“It’s all the same day
man…”Janice Joplin
Not That Spicy
6 AM and no water…According to Piet we topped out at 3,600
meters which near as I can tell is approximately 12,000 feet on our hike to
Tongbra Peak. This was a whole other world to the one I sit in now. But the
views from Tsenkharla are spectacular with silver lined cotton candy clouds
billowing from the spout of Shampula and a clear view down my beloved valley.
Yes life is good if not a tad boring entrenched in a routine and working my
buns off. Five O’clock flat light across the mountain mandala with warbling
night birds winding up or down Cuckoo clocks springing throughout the groves.
Just got back from a review meeting and off to supervise night study soon.
Perhaps this periodical isn’t as piquant as it used to be either what do you
say? The word of the year is SPICY not merely the food one ingests in the
Kingdom but life itself and maybe that’s my buzz word since my life is duller
than before focused on pedagogies more than adventurism somewhere in the midst
of a fourth year on this voyage preservation and endurance is the name of the
game. Does this mean I’ve shut down? In some ways I’m open, open house for
Bucket and Radish and whomever else ventures by. Open to working harder but
what of romance and love the 99% of life worth living, huh? Talked to Kirsten
from Bidung on the phone a piquant one and she said there’s a gigantic beetle
in her house so I retorted which one John, Paul, George or Ringo? No that segue
doesn’t mean I have eyes for the lascivious blonde sorry to disappoint y’all in
fact I have no admire girl at all these days except the occasional nameless
Dakini that floats into my dreams. My other catch phrase for the year is “I’m
still here…” but are you reader, are you??? No matter a writer must write even
a novice hack like me and a writer also must read and I just burned through
Brothers K a phenomenal story and now onto Brothers Karamazov which Duncan
parodied although not in any cheap way. I like the Russian classic but it ain’t
Duncan’s Western saga of a families pride and peril but I love anything that
delves into Christian traditions and religious fanaticism, that’s why I live
here! The Dharma presents itself every moment which is to say we can learn from
everything and everybody and undo the mistakes or untangle our snares each
incarnation until poof! ENLIGHTENMENT! I can’t buy in though it smacks of
heaven and maybe simple death and nothingness is the ultimate release anyway.
I’m not being cynical here just truthful meanwhile I’ll gladly take this
neurotic ride as long as the universe allows, hopefully 100 years of able
bodied antics. So what if my love root has withered and my world became
sexless. I love the mountains I touch and caress them but somehow for all that
love and loveliness my life is less sensual than before. Hip Hip Hurray!
Gautama I’m on the right path I guess…We frantically search for meaning in this
humorous tragedy but pointlessness is more piquant than anything. How hilarious
our situation and the webs we weave those viscid entanglements that Shakespeare
spoke of that drifted into cliché. I’ll do it for Tshering Penjor the young man
who admires me and wrote eloquently about the effort I put in…Pride is a sin
but so is attachment and just about anything else worth a damn in this mixed up
world. I still remember my other life partying in the front row surrounded by
white Dakini’s in ballrooms or under lysergic starlight and it seems more a
dream than this cartoonish reality… I like to let the Sharchop noises carry me
away oh how hilarious is East Bhutan it really is…My homeland is my love every
stone and blade of grass and those syrupy colors a world with no sun or moon
and scarcity of stars only clouds and the maze of mountains spreading from my
radial heart a lone Westerner among Sharchops and an odd Indian living the
dream…living the dream…scrabbling through a continuum of culture shock and
somehow forging relationships that matter along the way.
The second section of skits went well and it was satisfying
to observe previously timorous students acting in front of their peers. This is
no small feat and a teacher in the Kingdom must shoot for small victories. IT
means that we’ve created an atmosphere conducive to speaking and playing which
might just equate to better outcomes in this long uphill battle of teaching ESL
in the Land of Terror…I’ve noticed some improvement in reading habits but
mainly for the toppers and still writing vexes me when I mark their notebooks.
I have a runny nose and mild tummy ache ONLY so all is well from my side.
