Happy in Hokkaido

"Trippy Quotes"

Here are some quotes I wrote down in my notebook during and after my India trip. I'll present each one, and let you know why it came into my head and what it means for me today. Sorry if it's in bad taste to quote myself, but I had some good ideas to share with you! (NOTE: Some of them I wrote myself, but they may sound very similar to quotes from other famous people. If I've accidentally plagiarized anyone, my apologies!)

"Come what may. Allow what might. Accept what is." - Michael Snyder

I wrote this one before the trip as a way to prepare my mind for India's culture shock. Although there's no real way to prepare for culture shock, the quote helped keep me grounded in the present moment.

Upon my return to Japan, this quote has also been useful in dealing with reverse-culture shock. In comparison to Indians, most Japanese people appear "static" and "asleep;" "cogs in a machine." Few Japanese will ever experience the grinding poverty and filth of India.

But that's just the way this country is set up, and I am learning at accept it for what it is. And there are plenty of things here in Japan I can learn from, so the lessons never stop coming, no matter where you find yourself. All you have to do is be on the lookout for them and accept what is.

"I believe in the unity of all people and all things. And therefore I believe that if one person gains spiritually, the whole world gains. And if one person falls, the whole world falls to that extent." - Mahatma Ghandi

This quote arrived after I had a similar thought while visiting Ghandi's memorial site in Delhi. Standing in front of his smooth, black memorial stone, I recalled something he said in the biographic movie "Ghandi."

When asked if he was a Hindu, Ghandi said something like, "I'm a Hindu, and a Muslim, and a Christian and a Buddhist." He absorbed and unified the best from all the great religious traditions. He recognized that there are grains of truth and wisdom in every tradition, and that no religion is better or worse than any other one. (Ironically, a high-ranking Buddhist rimpoche told me the exact same thing about a week later...)

After I returned to Japan, I searched for this quote, but couldn't find the exact one I was thinking of. Instead I found the one above and felt that it sums up the original one pretty well.

After seeing a mosque and a Hindu temple next to each other in Delhi, I realized just how spiritually diverse India is. Down the road was Mother Teresa's Missionaries of Charity, and walking next to me at Ghandi's memorial were Muslims, Hindus and Christians (and probably a few Buddhists too). This memorial and these people reminded me of the "diverse unity" Ghandi sought to build among Indians. Granted, that unity fell apart after the partition of Pakistan and Bangladesh, but his dream lives on and is an inspiration for us all.

I agree that one person can make a difference in this world - for better or for worse. Our choices begin on the individual level. But we're all connected in ways that cause our individual decisions to affect the larger world around us. So when Ghandi says "if one person falls, the whole world falls to that extent," I can't help but want to prevent people from falling. This not only benefits them, but it benefits me and everyone else too.

In modern India, you get the sense that quotes like these are gathering dust. The vast inequality between rich and poor is so apparent that it makes you wonder if people have forgotten about Ghandi's teachings. As inequality spreads, I hope more people will revisit Ghandi's wisdom. I also hope India's "diverse unity" will transform the nation once again. In due course, we'll all benefit from such a transformation.

I'll end with another quote from Ghandi: " Individual liberty and interdependence are both essential for life in society."

"You aren't separate from the chaos around you; you're a part of it." - Michael Snyder

Again, this was a way for me to accept the "chaos" happening around me in India. This thought came to mind when I was walking through a very crowded market in Delhi. The taxi driver was taking me to see a famous mosque. I had only been in India about 18 hours, and I felt a little scared by all the mayhem and poverty around me. I wasn't sure what/who was safe and what/who was dangerous. Would a pick-pocket steal my wallet? Would I be some kind of terror target? A thousand fears could have flooded my mind, if I had let them...

Instead, I realized that a foreigner (or even just a strange person) can be just as much a part of the chaos as anybody or anything else can be. The extra attention they draw usually adds to the chaos in some way. Once you realize that you're part of it, and not separate from it, it becomes easier to deal with. You just go with the flow.

This is a quote that transcends that moment in Delhi, so I wrote it down when I returned to my hotel. It's something to keep in the back of your mind next time chaos or confusion arises. If you catch yourself feeling separate from the mayhem or trying to avoid it: don't. You're a part of it. Find a skillful way to deal with the situation and don't cave in to fear and aversion.

"If you help others with sincere motivation and sincere concern, that will bring you more fortune, more friends, more smiles and more success. If you forget about others rights and neglect others welfare, ultimately you will be very lonely." - H. H. The 14th Dalai Lama

This quote is written on the back of the Volunteer Tibet T-shirt that Lobsang gave me before I departed Dharamsala. Because the T-shirt was in a plastic package, I didn't even know this quote was on it until I got back to Japan. But man, what a pleasant surprise!

Very few people, I believe, want to experience loneliness in their life. Yet we continue to believe the illusion that we're separate from others. Because of this "separateness" we can act selfishly, neglect others, and live self-centered lives. This cuts people off from each other, and we end up lonely in the end. Or we can fall into bad company with others who do the same and never experience true friendships and happiness.

On the flip side, when you're truly concerned with the welfare of other people (and also take care of yourself), then you create happiness in the world and in yourself. This doesn't work, though, if you just do good deeds for the sake of gaining friends, smiles and success. You have to do it out of compassion - not pity or fear of what bad deeds might bring.

"Just remember what Chieria is like..." - Michael Snyder

This funny quote came to me whenever I got bored with something, or felt like I wasn't making any progress while I was teaching in Dharamsala. For those of you who don't know what "Chieria" is, it's my Board of Education office. When schools aren't in session, we have to report there for "work."

