderline. The land here has remained unchanged
for millennium. We had a whole hour of water so I filled my H2O filter did a
wash and the dishes. Oh heaven! Now I am making emadatsi with potatoes,
chilies, onions, and tomato. I’d rather be at Chilies having a double bacon
cheeseburger and artichoke dip. These damn chilies are so hot they burn my skin
if I don’t wash properly. The rain has started again as I rushed to get my
clothes off the line. I finished prepping for tomorrow and I am puttering
around the hut burning incense and sipping Coca Cola from my favorite blue mug.
Nothing more to report here now. By the way, how are things in your town?
Here’s an acronym
for Miss Train Wreck…XOXO
The vapors of love linger
A rainbow cloud over an
abyss
While in electric forest
A tantric monkey’s
Nocturnal dance
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