Drive by Blessing
Monday with diarrhea but I managed through morning classes
okay. On Saturday my pal Surgit left our community for another job in India
leaving only Prabu and I as expatriate teachers. On Friday many girls in 8B
were teary eyed and it was difficult executing the activity since emotions
swelled and I was surprised at the demonstrative display from the students.
Many teachers accompanied Surgit to Zongposar to see him off which happened to
coincide with a mass blessing from a Sikkim Lama as hundreds of Kamdang folks
lined the road awaiting the motorcade as it proceeded to Yangtse. And when the
cars arrived the antiquated Lama was sitting shotgun with a fishy gaping mouth
looking barely cognizant perhaps a victim of a stroke or just very old in age
as his attendants walked outside the vehicle which moved along at a snail’s
pace the sidecar monk bopped folks on the head with a horn type relic but when
my turn came he skipped over me so I never got the blessing. Truthfully the
whole scene seemed sad with this old famous Lama who must be exhausted
travelling hundreds of miles through the plains than up from SJ all the way to
Yangtse. Whereas Thegsey glided on balls of lightning enlightening the whole damn
party this poor lama couldn’t even hold the relic himself and the people all
seemed so hungry for that blessing or hungry for something that cannot be
named. The cars drove off and the people dispersed and we accompanied Surgit to
a field and sipped tea awaiting the bus to carry him away. Later on I went solo
to Gom Kora observing the effects of the rockslides from roadwork into my
beloved Dangme Chu which rushed on in bronze and creamy waters despite the
interference and I found my favorite spot along the rocky shore where I went
with Becky when the river reclaimed my bottle of Coke in 2012, the shoreline
where I finished Death Comes for the Archbishop my first month in Bhutan, the
shoreline where I tried conversing with a clan of Monpa doing dishes, the shore
where I rechristened myself after battling a mysterious illness last year, the
river where I mark the high and low waters of my soul and this is where I came
again and heard the ten thousand things roaring from the fountainhead of the
void and the sound was terrifying and stayed with me so much power coursing six
feet away enough to swallow me whole and drown me without thought. A roar that
cannot be confined in words TERRIBLE! ROAR! In the gloaming circumambulating
Gom Kora a humid night peaceful yet haunted as I circled lost too often in my
own roaring current of useless clinginess a mind like a drunken elephant
trumpeting and trundling was interrupted by the blowing of the conch which is
always done at sunset and a sweeter more reverent sound one cannot imagine
bringing the listener back to start the beginnings of life crawling from the
ocean or void itself. Three long blows sadder than a jazzman’s solo smoother
than Coltrane blowing an endless note wailing into the purple night sending
ripples through the breezy canyon.
Tim on Double Duty
My TOD stint lasted two days due to new rules involving
Central School. What a journey it’s been for Tsenkharla in the last 38 years.
The school was established in 1978 when the village and Primary School was
known as Rangthangwoong and had 3 teachers and 130 students. In 1997 the school
and village was known as Tsenkharla and upgraded to a Lower Secondary School
with about 350 pupils. In 2002 the school had more than 20 teachers and was
upgraded to a Middle School and now in 2015 we are known as Tsenkharla Central
School with approximately 700 students and more than 30 teachers and on the
rise. Catherine or Vera might not even recognize the place except for the
mountains that haven’t changed perceptibly. Catherine’s residence stands at our
front gate she’d be happy to know along with a scattering of other original
buildings near the grinding Rangthangwoong stone that the village namesake
before they honored exalted Tsangma and changed the moniker. The rest is
history so they say. TOD starts with morning study at 6:30 AM with all the
fresh morning smells similar whether in Ashland, Truckee, San Rafael or
Tsenkharla with variations of course. Here its dewy cow pies…Flowers bloom
enchantingly roses, hibiscus, and assorted varieties since all one can do is
appreciate the beauty around here which is incalculable. My soul has been white
bread toast without jam honey or even butter for my bland bread but the beauty
remains making for an aesthetic ascetic delight. For once I don’t have much to
say dear reader, the tiger sputters and runs out of gas…I’m very busy with
