Twenty Days in Tibet #5

Journal Excerpts from May 1992

Note: even as I write this three decades later, ethnic Tibetans in China are still in danger of persecution for their Buddhist practice, for “crimes” as simple as owning a photo of the Dalai Lama. In what follows I have chosen not to use the real names of the three Tibetans who were our crew for the trip on the very remote chance that this writing ever gets published and would potentially endanger them in any way. Hence I will call our guide “Checkov,” for the youthful navigator in Star Trek guiding us into new worlds; our driver “Hoke” after the driver in Driving Miss Daisy who became so much more than “just” a driver: and our cook “Emeril” for his enthusiasm, humor and ease in front of a camera.

Speaking of cooks, it is not always easy for two cooks to share a kitchen. Similarly, not every two people. make good travel partners. Iʻve known couples who take separate vacations because they are a fabulous team in day to day life but have completely different styles of travel. Iʻve also known couples who suck at the day to day but complement each other beautifully on even the most exotic and demanding travel adventures.

Vijali and I, as it turned out, had similar attitudes towards our trip. Both of us had experience traveling in countries without the amenities we take for granted in the U.S., and (remember Four Ways of Being Human?) a curiosity and eagerness to connect with individuals from other cultures and ways of living. We both loved hiking and camping, and although we could not otherwise prepare for spending weeks above 12,000ʻ in altititude, we put diligent effort into improving our aerobic fitness levels in advance of the trip.

We were surprised to learn our videographer Karil had signed on for this adventure without any prior experience camping or traveling in less-amenitied places, and aside from buying a tent and cold weather gear, had not otherwise prepared for the physical demands of the trip. Once we left the city of Kathmandu for Tibet, my journal reads as a continual point-counterpoint of my joy and actual exaltation in the environment and new experiences, and our efforts to get along as a unit with different perspectives and little escape from one anotherʻs company.

I left that aspect out of the typed journal excerpts I circulated to friends on my return. In including more of it in this writing, I have no intention to be hurtful with an honest retelling of our time together. I write candidly of my own inner struggles, and some of Vijaliʻs. I see with mature clarity that what at the time felt like disharmony, of Karilʻs wanting to control the journey and throwing us out of the flow, was a combination of her wanting to contribute, and feeling completely out of her element and grasping for any sense of control that could orient and comfort her. I see with compassion how much those patterns are sometimes, in different circumstances and settings, my own.

And so, without further ado, twenty days in Tibet.

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May 18, 1992

Birds are chattering as they awake

Alerting me to the opportunity of sunrise.

Jacketed against a lingering chill

Felt fresh on my bare ankles,

I walk gently through the village and into the field above.

Behind me, to the West

A moon one night short of full

Shines in suspense over the hills.

Ahead, the soft glow of sun

Through high valley air.

He breaks the horizon, showing

The air to be still thick

Shrouding the Tall Ones whose forms

Emergy only faintly through the glow.

Returning, I find sariʻd women

Washing at the faucet while

Men suck on thin pipes

Tobacco sent in the air

Reminding me of prayers just spoken.

In seven days my eyes have changed

So I see equal beauty in crumbling

Brick and dirt, living, breathing village,

And calm majestic Himalayas.

A palpable shift in the earthʻs energy as we cross a subtle border into Tibet. Hours of formalities at the Chinese side, compensated for by the appearance of two young Tibetan men, one of whom is our guide Checkov. We stayed at 7,000 feet and will climb tomorrow over 17,000 foot Thang La pass. There will be long hours of driving over dusty dirt roads for the next week.  Vijali will use her Tibetan name, Dorje Dolma, during our time in Tibet. She and I have committed to 100,000 mantra in Tibet, working out to 5,000 a day for the 20 days of our stay. This should be easy on driving days!

May 19, 1992. Khase/Shangmu/Shegar

Slowly ascending the pass, just “common mountains” behind us not even important enough to name however spectacular; 26,000ʻ of Shishapangma to our left; and all around us curves whose feminine insinuations Georgia OʻKeeffe could have captured. The summit is marked by prayer flags, looking to me like the grand opening of a New York deli, a thought which flashes incongruously in the minute required to comprehend.

I am taken with a different set of prayers, suddenly feeling ancient ones with me and alongside me,  but they are the spirits who travel with me from home. I reach for tobacco and in my pouch find a sun crystal. The wind outside the Toyota is breath-robbing, harsh and purifying, sweeping hope fear and ego onto the valley floor. I kneel to face the Tall One, praying for my roots to extend as deeply into the earth, for my strength in this spiritual quest to be as immense. I realize I am closer than I have ever been to the Sky Father because I am lifted by more mass than I have ever before been supported by Earth Mother.

I open my right fist to let the winds take my offering. For a moment I am no longer one whose prayers are personal, only a praying part of that relatedness and my boundaries are gone and I am on this mountain and also that one and that one too.