"Work" consists of putting all of us ALTs into a computer lab. Usually there's nothing to do, and there's no oversight. We just surf the Internet for hours, talk about random things, play video games and nap. Luckily we're only stuck there from 9:30AM till 3PM. Because there's no oversight, we often take 2-hour lunch breaks...

With this example of pure listlessness and wastefulness in mind, ANYTHING became more interesting than Chieria would be upon my return. (I had seven Chieria days to "look forward to" when I returned...) So in a weird way, this helped keep things in perspective, and reminded me of how valuable time here on Earth can be - you just have to find ways to skillfully apply yourself, even when there's not much to do.

Sometimes doing nothing other than quietly examining your "self", your mind-state and your intentions is time well spent. Soon you discover that there's so much you can be doing to help yourself and other people. And it's at that moment that life truly becomes interesting.

"It's difficult to be a person." - Michael Snyder
(Disclaimer: I think I first heard this idea on a Zen podcast I listened to before departing for India. The teaching is on "Right Speech," and you can download/listen to it by clicking here.)

This quote came to me after I returned to Japan. I've come to understand that it's more difficult for some people to be human beings than it is for others. In Buddhism this fact is simply a manifestation of the so-called "karmic wheel" that we're all attached to: the seemingly endless cycle of birth, suffering, death and rebirth.

When I saw just how difficult it is for some people to eek out a living in India, and balanced that with the spiritual poverty in Japan and the West, I came to realize how hard it can be to be a person - no matter where you live. We're all born into a world that contains a seemingly endless variety of attachments, hopes, fears, goals, desires and aversions to unpleasant things. It's quite a task to navigate through all these obstacles and come out "sane" or "normal" (whatever that means)! Some people have a lot more trouble in life than others do.

After my trip to India I realized just how fragile the human condition is. Some people are suffering immensely, be it from material or spiritual poverty. And other people seem generally happy with the present moment and can deal with change as it comes. (I guess this is the direction I've been heading in for the past two years, but I still have a long way to go...)

Do you know what this realization (that it's difficult to be a person) yields? Compassion. Compassion is a word that's thrown around loosely these days (like "compassionate conservative"). But I think in Western culture pity often masquerades as compassion. Pity means you look at someone in a difficult situation and recognize their suffering, but you are glad he/she is not you. Or you use their difficult situation to compare your fortune or life with others. (Both thoughts often happen unconsciously.)

Compassion, on the other hand, is when you take on their suffering as if it were your own. Their pain becomes your pain, and you suddenly realize that there's nothing else to do but to help the other person. You don't help them because of moral obligation, religious doctrine or for personal/emotional gain. You help them because, in the end, you're really helping yourself.

I won't go into much more detail about compassion (if you want to learn more from another Zen podcast on the topic, click here). But the quote above reminds us that other people are suffering, and that we should feel compassion - not pity - towards their suffering. After all, has your life been a joyride? Haven't you also struggled with things in your life? Aren't we all a little neurotic at times? And don't we all seek to be happy?

Dec. 26 - "Topics of Conversation"

Had a good night's sleep. Dreamed about monks and the Dalai Lama, although nothing earth-shattering or remarkable that I can remember... Just peaceful sleep.

 

Today I was back to work, teaching verbals and verb phrases to my advanced class. The same cute 12-year-old boys showed up for both lessons. By this time, they and I felt that classes were going more smoothly and that the lessons were more relevant than they were before. This made me less nervous too. (Planning ahead is the key!)

I went through my normal "routine" teach English, take lunch, teach more English and then have conversation class from 4-5PM. Before my conversation class I stopped by the Oasis Cafe (which is right by my hotel) for a chai.

After conversation class I planned to go see a film about the 2008 uprising in Tibet, which was being screened at a local restaurant by the Tibet Center for Human Rights and Democracy. The film attracted many foreigners, and it was graphic but powerful. It's amazing to think about how much suffering, cruelty and insanity is unfolding in Chinese-occupied Tibet each day. (The same thing with the situation just across the border in northern Pakistan...)

The film really hit the point home and revealed a lot of information that the Western press didn't cover during the 2008 uprising. (I got a free copy of the DVD and plan to leave it in Japan for other JETs to watch, if they're interested. If you're interested, click here to watch it over the Internet.)

After the film there was a Q&A with the director of the Tibet Center for Human Rights and Democracy. He gave some personal perspectives on the uprising, plus outlined the need for the world to become more aware of the Tibet situation.

A note about the Tibet situation: it's the No. 1 topic of discussion here, and it's always on Tibetans' minds.  Life in exile is supposed to be temporary, so I get the feeling that most people are just living temporarily (which isn't a bad way to exist, after all...) But it leads to more suffering, because many exiles are just waiting to go home and often don't want to put down roots anywhere. Sadly, this had driven some exiles into alcoholism, drugs and suicide.

During my English conversation lessons each evening, the topic invariably comes back to "Free Tibet." I explained to the students that I already know all about the Tibet situation. (I even taught them what the idiom "You're preaching to the choir" means!) But they like to talk about this topic anyway, and they love to hear my opinions.

I have maintained that I believe Tibet will reach freedom only when China does too. I remind them that the Chinese do terrible things to their own people as well, and that there are millions of Chinese that want freedom and democracy too.

So if China becomes free, I tell them, Tibet has a chance at becoming free too. Or, if Tibetans so wished, Tibet could remain part of a free China as a truly autonomous province. Then Tibetans could share in the economic benefits of the world's fastest-growing economy, and truly exercise their so-called "autonomy" within the free Chinese republic. But ultimately that would be a decision for future generations to make. A lot needs to happen before then!

