Relax As It
Is
“How honest do we want to be with ourselves?” Pema Chodron
Greetings Earthlings,
I was picking trash with Peldon on a slope overlooking the
dirt road that runs through the village. A truck pulled up and the headman
immerged with a parcel for me. I excitedly ran home through the village which
is a row of eight shops along a muddy road. The shops have tin roofs with rocks
on them to weight them down. Some of the dwellings in the surrounding hills
have simple Bhutanese architecture of whitewashed squares in black trim. The
designs are always simplistic and rustically elegant. Some homes are mere
earthen huts or shacks. I was so grateful to get the hat, boots, and other
goodies. The boots fit fine and I look forward to taking them out hiking but it
rained wangmo’s and zangmo’s today. I was also happy to see a card from Mare
hiding at the bottom of the booty box. Some of you who I have exchanged letters
with know I love all handwritten correspondence and I save all the things
cherished people have written me. I had good classes across the board today and
have been really encouraged lately. As I mentioned this week is reading week
and I have been giving my students time to read in class. I also conducted a
survey to try to ascertain my students reading habits. I wanted to know how
much, what, and where they read. I was also interested to learn the literary
tendencies of day scholars versus boarders. I was also seeking information on
what genres the students favored. I am analyzing the results tonight. I have
started bringing a new attitude with me in my briefcase to school. That is PMA
or positive mental attitude. I am using only positive reinforcement and rarely
scolding my students. I am trying to make deeper connections with individuals
and as time goes on I am learning more about my student’s capabilities. The
Bhutanese teachers are very harsh both physically and mentally with the
students so I want to show them another way while getting the best results. This
sentiment was reinforced on my trip to the library today. The librarian would
not let us in because she was “busy.” She also said the kid’s are responsible
for picking out books and seemed to resent that I suggested she should guide
the selection process. I will at least accompany my 8A home class to the
library each week. These are interesting
kids and I am in an unfamiliar system that has taken me seven months to get a beat
on. At first I just wanted to please everyone but I have moved past that phase.
Of course one wants to assimilate but I also want to make positive change. I
have a few valued friends and my students so I cannot gripe about my
interpersonal relationships. It warms my gut to know I have a loving family on
the home front supporting this peaceful warrior. Although the author wonders
how peaceful is he?
Defensiveness and aggression have been hardwired into my
program running on a techno colored anxiety chip. Inside the chip are fear and
doubt with an essential uncertainty. The chip might be in you too? Pema Chodron’s book has been enlightening
thus far. Pema is an American Buddhist and I like her style since she is folksy
and accessible and not preachy. I identified immediately when she said she had turned
to the dharma after her husband left and she was angry and depressed. She went
as far as to thank her ex who left for liberating her soul. She couldn’t put
humpty dumpty back together and so her journey towards realization began. It
was probably my broken heart that sent me to Bhutan. Even my arrival here is
related to Samsara and my insatiable fear and desire wrapped up in the guise of
a dream. But I’m here now and what a place to probe one’s own psyche and as
Mare remarked, “Do good Work”! My challenges are fear and uncertainty but instead
of overcoming these monsters I must lay down with them and share a peace
pipe. I have learned one lesson in the
classroom and that is once relaxed I can see things from a broader angle
accounting for what the student need instead of worrying about my performance. As
the Squirrel croons, “but I still have a long way to go.”
(Morning Dew Interlude)
“I guess it doesn’t matter anyway”
On a walk in the woods I found blossoming wildflowers in the
grove. Pink ones that smell like honeysuckle and princess bushes with purple flowers
like we have at Baypoint. The days are full of thunder, sunshine, rainbows, and
rain. All is bound together by the clouds tossed around in the winds rapids.
Yesterday I saw a remarkable bird on a cypress limb. Or more aptly heard a
remarkable bird since my eyesight could not discern more than a silhouette.
This jay sized bird was mimicking all the other birds in the forest including
the raven. It produced a madwoman song that was peculiarly melodic. What were
you anyway? But like a furry booted hottie in stirrups at a Sector 9 show she flew
off leaving me alone. Life is endlessly diverse ISN”T IT? IT! What is IT? On
the phone Becky mentioned something about IT and IT got me to thinking about
IT? The IT that is in everything around us and also inside all of us. The good
and bad, joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain, if these dualities actually existed
at all. The IT that words cannot explain or demystify. The IT that Willie Dixon
wrote about in Eternity. BUT WHAT IS IT? A fractal fragment from the techno
cube with shavings of anxiety and bliss and all the makings of what traps us in
what the Buddhist label samsara or the material world of desire, blah blah
blah… Is IT a god the ancients made up to explain IT? Did god or IT create ITSELF?
