UFO’s Exactly
“There’s a giant sleeping by my door, I don’t know what
that giant came here for” Ed Lib
Greetings Earthlings,
Someone in Thimphu remarked that she wasn’t the type to blog
every time she saw a butterfly. On the
other hand I have to tell you about the butterfly hovering around the prayer
wheel today. It had a wingspan of almost a foot and a circular white marking on
each wing. I stopped and let IT flutter around me while pollinating some
geranium blossoms. I couldn’t have imagined that Bhutan is the butterfly
capital of the world, but it seems to be.
I reckon Amanda from Another Roadside Attraction would like it here as
would any entomologist. So much life has sprung from this rock and one wonders
where it retreats to in winter. But for now I will keep watch on the present.
The ivy is winding up the cypress trunks and the maize is growing like Jacks
bean stock to the giant’s door. In fact there are many unidentified flying
objects around here nowadays and the landscape is buzzing with surprises. Every
night dung beetles fly like remote control choppers in my cement hut. And the
forest is perfumed with scarlet and pink blooms. The earth seems healthy after
receiving buckets of rain this year. The students are not as healthy as
shooting diarrhea, cough, and fever are the norm. I feel relatively good but am
lethargic except when out roaming. We finally got water today after a three day
dry spell. I gather that lack of water makes kids sick. I know they are not
washing after using the toilet or cleaning the lavatories, which are merely
pits dug into cement with stool piled in them.
Flies are everywhere and it doesn’t take a Scientist to figure out the problem
there. Especially for me who lives a stone’s throw from the shitters. What to
do la or WTDL.
I have noticed a few of my students making excellent
progress which is encouraging. One is Pema in class 7 who was constantly talking
to her friends in class. I took her aside and ever since she has been very
engaged in the lessons. A teacher loves looking out and seeing wide eyed
students making eye contact and nodding in approval. More often one might see a
distracted half turned pupil or worse a head on the desk. I have some exciting lessons planned for the
week and look forward to getting into Hectors Great Escape with class 8.
Tomorrow we are making a chart comparing the pros and cons of urban and rural
life. This is something I do in my head on a daily basis. For example pro,
giant butterflies, con no double cheeseburgers. I am hoping this exercise will
sharpen their critical thinking skills. If nothing else I hope I have
encouraged students to think for themselves this year. I certainly have given
up asking them to put their shoes on, partly since it is a quant reminder of
where I get to teach, a place where they must wear elaborate national regalia
but no shoes. Barefoot student’s is just one of the humorous aspects of being a
teacher in Bhutan. As August rolls into September I make adjustments in an
attempt to make things just exactly perfect. Yeah Right. But I do strive for
improvement rearranging the puzzle pieces trying to make them fit. The proper
ingredients help a lot and for dinner I had rice with fiddlehead fern, garlic,
onion, chilies, and local cheese. It came out wonderful and paired well with a
vintage 2007 Curb. Morgan would’ve been in heaven. The fresh veggies were acquired in T-Gang
which makes cooking at home enjoyable. There are only so many combos with
chili, onion, and spuds one can concoct. Just adding fruit and veggies to my
daily diet cheers me up, unfortunately these perishable items don’t last long
and cannot be purchased in Tsenkharla.
(Eugene Interlude)
“Sunshine Daydream, walk you in the tall trees, going where
the wind blows, blooming like a red rose”
The Mecca of my musical travels was seeing Bobby in Eugene
Oregon, or at least the hub of the wagon wheel. My friend Julie and I made the
summertime pilgrimage from 2008-2011. In those four years we saw seven shows
including two Ratdog and five Furthur. Each sojourn was a magical TRIP. We lined
up in the morning by the river gearing up for the running of the hippies to
secure a spot on the rail. When the moment came I flew like Mercury to the
glory spot just under Ace. Too many moments to recall like Bobby screaming
during “Loose Lucy” in 2008, scampering barefoot around the stage in 2009, and the
rain show in 2010 when I cracked my rib on the rail during “Sunshine Daydream.”
2011 was an epic three night stand where I teleported to the pinnacle of
Jhomolahari during “Big Bad Blues.” In the heart of Oregon bonds are renewed
and new friendships forged in a lysergic rhythm that howls like a locomotive
whistling in the dark.