Freeing China would be a monumental (and probably bloody) undertaking that could take many years to unfold. And it would have to happen from within. But people thought the same thing about the Soviet Union. That country fell within a person's lifetime. Anything is possible, and I wish for freedom not only for Tibetans, but also for the Chinese.

A lot of people in the crowd agreed with me. But waiting on China to change is not a very appealing option for most young Tibetans, who are eager to return home. In fact, there's a generation gap forming between Tibetans who witnessed the Chinese invasion in the 1950s and those who grew up (or are now growing up) in exile. The Dalai Lama, who belongs to the former group, says Tibetans should be patient and work towards autonomy within China - not outright independence from China. (In essence, he seeks a true, autonomous region within greater China. And only through peaceful means.)

Younger people tend to advocate outright independence - restoring Tibet's status as a separate nation. They want to kick out the Chinese settlers and re-form a Tibetan defense force. The young people are frustrated with the status quo, but most are too pious to go against the Dalai Lama's way of dealing with the issue. Still, this gap makes for rigorous debate within the Tibetan exile community. And it will likely grow as time goes by and the exile generation, along with the Dalai Lama, gets older.

After a few times of hearing the same viewpoints from my students, and offering my" Free China/Free Tibet" model, I asked if this topic was something they wanted to continue discussing at conversation class. They eagerly said yes, and I later came to realize that they like talking about this topic with foreigners. By talking with foreigners like me, I think they feel like they're "getting the word out" about Tibet to the rest of the  world. Also, I realized that talking about this issue is somehow cathartic and maybe even therapeutic for them, so I allowed the topic to come up during every conversation class. No one got bored, especially me.

I also prepared a few conversation starters, which always turn into very interesting discussions. For example, I asked each student to describe a strong or meaningful memory. Most of the memories described were tragic recounts of escapes across the Himalaya into India. I heard about escapes at night, dodging Chinese border guards and army patrols, frostbit, relatives stuck on both side of the border, etc.

But not all the memories revolved around this theme. One monk told me a story about when he was a boy. He was living in the monastery at that time, and an older monk gave him a really nice pair of fur-lined boots. The boy loved the boots because they kept his feet warm in the winter. But the boy also loved to skip class and play with his friends down by the river...

One day, instead of studying, he skipped class and went down to the river to play with his friends. Without thinking about it, he went into the river - wearing the boots! The water ruined the boots. He was scared that the older monk would find out, so he threw the boots into the river and bought a cheap pair of sandals. He was less concerned with ruining the boots, and more concerned with being caught skipping class. (Apparently he'd gotten away with it for a while.)

A day later, the older monk found out about the boy skipping class. He confronted the boy, and the boy lied. Caught in his lie, the boy was punished by the older monk. But in the end, the boy had learned a valuable lesson about lying and skipping class.

I like these kinds of stories - especially from monks - because they're something we all can relate too. (Also it brought my lofty notions about monks down to reality, but in a good way.) I was impressed by students' abilities to tell stories like these in English. There were lots of things in the previous story to set up and explain to the audience, which isn't an easy task to complete in any language!

Later that evening I decided to go shopping for some gifts and stock up on some water and snacks for the weekend. I had my usual dinner at Shang-ri La and then bought some things for friends and family back home. I went to the Internet cafe to check some e-mails and say hello to folks back home, in Japan, and elsewhere in the world. Then it was lights out for another good night's sleep.

Dec. 25 - "Christmas in India!"

I didn't expect to actually have a holiday on Christmas. This is a non-Christian country and I'm also not a Christian. But the Volunteer Tibet organizer, Lobsang, gave every volunteer the day off because some of them are Christian.

After I woke up I started packing my things, determined to find a warmer room later that day. Then I decided to try and find a nice Christmas morning breakfast somewhere. And I don't mean a Western breakfast: instead I opted for a Tibetan one!

Tsetan Dolkar introduced me to a nice little chai and food shop on the Temple Road. The place also served breakfast and is cheap. They had a Western option, but I was intrigued by the Tibetan porridge and Tibetan cheese bread with butter tea. So I ordered it.

Turns out that Tibetan porridge is basically like a thinner, finer version of oatmeal. The bread is about three times the size of an English muffin but has a similar consistency: lots of yeast bubbles inside the bread.

After breakfast I went back to my room and met the land lady and told her I was leaving. I paid for four days, even though I only stayed three, because of the short notice. It was so cheap it didn't matter to me: one night cost only 170 rupees (about US$3.15).

The Volunteer Tibet organizer took me to a budget hotel across the street from the monastery I was teaching at. It's called Hotel Akash and is run by some friendly Kashmiris. Lobsang talked to the owner and she showed me a nice corner room that got a lot of sunshine throughout the day. It was located on the second floor and there was a balcony with chairs and a table facing the street. The well-worn room has "astro-turf" green floors (made of a thin, green carpet), an old dresser, two chairs, a coffee table and a huge king-size bed. Again: the bed was hard, the room wasn't heated and it was cheap. But it had a much larger and better hot water heater and a Western-style toilet. So I took it. Lobsang negotiated with the hotel owner to give me the room for only 250 rupees per night (about US$5).

The view from the room looks out directly onto the classroom I teach at, and the monastery's terrace where I hold conversation classes. I can't complain about the commute!

The first thing I did after unpacking was to take a nice hot shower, and have a shave. It felt great to be clean and warm again. This room upgrade is definately a good Christmas present to myself!

Next I headed up the hill to the Internet cafe to send some Christmas greetings to friends and family. After that, Lobsang gave myself and a U.S. journalism volunteer some "cultural orientation." He talked about Tibetan culture, and also some do's and don'ts around town. I already knew a lot about the Tibetan issue, but the local information was helpful.