Does IT even matter? And once you find IT, how do you let IT go? What do the
Bhutanese mean when they say, “IS IT? What IT is…What IT is…Have I lost IT? I
could sure go for an IT”S IT!
The Seven kinds of Loneliness
“Dark angel what’s bothering you, so strange you do me all
that you do, dark angel you’re making me blue, I guess it doesn’t matter”
Picasso Moon
In Pema Chodron’s book “When Things Fall Apart” she talks
about the six kinds of loneliness. I thought of a seventh kind of loneliness
and that is being afraid of yourself. In Bhutan a body has to dine with their
demons every night. Unless you are hosting a quant dinner party like Sheal.
Sheal is quite comfortable in her own kira so to speak which allows her to
embrace others. But on my own behalf I
am getting a lot of alone time with my little green trolls, day glow monsters,
psychedelic moths AKA Karmaling Dream Moths, the pink or was IT the purple elephant
in the room, the monkey on my back. Oh yeah and my doppelganger, my shadow, and
one pixie named Sylvie who must fend off these supernatural hooligans deployed
by the devil who is just god when he’s drunk. Perhaps we all have a
doppelganger somewhere and Alan’s might be circumambulating the chorten in
T-Gang right now. I wonder what IT’s doppelganger might look like. I saw the
face of god once in Tres Piedres at my first Rainbow Gathering. I escaped the
circus with Raven in a glade surrounded by aspen trees where we tumbled in the
grass and watched the gloaming fall like a teardrop from a giant concave
sky. IT was the Cyclops eye of god
looking back at us and moments later at Popcorn Palace Raven vanished becoming
a footnote in my short sweet life. The next year at The Missouri National I got
lost on a remote logging road in the Ozarks where dozens of gleaming silver
extraterrestrial faces leered at me from the tangled foliage of the dense
canopy. They had metallic faces, oblong black eyes, and drawn mouths, the
intense sun reflected off their hoary faces. A third Gathering brought a triple
rainbow and the fourth victimhood. I let all these events scar instead of pass
through me like ghosts travelling in the forest at night. Or abandoning IT like
the Indian leaving Meme resting outside Becky’s hut. Anyway back to IT. I have all my demons here
with me and nowhere to hide. Of course I invent meanings and distractions
including this here blog. But sometimes it’s just us and I can see the giant at
my door. Or my ogres piled on each other’s shoulders, a demonic depiction of
the Four Friends. But in reality they are my friends and more aptly my teachers
but I don’t want to hear IT? Learning to love myself and letting things go are
my big hang-ups and what I must get in touch with. Ganesh pulls the strings with
his trunk placing and removing obstacles at will. Each moment opening and
closing rapidly like the gator teeth of a Radiators jam. I’m not sure he removes
them at all but leaves his children to unite with their hurdles. I can’t ask
him myself since I am marooned on this side of the border. Here I must ask his
equally ambiguous younger bro Buddha who
stares back at me with unblinking serene eyes. If I stare long enough I can
detect a hint of cynicism behind their divine sparkle. I’d query Guru Rinpoche
but he’s out night hunting in Calcutta with wingman Krishna and his magic skin
flute. In the morning I see the monster in the mirror and on a good day I must
laugh like Chappell’s “FUCK IT!, puppet.” Somewhere from over the horizon the smoke from
a million BBQ’s tempts me like Beelzebub tempted Christ in the desert. Even so
I must hold my position in ITS furry pocket.
Top Ten
Reasons I love Trashigang…
10. Traditional Bhutanese architecture
9.
Stopping at Gom Kora along the way
8. Watching IGOR circumambulate the chorten
7. Bantering with Phuntso AKA Dust Particles
6. The garden at the bakery
5. Watching the Africa channel in Bhutan
4. Crossing Chasm
3. Room 113 at the K.C Hotel
2. Pork
Curry
1. Walking to the Dzong at sunset with Bunks
Sitting Here in Limbo
“Sitting here in
limbo waiting for the dice to roll, sitting here in limbo got some time to
search my soul”
During a rereading of Hectors Great Escape I looked up to
see Jigme Choden devouring the paper from her text book. She had large white
chunks in her mouth and ironically she was eating her text at the point in the
story when Sam was feeding Hector the Ram lush grass. I instructed her to spit
out her snack at the wastebasket which she was bent over heaving up huge
spitballs. I couldn’t stop laughing for the rest of class. Little Jigme used to
be the shyest student in 8A and she has grown into a silly girl if not an
excellent scholar. Reading week continues with daily afterschool competitions
and tonight we have a mandatory tea party for the staff. Working at a boarding
school has long hours on top of the six day weeks and now I can identify with
the fatigue Nick Morris used to write about in his blog. Some extracurricular
activities like hiking with students are a blast. But living on campus, one’s
life becomes intertwined with the students especially the boys who live a
stones throw from my door. So for now I
sit in limbo and try to embrace each moment as IT is. Today offers blue sky,
puff the magic dragon clouds, and humor in the classroom. I hope the reader is
doing fine and enjoying your own movie as IT unfolds in the moment. Why not
take a pause for the cause and we’ll be back in just a little bit and we’ll try
to get to the bottom of IT…
(tiger in a trance interlude)
“I’m still walking so I’m sure that I can dance, it’s a saint
of circumstance, it’s a tiger in a trance,
the rain falling down”
When I was 11 years old I was at the Winnipeg Zoo. I wandered
off alone and found a large pen containing a beautiful tiger. The tiger locked
eyes with me and as I ran up and down the length of the cage the tiger paced, shadowing
me. It was a moment of pure instinct for two of earth’s creatures. I felt a
profound connection to the wildness of that Asian cat and can still hear ITS
guttural growl in my ears. This blogger allowed that powerful tiger to break
free and bound into his imagination where IT prowls today. And that’s the story
of how I became a tiger in a trance.