Early Bird Café
“It was getting early I rushed away from there, with
ancient dirt beneath my feet and moon dust in my hair”
Bhutan will test a person’s limits. You are plucked away
from all you know and placed in a strange new world. At some point us
foreigners must reevaluate ourselves and learn who we really are. For me this
process is in the early stages as I am learning not to cling to my identity and
be present as a teacher. Right now I’m a
gooey chrysalis yearning to be a butterfly. I hope next year’s larva are
reading this and can come join the party. There is a table for one waiting for
you and the menu includes six types of loneliness. But the desserts are the
sweetest on earth. Ask any BCF teacher
worth their weight in ema and they will tell you they’re glad they came. Even
if many of us have an impulse to run screaming for the EXITS without collecting
Pass Go for another circumambulation of the board. You can’t script an
experience as this and for an adventurous spirit it simply doesn’t get any
better. Of course I didn’t feel as optimistic squatting over my toilet with
shooting diarrhea this morning.
Bird in a House
“Just another bird in a house dying to get out” The
Squirrel
I have come to a stop. My anxiety and depression is grabbing
hold and suffocating me. I am going through the motions of planning and
teaching to my best ability but familiar demons are devouring me in this
wasteland. Even when talking to loved ones on the phone I find it hard to
communicate as if I am in another dimension of zombification. My brain is
getting stuck in neurosis then spinning out of control. I feel like a windup
toy bird banging my beak against a wall. I have been thinking about my Korean
ex girlfriend since that was the last quasi stable phase of my life. I realize
that I rely heavily on others to make me happy. I broke up with Soyoung because
I wasn’t over Morgan and in doing so abandoned a wonderful woman who was
willing to follow me to the U.S.A and build a life together. Now she is married
to another American and starting the life she wanted. As for Morgan she politely declined my plea
for reconciliation last August 11. When I think of Soyoung I remember someone
who loved me and went out of her way to take care of me in Korea. In fact it
was Elin who introduced me to Buddhist Temples on weekend getaways to the Korean
countryside (ironically she had converted to Christianity from Buddhism.) As
for my first love, I never would have lost her if I wasn’t such a basket case.
Now I feel unlovable and incapable of moving on in life, which is ironic since
I moved as far away from home as possible. I am tired of warring with myself
and suffering at the mercy of unwanted thoughts. People with chemical
imbalances can relate to the powerlessness I feel and the anxiety that can
choke you like a boa. There is no way out except through discipline and work,
two things I despise the most. I will try not to bore you with my personal
tragedies since you can flip on the news for that type of thing. Next time I
check in I hope to be happier. Since I
know life is an illusion I should find more pleasure in the mirage. But to be
honest the delusion is terrifying, as is being in charge of 120 sentient
beings. At times I wish I could find
peace with god, smoking his opium with the masses. Julia Butterfly said life is
a never ending process of letting go. But how do I get started?
Wangmo and Zangmo
“This world it moves so fast let’s not get hung up in the
past, lord we all going nowhere fast” Zeke
Seeking solace I went roaming and what a roam it was. I
found a third Tsangma ruin in a secret pine grove below Zongdopelri. The
twisted pines towered over 100 feet where the ruined stone castle sat on a
carpet of ferns and purple flowers.
Wandering out of the forest I met Wangmo and Zangmo on the trail to
Shakshang. Zangmo and Wangmo are the
alpha girls of a pack of third graders who I often run across on my
constitutional. They led me all the way to Shakshang past my bonpo meadow to
the outer rim of my territory. Ravens soared overhead and clouds hung above and
below giving the landscape a heavenly feel. But before that there was this,
another bizarre day in Bhutan. At assembly a girl had a seizure right in front
of me. Several teachers including myself rushed to her aid. But then to my
surprise she stumbled off with her classmate to “rest” It was heartbreaking to
see her twitching in the mud and I instantly thought of my cousin who suffers
from epilepsy. I also lost a ski buddy to the disease in 2007. Thankfully my
cousin’s condition is stable but if I had three wishes my first would be to
cure him from the uncertainty of his condition. Apparently even a seizure will not
stop assembly and during the same gathering I saw one of our VP’s wonk a
student on the head for talking. Of course in an informal survey 24/25 of my 7A
students thought beating was a good thing. The classroom has been a wooly
adventure of late. The perfect angels whose divine voices carry up to heaven
during prayer become devilish inside the classroom. I have never taught
teenagers before and obviously have a lot to learn. In many ways I feel more at
ease with the wee ones. Back in the forest I meditated on clouds and the magic
of the monsoon. Becky has found contentment at her placement and with the
clouds. One might even say she has her head in the clouds! IS IT? She has been
in overdrive and wholly and admirably devoted to her students. At times it
feels I am merely hanging on. But oh those clouds endlessly moving and
shifting. Sometimes we are in the clouds, sometimes above or below. One might
even glimpse a star, the moon, or even the sun. Last night those clouds tore
loose releasing pellets of rain flooding our campus. Meanwhile I had shadowy
dreams on my firm cot. Faces from a former life drifted in and out of focus
like the aforementioned steamy billows gobbling the peaks. I awoke from an
anonymous dream at 5:45 to see a rider with a crown of gold bolting from
Arrunachal into the valley. This of course was The Guru Rinpoche. I fell back
into the dream to awake at 8:01 to a world steeped in mist.