When the orientation wrapped up, I ran into Amy, an American also volunteering to teach English at the monastery. She taught the beginner level, but no one showed up that day. So she asked me if I could help her with her adopted stray cat. I had nothing else to do, so I said OK.

A few weeks ago she found a tabby cat that couldn't move its two back legs very much. At the time she was renting a room at a nunnery, but she brought the cat inside anyway to nurse it back to health. But she couldn't keep it there forever because it was against the rules to have an animal in nunnery rooms. Also she had to go to Delhi for 10 days and needed a place to keep the cat.

So one of the volunteer organizations here runs a small animal clinic. Vets volunteer their free time and visit this clinic from time to time. (Remember, animals are respected here, and people have lots of compassion for them.) Amy put the cat in the clinic for a few days. When she returned from Delhi, the cat had diarrhea. She bought it some medicine and wondered if I would help her give it to the cat.

 

On a side note, the druggist was an interesting place. Without a doctor's note, you can simply buy antibiotics, painkillers, and even Valium! I bought some antibiotics in case the lung infection I had earlier this month returns. And just for the hell of it, I also bought some Valium (It'll help me relax during the long, bumpy and scary bus ride back to Delhi.)

I'm going to stock up on a few other medications for the cold and flu season in Japan. Japanese medicine is weak and due to the ever-present language barrier, it's a pain in the ass to get a doctor's prescription.

Back to the cat: After picking up the cat's medicine at the druggist, Amy and I walked down the steep hill to the vet clinic. The "clinic" is just  a terrace in front of a building. The terrace has some dogs laying around and some cages where treated animals were recovering. But a few of the dogs were really friendly, and I enjoyed playing with them. Although they were strays, I got the impression that the animals knew they were being treated well by people, so they were happy to see us - much happier than I've ever seen animals at a vet clinic before.

Amy's cat was in a cage and the poor thing had diarrhea pretty bad. She took it out of the cage and I helped her clean off the cat's fur. Also the cat had a rash from lying in its own filth for so long. So we put some medicated cream on the rash. After finishing this, I cleaned out his cage and put a blanket down. His water dish and food dish were also refilled.

Meanwhile Amy did some physical therapy on the cat's legs, gently bending them up and down to strengthen the muscles. Amy said this was working and that he's regained some more movement since she's been doing this.

After the cat was safely put back into his clean cage, Amy jokingly asked, "Was this your ideal way to spend Christmas?" I laughed and said that taking care of another being is a lot more fulfilling than consumerist shopping, gorging myself with fatty foods and lounging around. So cleaning a cat's cage and being of service others feels a lot more worthwhile, I said.

As the sun started to go down, I headed to Tsetan Dolkar's house for dinner. It was nice to spend Christmas with someone, even though we're both Buddhists. I guess Christmas is now just a time when I gather with my family each year. For me, it's not about the birth of Jesus Christ (which didn't actually happen on Dec. 25th anyway). It's just "family time" with a collection of fond memories.

Although it would have been nice to be with my family on this day, I was happy to be in India, working for a good cause. The opportunity to give my talents and service to others is a pretty good Christmas present, I think. It's not selfish or materialistic, and a lot of people (and even cats!) can share in it.

Dec. 24 - "Christmas Eve"

I woke up around 8AM and got ready for the day. I met Tsetan Dolkar again for breakfast at her house (which sort of became the routine most days). Then it was off to school at 10AM. Again, I had about 30 students in the small classroom, including the same three 12-year-old boys who like to sit up front near me. These boys are so cute and they're really good at learning English. (They came to my classes because their regular school had a winter break, and their parents didn't want them just hanging out around the house all day. So they came to my classes each day.) Also, unlike my Japanese students, these boys are eager to learn English and speak with me!

In contrast to yesterday's fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants lesson, I prepared something more complex for the Advanced and Intermediate students. For the Advanced classes, I introduced verbals: participles (past and present), gerunds and infinitive phrases (noun, adjective and adverb types). I also started teaching verbal phrases each class. These are colloquialisms like "get on (with something)," "come together/apart," and "go over (someone or something)." The students seemed to like these lessons because I was teaching them "real world" English, along with grammar.

Again, I was impressed by how much English the students already knew. And they were very fast learners - picking up grammar patterns quickly and able to answer in complete sentences.

For Intermediate classes, I began teaching "Verb Synonyms:" different ways/meanings of a common verb. For example, the verb "get" can be substituted with similar verbs like "grasp," "understand," "catch" etc. Then I explained all the subtle meanings of each synonym and how they can change the meaning or tone of a sentence.

At the end of the day I felt more confident that my lesson plans would be more effective and were better-suited to students' levels. Before this, I'd never taught higher-level English, so it was a challenge, but has been great teaching experience. And it certainly helps to have students who are motivated, interested and grateful to learn English!

After teaching Advanced English, two Intermediate classes and doing the conversation class in the evening, I was tired. Jet lag (although India is only 3.5 hours away from Japan) still had a hold on me. Not to mention the terrifying 13.5 hour bus ride from Delhi! I didn't have to go far for dinner, though, because Tsetan Dolkar cooked for me again. Tonight's menu was dal (small beans in a sauce), potato-vegetable stew and chapattis.

After dinner I heard that there was a small Christmas Eve get together at a cafe across the street from the monastery I teach at. It's called Cafe Oasis and is owned and operated by a group of Christian relief volunteers. All proceeds go toward their humanitarian projects in Lower Dharamsala.

Inside the cafe they had a Christmas tree, candles on the tables, copies of some Christmas carols and a piano. Three Swedish girls who were working at the cafe baked some ginger cookies, made hot tea, and had orange slices. It was a warm, familiar and cozy setting to send Christmas Eve - even though I'm not a Christian.