We drive onward, down to the Tingri plains. There are herders with yak and sheep. There are grand formations of rock, intricate design, heart-drawing geometry. Finally, over the horizon, higher by a head than the other snowcaps, is the big one herself – Chomolanga, Everest. 29,028 feet tall. The local interpretations of the name vary, but they are all feminine. Abode of the Five Sister Goddesses. Or Lady Cow.

The summit of Thang La pass, Tibet.

We stop at Tingri for a late lunch of mutton momo and yak butter tea. I eat heartily and encourage Karil, who is showing symptoms of altitude sickness, to at least eat a little bread. Dorje Dolma takes advantage of the brief time of rest in the sunshine to show her portfolio and explain her World Wheel project. Our guide Checkov and driver Hoke are both fascinated. It feels like another miracle – we have been assigned Tibetans rather than Chinese nationals and they want to support our intentions. I am almost bursting with joy and gratitude for that precious moment – delicious momo, thin-air sky, mountains all around, and the luck of a guide and driver who are in cahoots with us! They will pretend we are ordinary tourists, and we agree to never mention personal stories they share with us about the Chinese occupation. We are supposed to exchange them part way for another crew, but they are now working to outwit their manager and a broken-down vehicle to be with us for the duration.

I finish my 5,000 mantra exactly as Checkov says “here is our hotel.”

May 20, 1992 - Xigatse

Karil and Dorje Dolma are feeling better today after two nights of altitude sickness and coughing colds, so “Work” begins. We stop along the road to film fields being cultivated. One couple is flinging seed, another driving teams of yak whose horns are draped in red. Three young men walk by. They are carrying large bundles on their backs, and in their hands are sticks topped with knives. They are pilgrims on their way to Kailas, perhaps 400 miles from where we saw them, and who knows how far they had come already. They explain they will stay there two months to complete 13 circuits (3 and 13 being special numbers). We gave them Dalai Lama photos. We only brought 10 photos apiece, and suddenly realize we should have each brought 30 or 50.

At Xigatse, the second largest city in Tibet, we visit Tashilhumpo Monastery. Built in the 15th century by the First Dalai Lama, it is the seat of the Panchen Lama. We hear conflicting stories about whether his latest incarnation has been located. There is an enormous, famous image of the Buddha here, but I do not find myself moved. I do not find it in me to prostrate or even salute these images with prayer. I reflect on that. I have found meditation to be useful, this learning to be present, learning not to hold on. It has already brought more softness to my way of moving in the world. Not in the way of the advanced practitioners around me, but with Karil as a mirror I can see the improvement in myself.

Apparently I just donʻt connect with deities in temples. More mystery then, about why I am here, wandering Tibet with a Chod kit and dressed in the maroon garb of a practitioner.

I write this while waiting for hot water, which has been promised will be available for two hours beginning at 9:30 pm. This hotel is second only to the Lhasa Holiday Inn, Checkov tells us. The last two hotels had rusted out showers and tubs with no plumbing connected. The hotels have no heat either, and by morning I need hat and gloves in bed. I really crave that hot shower!

I console myself remembering it is Spring in this high valley. A child came to the jeep window to hold up a kid no bigger than a large puppy. It is hard to imagine what animals graze on, just a few lichen and sparse grasses. Barley is the only crop the people harvest. Here in town it is milder and there are trees. But I no longer need them. My eyes have feasted on the greens in the rock formations.

May 21, 1992 – Gyantse

A short day of driving. In the afternoon, Dorje Dolma and I hike up to castle ruins on a hill overlooking Gyantse. Below us lies the stupa we were supposed to be visiting. We agree this is a better way to see it. At breakfast, she had echoed my feelings that she likes caves better than monasteries. So maybe my problem isnʻt with Buddhism. I talk to the hills. What do you want from me here?

When we check in at council, I realize I am a bit too caught up in the mental chatter of how-many-hours-when-do-we-eat-how-does-Karil-feel. A bit disconnected from both my personal and the collective reasons for being here. Of course my problem is me.

Four more days to prepare for Shoto Terdrom.

May 22, 1992 – Tsedang

Coming out of Gyantse over our last high pass, we drop into the valley of the Yarlung Tsampo which we will follow all the way to Tsedang, a drive of nine hours. The Yarlung is one of four sacred rivers originating at Mt Kailas. It travels almost the width of Tibet, to circle sunwise in the east around Namche Barwa, then head south and west into India as the Brahmaputra.

So far during our time driving in Tibet, the rhythm of the land has been vertical, passes and plains. Now the sense of rhythm becomes more horizonal, as the valley widens and narrows and widens again. The river becomes hypnotic, a cold jade green punctuated by whitewater rapids. Sandstone formations drop to sandy beaches, sometimes covered with rows of scraggly timber trees. On higher slopes, the colors are heather purple and moss green. At a few rare bends in the road, we catch a glimpse of snowcapped peaks.