In class we study the effects of T.V on Bhutan, where now
the kids watch WWE (world wrestling entertainment) and Korean movies. I can’t
help but think of those innocent girls moving through the forest in miniature
kiras and worry that T.V will somehow corrupt them as it did me. So here I am
on a Friday night in Bhutan lonely for your company. What are you doing right
now? Oh right, indulging my fantasies! Ah shucks the author blushes at your
kind devotion. Tiger freaks unite! Who are you? Where are you? How are
you?
Zangmo
and Wangmo
“Salty Jane let us get together some old time, I’ll bring
the mussels you surely bring the wine” Zeke
Since I revel in giving Bunky nicknames, I couldn’t resist
in assigning the names Wangmo and Zangmo to us both. These names can be
interchanged at any junction. It’s
invaluable to have a true blue friend and I hit the jackpot. You would think
the way I carry on about her that I was deeply in love. Well you’d be correct.
I have a bottomless affection for the one they call Becky or Miss. This love is
born out of friendship and is authentic. Perhaps lust or passion can blind a
body and it seems the purest of all loves is solid friendship. Becky would make
a worthy lover to any man but I dare not tarnish the gold we possess. She is
one of the very few people I can bare my twisted soul to although Morgan is
still the keeper of the secret. Of course there are tidbits I confide to Becky
that I would never think of telling a woman I am wooing or someone I have been
intimate with, in the biblical sense. It helps that Bunks is ALMOST as weird as
me. Since “The Split” it’s been increasingly difficult to get together. The
last time we crossed paths was on an unseasonably cold gray day in Bartsham. I
was moody on that July Sunday surprise, surprise. But hope springs eternal as
we planned to meet in T-Gang to renew the bonds of our madness.
I hitchhiked out of Tsenkharla and caught a ride with an
engineer from Yangtse. We quickly fell into conservation about the U.S.A and “our”
family values. He kept inquiring what would happen to my parents when they were
old. Who would take care of them? What about the property? This comes up a lot
when I interact with nationals. In Bhutan everyone gets married and pops out
kids who are expected to take care of their parents when they get old. This is
a cultural norm. This isn’t to say that there are no problems within the
Bhutanese family structure but at the same times there are no nursing homes. My
ride dropped me at Gom Kora where I spent an hour circumambulating spinning
tiny brass prayer wheels while strolling the wide cobblestone path. Gom Kora is
an exquisitely picturesque pagoda. This is one of the holiest spots in Bhutan
and my own heart. Even an agnostic non Buddhist must admire this manmade testament
to god. The grounds are covered in grasses, flowers, chortens, prayer wheels,
and a roaming rooster. Next to the stunning golden and whitewashed pagoda are
the tree of life and a giant boulder where The Guru Rinpoche meditated striking
an accord with a serpent demon. My favorite river in the world rushes between
the temple and a cliff buffered by a plot of maize and rice. The pagoda is
adorned with golden guruda’s, brass bells, and painted tablet carvings of
several Buddha’s. A few monks and
elderly devotes circumambulate in a sunny breeze. This is Tim’s bell! I walked
back to Doksom and hailed a taxi into Trashigang. In Trashigang I bumped into
Alan, a professor at Sharubse College in Kunglung where Ashleigh works. We
shared a meal at the K.C hotel discussing a variety of topics from culture to
the likelihood of intelligent life on other planets. The odds seem in favor
that we are not alone considering the amount of planets with water that have
been verified. Just do the math. Perhaps Jesus is roaming on the other side of
the Milky Way right now. Before retiring Alan also made an off cuff remark
about one of his students named Zeppa, no doubt named after you Jamie.
The next day Becky rode into town and we headed back to Gom
Kora. It was a stellar day with an endless assortment of clouds. The last time
me and Becky were at Gom Kora was a smoky afternoon during the festival exactly
five months prior and we seemed no worse for the ware. Three months ago we
began the summer on a misty crested mountain on the outskirts of Mongor Dzongkhag
at Drametse. We all mark time differently and I measure IT by bunking with
Bunks. For you newbie’s that doesn’t mean sharing a bed. ”Bunking” is Bhutanese
slang for shucking responsibility or going AWOL. I pretty much dragged Becky
out of her contented burrow to Trashigang by pleading endlessly on the phone,
subsequently burning up the B- Mobile vouchers. For Becky is my soundboard, always tweaking my
weird frequencies to make a more audible tune. On this early September day we
absorbed the magic of Gom Kora before moving towards Doksom. Upon leaving Becky
remarked that she could “die in this place” a sentiment I had been forming but
hadn’t muttered aloud. There is timelessness in “this place” and I was
satisfied that despite my incessant blathering that she felt it too.