That I'm not a Christian came up during a conversation with one of the Swedish girls. I think she was kind of shocked for a moment, because I guess she expected everyone there (especially a Westerner like myself) would be Christian. But I actually had no idea at the time that the cafe was owned and run by Christians. I'm totally cool with that, but I guess when i mentioned to her that I'm a Buddhist, I caught her off guard.

Anyway, the cafe was a nice place to be that evening - mostly because of the atmosphere and, more importantly, it was warm! The temperature started dropping this evening, and my room was getting almost too cold to sleep in at night (even when wearing 4-5 layers and wrapping myself in a sleeping bag and two blankets!) So the next day I decided to talk to Lobsang to see if he could help me find another cheap place to stay near work.

Lamas and Monks: Demystified

For whatever reason, I've always thought of the Dalai Lama as a mystical, sage-like figure. Almost super-human! This is probably due to the fact that I've only come to know about him through larger-than-life depictions in films like Kundun and Seven Years in Tibet. But after arriving in Dharamsala, I had a different feeling about him.

His picture is plastered everywhere, and it's in every Tibetan home. People often talk about him or ask about him when they're chatting on the street, in shops and even in my English classes. Despite all this talk and attention on him, I get the feeling that he's more like a friend of the people here, rather than a spiritual master or "all-knowing prophet."

When people talk about His Holiness, they speak about him like he's a member of their family. I too did this when I asked Tset Andolkar if he was in town, if his health had improved, etc. Even when we visited the main temple, my mythical perceptions faded away and I just came to understand him as an ordinary man. An exceptional man, of course: one filled with compassion and wisdom. But still just an ordinary person like you or I. (I certainly don't mean to imply that he's not the reincarnation of a bodhisattva. I'm just trying to put a more down-to-earth face on this remarkable person...)

The same things goes for Buddhist monks. For whatever reason, I always thought each monk would be like a guru or an extremely wise, enlightened spiritual teacher. But after teaching them English, having warm conversations, and getting to know them better, I realized that they're just men very similar to myself.

Many come from large families, and they are often "given up" to a monastery because it's an honorable thing for a family to have a member in the clergy. A son is also a huge gift to a monastery. (And for poor families, it's also a way to provide food and shelter that they otherwise couldn't give to a child.)

If you pause for a moment and contemplate this, you soon realize that perhaps some of these monks don't really want to be monks, but they had no choice or no better option. (Of course monks and nuns are free to join and leave monasteries and nunneries as they please, and there's no shame in leaving.) The result is a sangha (religious community) that has a huge mix of different people on different parts of the spiritual path. To me, these facts give it a very "real" feeling.

I don't mean to boast, but when I did English conversations with the monks, we invariably got on the topic of Dharma (Buddhist teachings). They were surprised by how much I knew about Buddhism, and I could tell that some of the monks were struggling with many of the things I myself struggled with about a year ago - despite the fact that they've been practicing Buddhism for basically their entire lives.

So when I talked with them about Buddhist teachings like Interdependent Origination, the Four Noble Truths, the Middle Way and the power of mind and emptiness, they were surprised at how much I knew. I also worked these topics into our English conversation lessons. A lot of heads were shaking in agreement with me when I'd note some Dharma point (agreement from both monks, nuns and lay people). And I didn't do this in a "preachy" way or in a manner that was spiritually materialistic. I just spoke about what I knew and have learned over the past year and a half of practice.

I love working with these monks and nuns! They are a lot like you and me: they have similar desires, hope, attachments and frustrations. They simply wear different clothes (usually) don't have sex, refrain from intoxicants, and live with few possessions. Some of them aren't afraid to speak their minds and tell you their frustrations. They don't hold things in or "live a life of silence." They just live life, as it is, with a few more guiding principles and rules than you or I do. But those differences aren't as wide as I originally thought.

Dec. 22 - "Arrival"

It was such a relief to finally be at my destination after that long bus ride! Dharamsala is located at about 1,750 meters above sea level, so it's a cool, mountainous place. The air here - unlike Delhi - is very clear and there are views of the Himalaya Range and the foothills and plains of Himachal Pradesh.

When I got off the bus, a lot of poor Indians wanted me to hire them to carry my suitcase, but I declined because I didn't yet know where I'd be staying.

The town I was living and working at is technically called McLeod Ganj, AKA "Upper Dharamsala" because it's about 500m above Dharamsala proper. The "bus stop" is an open patch of pavement surrounded by a plethora of restaurants, tourist shops, businesses, money changers and people selling fresh vegetables and roasted nuts. This is essentially the town square.

 After standing around for a few minutes, Lobsang greeted me. He's the coordinator for Volunteer Tibet and had arranged a place for me to stay. He had a porter carry my heavy suitcase about a kilometer down the road to the place I'd be staying at. (I was glad I didn't have to carry the suitcase, because I had packed it heavy with clothing donations and toys for kids.)

My room was on the second floor of a Tibetan family's home. It had its own entrance and balcony. Like most houses in this town, it clung to the side of a hill. The balcony had a nice view of the mountains and the other side of town. The room was really basic, which was fine with me because I didn't come here for vacation.

The room had two beds with hard mattresses, a stone floor, three big windows, a sink, a squat toilet and a shower heated by a tiny hot water heater.This was all I'd need for my stay here.

The first day I arrived, the weather was warm and sunny. I took a long nap in the bed, using the sleeping bag I brought along. Also the old lady who rented the room to me gave me an thick blanket to keep warm at night. With the sleeping bag and blanket, sleeping was quite comfortable and I was war enough - during the day, that is!