As the afternoon turns late and the repetitions on my beads increase and my mind stills, I see the syllables suspended, colored like prayer flags in the air. Voices whisper to me – the ones who can answer my questions are hiding in the canyons. I begin to understand that there are spirits here and spirits there and what has been communicated to me before, I carry to this place and it is here to be read. It is necessary first to make the connection inside myself. Then it simultaneously, automatically, somehow manifests externally.

I see that I have brought with me, to release, my Ancestor and my Unborn. I see that the practice of letting go of hope, fear, expectation, and today especially of control, gives me the approach to the Valley. Now I feel clear about the pieces I hold within myself and the awareness that I must bring. To simply be present will be to be given my part, my parts in creating the Connection that is the World Wheel. And that Wheel is part of larger connections that are being made at levels I can only partly humanly perceive.

To come here as a woman of the other place brings the energy and information that is called for.  But by Whom?

May 23, 1992

Dorje Dolma spends the day in “Cave” 214 in prayer and preparation. Karil and I go with the boys a few kilometers to Yambu Lagang, the oldest castle in Tibet, home of the first king. It is only a 10 minute walk up the hill, and I find it quite charming. Karil follows slowly, accompanied by two children. The children bring us to their home. Mother is weaving at a loom in the courtyard, surrounded by a proudly plumed cock and a hen with many chicks. A little girl sits in my lap while Karil videos her mother. I leave one of my earrings behind for the baby in thanks.

Still intent on a hike, I agree to first accompany Karil on her shopping. Three hours later we finally return to the hotel. Sigh. I feel irritated. It is 4 oʻclock, the sun is still shining, but I see dust storms on the hills. The trekking book describes a kora that begins just outside of town, touching three gompas. Iʻll try it.

Back through the main street, right at the traffic circle, and headlong into a fierce wind hurling grit into my eyes and teeth. I brave it for a few minutes, consider turning back. Then I see a family – or at least the female half of it. The girl is about ten, in black pants with her hair tied back with a polka dot bow. Her mother is traditionally dressed, with a baby slung across her back. Gray-haired grandmother wears an old cotton manʻs hat, and carries a rosary. “Namgung gompa?” I ask. They nod, and I fall in line.

At the next alley we turn in between houses, following a path that is invisible to me. The first gompa is nearby. The girl indicates I should stop and visit; I do, while they continue on. Three children appear to direct me back to the route, where two elderly women welcome me with a gesture. As the trail turns steeply up the gully, we are flanked by cairns and willows. Moving quickly, we overtake the family, who have added to their number too. We are now eight women and two children.

Descending, we reach the second monastery, where a very young child monk, perhaps 9 or 10 years old, takes me into a small chapel. Then we go into another, even tinier chapel with a single image and a nun chanting. Here he looks up at me with wide eyes, and pleads “Dalai Lama?” I hand him a photograph, which he accepts with a wide smile, tucking it carefully into his robes.

A stern looking elder passes walking with her cane, so I fall in with her, past a shrine dedicated to the protectress Pelden Lhamo. We donʻt stop at the large, beautiful Ganden Chhokorling. I follow my last guide until she turns at a row of houses, motioning me to continue a bit farther on into town.

The reason I could not go on a hike earlier turned out to be...I was meant to join the womenʻs kora. Now I get it.

May 24, 1992 Lhasa

Before bed last night Dorje Dolma taught us a Taoist series of breath exercises for balancing the six organs. I dream lucidly during the early part of the night, conscious throughout of circulating energy to heal the cold which I have finally caught from my two companions. When I feel better and relax, I dream of skiing with Elizabeth and my goddaughters. We stop for someone to take a potty break. Elizabeth tells me “I am afraid I wonʻt know anything about Tibet.” I explain to her how rigorous a trip it is.

Our journey includes a long side trip to Samye. The monastery has just been restored to its gilded splendor, but the real experience is the journey: a two-hour ride on a small motor-ferry packed in equal parts with monks, old people, and schoolchildren. Finally on that river with space all around, wind blowing, sun glaring, sand and sandstone surrounding, all the elements are engaged as we move slowly, prayerfully, against the tide.

I pray long and hard, for letting go of ego and finding that moment of space to not react. In gratitude for being here in Tibet as I am and not on a commercial tour. For strength to fulfill pledges I have made.

May 25, 1992 

We came into the capital city to rest for the night before we leave for Shoto Terdrom. More good fortune this morning . The cook assigned to us, “Emeril”, is himself a guide, and he is friends with Chekov. His English is also good, good enough to serve as translator for the more complex concepts Dorje Dolma hopes to explore.

I study the mural in the lobby of the hotel. Samye – dwarfed by mountains. But the mountains seem to have square and rectangular windows painted on them. In each window is a squat figure eight or vajra, vertical,  topped by a lighter colored dot. I stare until the light finally dawns. Retreat caves! On to Shoto Terdrom!