We reached the confluence of the Dagme Chu and Kulong Chu
where our souls reunified at the bridge. The muddy waters of the Kulong Chu
thundered like Niagara Falls bounding into the slightly calmer Dagme Chu. The
rivers rejoined swiftly running for Manas, the Brahmaputra, and the Indian
Ocean. We tried to recall the myth of the two birds that split in Tawang before
rejoining in Doksom. Together we snared a lift back to T-Gang under the
guidance of a shooting rainbow, two tour kids snuggled in gods fury pocket. We joined Alan at dinner in the bakery garden
where Becky and he reminisced about living in Alamosa and Vermont over fried
rice, dal, and asparagus. I sat listening, thinking about my own account of
meeting Raven at Rainbow across the valley from Alamosa in Tres Piedres. It all
seemed many worlds away and a long time ago. Back in room #113 I watched a
program about third world parasites until a boisterous T-storm knocked off the
power rocking T-Gang illuminating the Dzong in deathly purple flashes. During a
fitful sleep I dreamt of Becky and Martha traversing over a raging river in a
tiny tram cart. I awoke with a start and hopped into a 6 AM taxi hoping to make
morning assembly. But the roads were a mess strewn with mudslides and renegade
rocks. After a stall at a roadblock near Chasm the 4 wheel drive vehicle
finally passed through and rolled into Tsenkharla above an ocean of mist with
the peaks of the inner Himalaya perturbing like the monoliths of Halong Bay.
Easy to Slip>
“All the love that you missed, all the people you can’t
recall, do they really exist at all?”
I was enthusiastic in the classroom continuing to study the
effects of T.V on culture as a class seven boy exclaimed, “Obama killed Osama!”
Wonder if he heard that on the boob tube? As it happens it’s reading week at
school. Getting Bhutanese kids hooked on reading is challenging. In both Korea
and the U.S my students genuinely loved reading. But reading is not a big part
of the educational culture in Bhutan. You must consider that these people were
working the fields and walking in the mountains while much of the rest of the
world was cultivating and digesting literature. So the starting point is far
behind. Reading in my classes can be a problematic situation for several
reasons. I enjoy teaching simple short stories and my students like reading
aloud in class. But books are another matter. We have a scarcely supplied
library with an esoteric selection. I am not able to accompany my students to
the library as I am indisposed teaching other classes. They have a library period
scheduled outside of English class. I need to be there to approve their choices
of books. Some come back with comics and others thick novels. They have not
been assessed for reading levels so the whole process is a crapshoot. Half of
them return with Dzonka books at the instruction of their lopen. I am doing my
best to sort them out and instill in them a desire to read, but when? They have a rigorous routine as a boarder
where they pray over two hours each day, and aren’t allowed to read during
study periods since this is considered a leisure activity. The administration is
sending mixed messages to the students. Ideally they should be reading 30
minutes of English a day exposing them to new words and scaffolding all we are
doing in the classroom. They are not used to settling into a novel and I have to
press them to keep quiet and read silently. When they finally do they saturate
me with vocabulary questions, which is great although it exposes their
limitations to comprehend advanced material. Alan mentioned that many college
students are atrocious readers and remarked the librarian at Sharubse is illiterate,
although I find that hard to believe. This is a huge challenge that I am
addressing now as I near the end of my syllabus and can afford some extra time
for reading, speaking, listening, and writing. These are the four sacred domains
of ESL learning. I want for them to be passionate about books something I have
rekindled in myself since arriving here. Overall this will improve the level of
individual and critical thinking in a society that sometimes resembles the
drone of a beehive. Admittedly a honeybee colony is one of the most remarkable
creations of nature but there is another way. And there is nothing in Buddha’s Dharma
that says one can’t think for themselves. It is the contrary; in fact the
science of Buddhism stresses individual thought and empowerment. We have a long way to go here and I wish I had
a collection of age appropriate literature we could read together as a class.