 But as the sun set, and the temperature dropped, it got really cold in this room. There was no heater, so I wore 4-5 layers of clothing at night, plus my red jacket. Also I borrowed another blanket and just managed to stay warm enough to sleep. (High altitudes can make temperatures feel coder than the thermometer says!)

On the plus side, the room was very close to the monastery I'd be teaching at, and it was two doors down from my "Tibetan mother," named Tset Andolkar. Tset Andolkar met me shortly after I arrived at the Volunteer Tibet office. Her job was to orient me with the town, where to shop, eath, what to be careful about, etc.

She's been such a dear ever since! That afternoon she took me to the main temple in town, which is next to the Dalai Lama's official residence. This is a cool place to see in person, because I've often seen it on TV and in documentaries. (It's where the Dalai Lama gives his free, public teachings every year.) The temple complex isn't grand per se, but it's the spiritual nerve center of the Tibetan exile community. There is some basic security before you can go in, which is just a metal detector and two guards..

The temple is in a monastery complex that sits on a cliff overlooking the Kangra Valley. The Dalai Lama's official office is in a non-descript corner of the temple's main plaza. There's a large open terrace area that faces the area where the Dalai Lama sits to give Dharma talks. He only gives these talks a few times a year, but visits the temple randomly when he's in town. (To go to his free annual public teaching, you have to get tickets in advance.)

Inside the enclosed part of the temple is a high seat where His Holiness sits when he teaches. Behind this seat there are glass cases containing hundreds of ancient Buddhist sutras, teachings and discourses. These were rescued from the Chinese invasion and "Cultural Revolution" destruction of 1959. There are also statues of various bodhisattvas, demons, lots of mandalas on the walls and prayer wheels. It's a very simple temple, with wooden floors, and it's open till 5PM every day to anyone who wants to come. The place doesn't feel like some awe-inspiring cathedral or an extremely "holy" special place - just a place for practice, reflection and calmness.

Tset Andolkar said thats he goes to the temple most days, and she gave me a guided tour and explained many of the symbols and statues to me. Also she told me that monks and nuns usually come each day at around 9AM for services. There are also debates and many other activities going on at random times. But there's always room for tourists, practitioners and anyone to come in to see the statues and sit quietly to reflect. There's a nice sense of balance here... (Notice that no living things were destroyed in its construction too: the building was built around living trees! They grow right through the terraces!)

 After the temple, Tset Andolkar took me on a tour of the town. There are only four main roads in Dharamsala and they all converge at the main square/bus stop. And these roads are on steep hills that wind along with small alleys and stairways branching off in every direction. The town is LOADED with shops, hotels, restaurants, monasteries, nunneries, guest houses, refugee centers and street vendors. The streets are wide enough for about one vehicle, yet cars and trucks and motorcycles plow through the people walking up and down the hills. Luckily it's nothing near as bad as Delhi, but there's still a lot of honking and cars come within centimeters of hitting you as you walk down the street. Added to this there are lots of stray dog and cows in the streets too. I spotted a family of Himalayan monkeys swinging from some power lines too!

 The town is basic, yet almost every home has running water, electricity and a sewer. Water is supplied via long, skinny above-ground pipes that snake through alleys and long the sides of the streets. In the alley in front of my room, for instance, you have to literally step on these pipes to access the main road.Often there are small leaks in the pipes too, which can make areas muddy and decrease water pressure in homes. (The leaks create a lot of mud in the alleys and makes the cow shit run, so you have to be careful where you step!)

A lot of tourists come here, so I've seen a lot of Western faces. But about 65 percent of the town is Tibetan - the rest being Indian. Tibetans actually arrived first and built the town (literally) when Indian granted them refugee status in 1959. After things became a little more developed and the tourist trade picked up, the Indians arrived to cash in. Both groups seem to get along OK, but I do get the feeling that the Indians are a little bit jealous of the relative economic prosperity of the Tibetan exiles. A lot of Tibetans own their own businesses, and some of them hire Indians to do construction work, or run day-to-day service operations.

But there are plenty of Indian-owned businesses here too. Test Andolkar told me that they (the Indian businesses) are more prone to charge foreigners higher prices than Tibetans would. (I don't believe she was being racist; she was just telling me some useful information.) She suggested I ask Lobsang (the Volunteer Tibet coordinator) to handle/haggle for any pricing of rooms and transportation. That way I'd get the best price for things at shops, markets and street vendors.

Costs here are cheap! I found an excellent and affordable vegetarian restaurant run by a monastery. The menu had about 50 things on it I could eat, which was such a nice departure from the limited food options I have in Japan. I ate a huge lunch consisting of fried cauliflower in a spicy sauce. I also ordered Tibetan bread (it's like a big English muffin) and a pot of lemon tea. Total cost for this very filling meal was 64 rupees (about US$1.45). And all proceeds from the restaurant go directly to the monastery. Moreover, they have jugs of boiled water which you can use to refill your water bottle for only 5 rupees per liter (about 8 US cents). (The tap water usually upsets foreigners' digestive systems, so you have to drink bottled water here.) My room rent (at the first place) was only 170 rupees per night (about US$3.20). When I switched to a warmer and slightly nicer place nearby, the rent went up to just 250 rupees per night (about US$4.85) per night.

As evening set in, I went in search of food. I noticed a little sandwichboard sign that said "Shangri La Vegetarian Restaurant" near the town square/bus stop. It's run by a monastery, the food is cheap and it's delicious. I've been taking most of my lunches there each day. How wonderful it is to have a menu full of vegetarian dishes to pick from!

In Japan, and other countries, my dining out options are usually very limited. But here in India, especially in a Buddhist enclave like Dharamsala, there's a profusion of vegetarian-friendly options. And the dishes are creative and appetizing!