teaching and feel exhausted more than exhilarated with that ordeal. I still
love the kids and feel lucky to be practicing my pedagogy in this setting and
with these pupils but teaching is teaching wherever you go, and the teaching
goes on isn’t it? The rat’s back some
nights and lately I’ve been going to bed early and currently reading Brothers
Karamazov which will engage me for about a month. This morning was a silvery
dawning with a shaft of light beaming down from redoubtable Shampula holding
Gongsa where the Guru took tea in its finite matrix. Perhaps it was the Guru
himself embodied in that light while Yeshi still pines eastward awaiting his
triumphant earthbound return…tearing at her spangled raven tresses wailing
still bemoaning our hero…
Sweet Sangay Dema B was out of class for a few days and
today she told me why, her father was killed in a car wreck particularly scary
when one experiences the roadways in Bhutan. Poor little thing put on a brave
face as most Bhutanese do since death is always close at hand in the Land of
Terror. Perhaps their deep faith and belief in reincarnation comforts them or
just their stoical nature serves them to carry on bravely in the face of
tragedy. Buddhist tenants state we are born to suffer and die but why? I
believe all the world’s religions invented by man (Like Joe Smith and his
Golden Tablets) try to provide succor with one hand while controlling the
masses and amassing power with the other (For example the cast system) Why then
when I hear of such harsh realities and terrible accidents do I feel utterly
alone and isolated. Energy cannot be created or destroyed that is true so my
bones will decay to dust and blow in the wind eventually settling as part of a another
thing and my spirit will dissipate and blow around that other realm and someday
be the dreams or ideas of others. But that thread (a string of pearls) we call
a soul likely is broken and scattered making me the stuff of the once born and
that is sadder than any mortal can bear. Enjoy it while it lasts and although
personally I am more resolute in seeking a middle path in my middle age it’s
hedonism that rings truest. Compassion and fellowship have its place in that
philosophy too but living for an unseen heaven like many Christians do seems
ridiculous when faced against the parameters of this uncertain but always
tragic play called life. At its best it’s a frivolous endeavor which is why we
dance, eat steak, and make love and at its worst its raw brutal suffering which
is what most humans deal with daily, so if you are able to laugh drink and
enjoy the vices of our lonely planet more power to ya. Go ahead and search for
meaning but know that that too is ONLY an illusion. And if you eat steak remember an innocent cow
was slaughtered in fear to feed your stomach.
The reason Buddhism is attractive is it incorporates animals
into the wheel of life instead of proposing they’re merely beasts of burden put
upon by god for the benefit of man. Also Buddha’s scientific approach to
penetrate the illusionary nature of matter is admirable since he wholly left
god out of the picture as an almost irrelevant phenomenon. To Gautama all was a
phantasmagorical parade of sensual stimuli that baffled and befuddled an
individual from seeing things as they really are- as NOTHING! A dew drop on an
imaginary blade of grass floating in the void…Okay Buddha Boy I’ll consent your
point but why not indulge in that illusion instead of turning away? When Mara
(Satan) sends his nubile nudes to my tree trunk I’ll play Santa Claus even if
they do turn to dust someday. My youthfulness has withered but like my heroes I
can still play.
Sometimes teaching goes well and usually it’s when my
attitude swells with positivity which is our birthright just like sadness.
Negativity is not our birthright but I employ it anyhow. Back to the plot my
last two classes a block with 8A did go swimmingly. They were in their jigsaw
groups (they even nicknamed Jigme Sonam the kid who fell off the roof Jigsaw)
Of course the workload wasn’t spread equally but the inactive ones spoke during
presentation time. Overall for ESL learners they handled their tasks very well
providing summaries, themes, morals, and conflict/resolution adequately. I’m
pleased that I know about 95/115 of my current students by name which is an
exponential improvement from previous years. All my lesson plans are completed
through the next month and whatever trials I face in the classrooms I know that
I’ve improved in my craft and still have endless opportunity to continue to
grow which optimists would say is the name of the game.
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