Kick it around the void
“Wait, young man. You can’t escape destiny by running away.”
Nasferatu
Since I came to Bhutan I don’t believe in things the
same way. This isn’t a bad thing since I now realize the term bad is just an
assigned word to a perceived state of mind. I am not a practitioner of this new
non reality I have discovered but I am privy to its groundlessness. In Pema
Choden’s book she has assigned some interesting phrases to many of my
challenges. Of course she is merely regurgitating Tibetan ideals and putting
her perspective on them. I have been running my whole life. And I am still
running in the brain, to Trashigang, the woods, etcetera. But you can travel to
the other side of the world and still meet yourself there. I have a tendency to
blame things. My cousin used to call me out on being so defensive and he was
right. I was especially defensive about being defensive, ha I still am I’m
sure. But I have the luxury to see some of my patterns immerging. For instance
if I am sleeping to late or not preparing well enough I can see where I am
being lazy. I haven’t always been honest with myself and I still hide from my
deeper self often. Concepts like soul mate, destiny, and fate seem more
intangible now even if I do still cling to those notions. But perhaps nothing
is real at all, merely vague feelings adorned with shiny encrusted words and
romantic phrases, a bag of gems or a snowflake to a snowball, to an avalanche. What
is love anyway? Love of everything would be love on a divine level. And that
means shinning the light on some ugly places in ourselves. Deep down I always
hated to believe we are all the same, but it’s true. We all have IT in us and
we are no different than our enemies. We are cut from the same cloth as Hitler,
Osama, and Mother Teresa. One thing that is laudable about Buddhism is that it
challenges the practitioner to think for themselves. How ironic that this tantric
branch manifests itself in Bhutanese daily life confounded by endless yet beautiful
ritual. I think any religion can be a cop out or a tool for insight depending
on the seeker. But Christianity asks for blind faith in one man whose coattails
one can ride through the pearly gates. Where is the sacrifice? Of course this
is an oversimplification and just my own stupid opinion. That is to say 99% of
any ones opinions are stupid. We need to label IT, Divide IT up, hoard IT for
ourselves, Get IT right, and protect IT at all costs. Opinions are indeed like
assholes, ISN”T IT?
It’s a shame my blog has become pseudo philosophical
because the richness in life here is in the nothingness and the mundane. But my
hungry ego makes me concoct these flights of fancy as if anybody cares. “Tiger” is more a confessional and E- journal
then honest account of a person’s life in Bhutan. The author sincerely
apologizes and gives permission for the reader to bunk the table at any time.
So what’s Bhutan really like? Cow’s walking on the “national highway” little
kids laughing and running in the forest dawning national dress, iridescent
insects, sparrows darting in and out of the classroom, clouds crowning
unreachable peaks, mountains with countless contours, rumpled ridges, and sheer
slopes etched with plots of maize and potato, cucumbers the size of baseball
bats, many rivers to cross, a land of demons, trash, tigers, snow leopards,
elephants, unicorn rhinos, prayer flags, prayer wheels, magic floppy birds,
tantric bells, emadatsi, stray dogs, and flying lamas. As for me I am sitting
in my filthy hut at midnight swinging with Duke Ellington as the hounds bark
and rain falls on my tin roof. I suppose life could be worse for this cat.
(9-11 Interlude)
I was in Quincy when 9/11 happened. Just like when
Jerry died my dad was the bearer of bad news. He woke me up with the words “New
York City had been bombed” Americans were glued to TV sets in horror our hearts
aster traveling to NYC. I went to class to hear the flippant or stunned
responses of other students in a rural California community. It all sunk in
later that evening when Morgan drove across the range from Tahoe to join me in
sorrow. She brought with her an enormous brown candle the size of a football
with three wicks. We lit the wicks stared and cried. I think how Americans
reacted in aggression and anger and the wheel of war grinded on. I hope those
thousands of souls didn’t die in vain and peace prevails in our world. No child
deserves to grow up on a hateful planet. And loving ourselves and helping
others is the only answer.