After getting some much-neede food, I found a cheap Internet cafe suggested by Tset Andolkar - only 10 rupees (20 US cents) for 30 minutes! I wrote greetings to my family and friends before returning to my room for a good night's sleep.

"The Visitors"

When I was in the U.S. for winter holiday last year, I stopped by a record shop in Arlington, VA to buy some vinyl records to bring back to Japan. (I love vinyl because the sound is unique, the album art is great and they're cheap compared to CDs or MP3s.) In my free time I record these albums onto my computer and convert them into MP3s. There's nothing like listening to vinyl on an iPod!

 

So last year I bought the album called The Visitors by ABBA. It's a surprisingly good album, and I particularly like the song "The Visitors," for which the album is named.

Before I left for India, I didn't have enough time to convert all the songs on the record to MP3 - except one: "The Visitors." And for whatever reason I felt like this song would somehow become a "theme song" for this trip.

For this post to make sense, let me describe what was going through my head before I departed Japan for India. I was a bit nervous about how I'd deal with the culture shock, filth and poverty in India. I spent a lot of time meditating and trying to be OK with what is, as it comes and in whatever form it arrives in. (This is called "being in the moment.")

The song "The Visitors" expresses my pre-departure fears fairly well. I'll share the lyrics with you, but I recommend you listen to the song first. You can download the MP3 by clicking here.

"The Visitors" by ABBA

I hear the door-bell ring and suddenly the panic takes me
The sound so ominously tearing through the silence
I cannot move, I'm standing
Numb and frozen
Among the things I love so dearly
The books, the paintings and the furniture
Help me...

The signal's sounding once again and someone tries the door-knob
None of my friends would be so stupidly impatient
And they don't dare to come here
Anymore now
But how I loved our secret meetings
We talked and talked in quiet voices
Smiling...

Now I hear them moving
Muffled noises coming through the door
I feel I'm
Crackin' up
Voices growing louder, irritation building
And I'm close to fainting
Crackin' up
They must know by now I'm in here trembling
In a terror evergrowing
Crackin' up
My whole world is falling, going crazy
There is no escaping now, I'm
Crackin' up

These walls have witnessed all the anguish of humiliation
And seen the hope of freedom glow in shining faces
And now they've come to take me
Come to break me
And yet it isn't unexpected
I have been waiting for these visitors
Help me...

Now I hear them moving
Muffled noises coming through the door
I feel I'm
Crackin' up
Voices growing louder, irritation building
And I'm close to fainting
Crackin' up
They must know by now I'm in here trembling
In a terror evergrowing
Crackin' up
My whole world is falling, going crazy
There is no escaping now, I'm
Crackin' up

Now I hear them moving
Muffled noises coming through the door
I feel I'm
Crackin' up
Voices growing louder, irritation building
And I'm close to fainting
Crackin' up

(I have been waiting for these visitors)
They must know by now I'm in here trembling
In a terror evergrowing
Crackin' up

(I have been waiting for these visitors)
My whole world is falling, going crazy
There is no escaping now, I'm
Crackin' up

(I have been waiting for these visitors)
Now I hear them moving
Muffled noises coming through the door
I feel I'm
Crackin' up

(I have been waiting for these visitors)
Voices growing louder, irritation building
And I'm close to fainting
Crackin' up

(I have been waiting for these visitors)
They must know by now I'm in here trembling
In a terror evergrowing
Crackin' up

(I have been waiting for these visitors)
My whole world is falling, going crazy
There is no escaping now, I'm
Crackin' up

(fade)

This song captures what it felt like after I arrived in Delhi. "The Visitors" are symbolic of the Indian people and the poverty I had to come face-to-face with. I couldn't help but be on guard and feel some fear as I crossed the threshold into the unknown. Thanks to my spiritual practice, it's a feeling I got over pretty quickly. Now "The Visitors" is just a great song to listen to, and it's a reminder of how I've grown.

Dec. 21-22 - "Longest Bus Ride, Shortest Day"

Words cannot adequately describe the bus ride from Delhi to Dharamsala. But I'll do my best to give you a taste of what transpired. In a nutshell, I haven't been this scared in quite a long time.

The 13.5 hour journey started with mayhem, and late too. Indians ran the bus company that took us to Dharamsala, and consequently they were also the bus drivers. Of course we got a late start because they were fooling around with tickets, luggage, and God knows what else... After all the tickets had been collected, there was a lot of fumbling around with cash, loud words spoken in Hindi, and a throng of young Indian men crowded near the front of the bus (which was where I was sitting).

Let me describe this bus, because it played an integral role in my fear and the journey as a whole. The bus was about the size of a regular Greyhound coach bus. The seats, although worn, were also coach-style: 2 reclining seats on the sides of a central aisle. The cabin had overhead bins too. Unlike most buses I've traveled on, though, there was a much larger enclosed driver cab in the front of the bus. Here, one driver drove while the other drivers could sleep. Also they could store things in this area, pick up cargo along the way and deliver it when we made road stops along the way.

Storage on this bus was maximized. In fact I'd say it was overloaded with cargo and suitcases. When I reached the bus, they put my suitcase on the roof, along with a lot of other heavy stuff. Everything was tied down tight, and they put a tarp over everything in case of rain.

But when the bus started moving it became obvious that the vehicle was top-heavy. If the bus had to suddenly make a sharp turn, there was a good chance it could roll over.

Every seat on the bus was taken (probably about 44 people total). Myself and another lady were the only foreigners on this bus, which was fine. I felt comfortable being surrounded by Tibetans. We were all headed to the same place, and it just felt nice to be with them. Behind me there was a monk, and next to me sat a friendly Tibetan man who dressed stylishly (like a young Japanese man would!).