If anyone has 48 copies of “Charlotte’s Web” or “The Lion, The Witch, and The
Wardrobe” send them on please. They would love to share these stories as a
group which would play into their cultural leanings. I mustn’t give up and must
find a way to engage them in this lifelong pursuit. I just found out on Sundays
the students are made to read aloud in front of the VP from both Dzonka and
English selections. I ought to stick around on a Sunday and check it out
although I’m not sure this constitutes good reading practice. However they do
get a chance to hear other students reading aloud but I’d prefer a book club
and one on one guided practice. I still get chicken skin remembering my Korean
students eagerly browsing in the cavernous library of Poly School, and little Hamyungje
devouring her book in a quiet corner of the library. I know I had something to
do with her devotion to reading and imagine today a middle school aged girl
devoted to books somewhere in Seoul.
One thing about Bhutan is there is unlimited potential to
improve the student’s lives. Alan had a good analogy at teatime comparing
traveling abroad to the sea. I would like to adapt that analogy for teaching. A
teacher can swim in the water getting a brief glimpse of the educational culture
or even skim the surface in a boat. Or can go a little deeper with a snorkel,
and then there is scuba diving. Well perhaps it’s time for me to take the
plunge and GO DEEP before I guzzle all my air out of the tank. Maybe I could
switch to my reserved tank and sink, that is if I have the guts for another lap
around the reef. On Mondays I take supper at the mess since they are now
serving meat due to a stipend increase for student meals. They get meat or fish
once a week. After dinner I had long talks with the VP and School Captain about
improving student reading. It was interesting to hear both administrator and
student views. But talk is cheap and action in action.
So from my keyboard I hear the rain pelting my tin roof
again as we are caught in a particularly rainy cycle in this edition of the
monsoon. I reach for an Oreo and try to relax my mind and have a mobile tea
with Sheal. Becky loaned me a Pema Chodron book called “When Things Fall Apart,”
a seemingly negative title with a positive twist. After all everything MUST
fall apart in this world. Our relationships will ALL end either by death or some
other means within life’s vicissitudes. Blue Mountain’s walk into the sea and a
snake sheds its skin or is murdered. Evident by the blood on my doorstep after
Karlos executed a slithering marauder. For
so long I lamented the “loss” of love especially my first, the woman who stole
my virginity, but also the loss of subsequent characters who wove into and out
of my life’s blue brocade. The truth is love is mutable but never truly lost. Maybe
there is some freedom in abandonment and relinquishment. I hope all the people
I love in endless capacities are all happy in their homes tonight. And that
they have found what they seek and remember me well.
Supplication>
“...I need some communication to see if all of this is real
now”
Every moment around Bhutan people in gho, kira, and Kabne
offer up prayers to Lord Buddha and the plethora of deities that protect
Bhutan. The religion is highly ritualized and complex and at times seems more superstitious
and supernatural than substantial but that is part of the charm, ISN”T IT?
Somewhere in the fabric are the bonpo deities springing from the elements of
nature and the forgone goddess perhaps pinned down by Buddha’s fat toe. There is
also a pipeline to the flamboyant Hindu gods that seem in stark contrast to the
cast system they propagate. My old pal Ganesh strays and waves his blue trunk
at me from Arrunachal, a remote bastion of Buddhist India. The Divine Madman merrily
shakes his Wang at me AHEM I mean his flaming thunderbolt. He subdued many a
snarling demoness by whacking them on their melons with his cock. Ah those were
the days…And let’s not forget Guru Rinpoche riding on the back of his consort
Yeshi in the form of a tigress. What are they doing in heaven today? Drinking
ara, rolling dice, and trying to stay out of the scope of the bearded one and
his evangelical angels. But by all accounts it’s too late. JC has been reported
in the area offering eternal rewards and some mean wine.
Easy to Slip (Reprise)
“Easy to slip now, yes and it’s easy to fall”
We all sink furthur into the mist each day and sometimes I
forget my own name. Becky likes going by Miss where I beg for Mr. Tim. I
dissolve into the backdrop of the void, an uneasy garrison, an open view, a
rustic outpost, a Himalayan Odyssey, a river meandering through an increasingly
narrow valley. Just so much space above
the green floor sucks my soul like a lady boy vampire. I want to cry, scream, frolic,
or FUCK…So I teach in the daytime and FREAK at night wondering where the stars
have gone? They must be congregated above Southern Oregon. I can see it all so well
kicking back in URSA’S silver dipper,
that ol’ celestial bear. Down below, Mare bathes in a tub of organic soap, Reed
rams his trucks, Paige poops, dad watches PTI, mom drinks white wine, and I can’t
see Morgan since she is peering at me through the keyhole of the wardrobe.
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| Tim Rinpoche |
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| Shooting Rainbow |
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| reunification |