Himalayan Odyssey
“Passing me by, the busses and semi’s, plunging like stones
from a slingshot on mars” Black Throated Wind
If this blog wasn’t called “tiger in a trance” I
would call it “Himalayan odyssey” after the Indian biker gang I met at the K.C earlier
this year. They were riding through Bhutan on their hogs, which is a remarkable
feat. I adopted their slogan feeling that I too am on a Himalayan Odyssey. After
the reading program on Saturday I continued the ride hitching with some
teachers to the junction near T-Gang, it was my desire to go up to Kanglung to
see Ashleigh. As the sun set behind a western ridge I stuck my super-thumb out
for a ride but to no avail. The last car that came was a blur of a blue sports
car with a single vivacious tank topped coed who smiled as she sped past. I’m
not sure such a sight could be real in Bhutan and might have been a figment of
my overheated undersexed imagination. But I took it as an omen and walked the
other direction into Trashigang. En route I saw a rainbow stretching over the
Dzong and the wooded valley. I arrived at the K.C only to be told that “my room”
was not available. So I settled in #103 which is my new favorite room with four
windows opening up into a spectacular view. Becky informed me that after
leaving last weekend Alan peeked in my room only to exclaim, “Boy Tim drinks a
lot of Coca Cola.”Trashigang is a lively village full of Indians, Bhutanese, and
Brokpa. It used to be a trading post between Bhutanese and Tibetans. Huge
bogenvia and banana trees palisade the curvy streets adorned with colorful
traditional architecture. The subtropical
town is centered on the old prayer wheel and this is where the lovely bakery
patio is located. My guide book advises against eating meat but I indulge
whenever possible. Most of the carcasses come up from India in unrefrigerated
trucks swarmed by flies but WTDL. I delight in the chicken curry, mixed
vegetables, and superior dal in an alfresco setting amongst tropical flowers
and a black and white weaved bamboo fence. After dinner I got banana bread from
Sonam Wangmo. Then a walk to the Dzong before retiring to the K.C for an
episode of Two and a Half Men and a hot shower. While in town I also visited
Deepac for an authentic barber’s haircut. You can comb the world over and not
find a haircutting experience like Deepac Scissorhands. He even cuts HM’s hair
and is a local legend. He was born into a barber cast and has made an art form
from his craft in a cozy shop on the edge of town. One might say he is a
Trashigang Institution. On the way home in the morning mist I saw a troop of
brown monkeys just above Doksom. I have never seen monkeys in this treeless
landscape before. One large monkey made eye contact before scampering into the tall
grass. It is always thrilling to see wild primates who share our evolutionary
rung on Jacobs Ladder. Back in the classroom I stay positive and energetic
constantly refining my delivery methods and striving to be a better teacher. Meanwhile
wildflowers flourish on the saturated countryside as the steam engine known as
the monsoon chugs on and on…
Fear of Death
“Death don’t take no vacation in this land”
On my daily hike I went to Zongdopelri. Behind the temple I
came across two village women making ara in huge vats over an open fire. They
had two barrels full and a few jugs that they were funneling the moonshine
into. The homebrew was being concocted for the upcoming Tsechu. Furthur up the
trail I ran into Wangmo and Zangmo and two drunken farm boys who spoke limited English
and claimed to not be enrolled in school. At the temple the marigolds are
exploding and the giant sunflowers are wilting, bowing to the earth. They look
exactly like the old man stooped over the prayer wheel. Suddenly I can feel the
reaper with me and it as if I am already dead. I am thirty five and afraid to
die or maybe afraid to live? Above the temple my bonpo meadow is alive with
purple princess blooms and swerving clouds. There are no clouds on earth like
these and I wonder of all the enchanted parcels how did I end up here? Suddenly
coincidences and randomness seem impossible. Down in the village I met one of
my students recently diagnosed with some heart disease. She wouldn’t give me
details but said it was brought on by missing her mother in Thimphu. She was
standing by her garden where an exotic red flower towered and unfolded in its
own perfect domain. This specimen could have been in the Amazon Rainforest or
the ferry plaza nursery slung with a hefty price tag. Below in all directions wondrous
muted earth tones mix with gusts of chartreuse. But inside the grove is a womb
of splendid green of all shades and vibrations, including soothing green, laughing
green and envious green all splayed together on a lushes slope. MMMMM MMMMM
GREEN! But alas the maize already turned
gold and the wheel revolves towards autumn in glorious impermanence.
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| Marigolds and Sunflowers at Zongdopelri |
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| Moses at Gom Kora |