OK, now for the scary parts of the trip. This overloaded bus rammed its way through Delhi's insane weekend gridlock. It plowed through highways and had numerous near-misses with cars, dump trucks, other buses, motorcycles, bicyclists, rickshaws and pedestrians. But that wasn't the worst part, because I had experienced such things in taxi cabs already.

The first really frightening moment happened after our first rest stop. In India, most major roads have a long median with a high fence to prevent turns and people running across the road. These are in place to keep people and vehicles crossing in designated areas. These medians are usually quite long too, so you often have to pass your destination (if it's on the other side of the road), make a U-turn when there's a break in the median, and drive to your destination.

At the entrance/exit to this rest stop, there was a break in the median, but it we had already passed it before we pulled in. Looking down the road, I noticed there wasn't another break in the median for quite some distance. The bus driver knew this too, so he decided to make a dash for the nearest break in the median. So he pulled INTO ONCOMING HIGHWAY TRAFFIC, simply flashing his lights and beeping his horn. Somehow, cars and trucks got out of the way just in time, and we made it to the median break.

But the wild ride didn't end there. Once we were at the median break, there was a line of four construction dump trucks attempting to make legal U-turns at this very same break in the median. None of them were expecting a bus to be headed the WRONG WAY into their turning path! Yet there we were!

We had a very, very close call with one of the dump trucks while oncoming traffic continued to aim straight for our bus. Even the Tibetans - long used to crazy bus rides and dangerous driving habits in India - gasped and started chanting "Om Mani Padme Hum!" (a prayer for protection and peace).

As the trip continued, the landscape became more rural and the roads got really bumpy. It was dark by this time, so I didn't get a chance to see much of the scenery. But I'm glad I couldn't see anything, because it probably would have freaked me out even more so! All I felt were the bumps, swerves and groaning breaking.

Then heavy fog rolled in. It was so bad that most traffic slowed to a crawl, or stopped completely - but not us! The driver kept pushing through at dangerous speeds. I have no idea how he could see to avoid other cars and road obstacles. Again, there were many close calls.

As we started climbing into the foothills of the Himalaya, the roads had no guardrails and there were many sheer drops hundreds of meters down. Added tot his, the roads were literally crumbling in places, were too narrow for two cars to pass, and there was more heavy fog in places.

 

Not forgetting how top-heavy the bus was, this a frightening ride to say the least. You could feel the bus almost roll over every time we make a hairpin turn, or swerved suddenly to avoid hitting oncoming traffic. Thank God I don't get motion sickness! But other people on the bus did, and I heard at least three other vomiting occasionally.

I wasn't the only one who was scared. Throughout the ride prayers for protection were uttered, and I could tell that the Tibetans knew the driver was taking some risks that he probably should be taking. These mantras and chants came and went throughout the trip, which gave me some comfort too.

Because of our late start, some rest stops, unscheduled stops. and a problem with the front tires on the bus, the usual 10-12 hour ride turned in 13.5 hours. I have to admit that it wasn't fun, and I couldn't sleep during most of the trip because of anxiety.

It was, however, an excellent test of faith and an opportunity to watch my mind, fears and emotions. In the past, I probably wouldn't have handled it so well. But meditation, vipassana (a technique for watching the mind) and the constant reminder of impermanence helped pull me through the fear. Also I had a lot of faith that the moment was operating (and teaching me) exactly as it should. My fear would do nothing to change the journey's outcome. So I was able to rest in that and managed to get about two hours of sleep here and there.

 

I arrived in Dharamsala at about 7:30AM the next day (which was the winter solstice, BTW). The sun rose over the Himalaya range, revealing an absolutely stunning landscape. We were about 1,700 meters above the plains and rolling hills of Himachal Pradesh. Behind us were the snow-capped peaks of the Himalaya jutting into the sky. And far off in the distance one could see Pakistan (the border region near Lahore). This was a nice payoff after such a wild ride!

 Today was also the winter solstice, meaning the sun rose as late as it ever would all year long. It also would set earlier than it would at any other time of the year. With my bus ride, this made for an interesting combination: the longest bus ride and the shortest day of the year.

Dec. 21 - "Delhi"

Woke up feeling very refreshed. Listened to the sounds of life outside my window once again. Around 8AM a huge motorized sound woke me up. Apparently it was an electric generator, as there are frequent rolling blackouts and brownouts in Delhi. So a lot of places that can afford to use back-up generators do so to keep things running along as usual. I think this particular blackout lasted about 10-15 minutes, because that's when the generator shut off.

Then I stepped over some dead bugs and took a nice hot shower. Like the room, the bathroom is really basic, but I'm not complaining. It had hot water and the water pressure was reasonable. Next I repacked some bags to prepare for my next journey: a 13.5-hour bus ride to Dharamsala.

But first, let me tell you some more about Delhi. After my flight, I had most of the following day free. The bus to Dharamsala didn't leave until 6:30PM, giving me many hours of free time after check-out at noon. The travel agency allowed me store my suitcase in their office for the day. I asked them what there was to see and do for five hours in Delhi.

The Tibetan man at the travel agency wrote down five attractions I could easily see in a day by taxi. He arranged an honest taxi driver to take me around to the sites. It was like having a personal chauffeur to show me the capital of India!

My taxi driver's name was Amar, and he was 22, thin and spoke some English. He was kind of quiet, but was honest and helpful. Moreover, he was good at navigating the chaotic streets of Delhi!

Our first stop was the Jama Masjid (mosque) across the street from the famous Red Fort. It took a while to get to the parking area near the mosque due to an absolutely crammed Sunday market overflowing into the streets and intersections. The market was so packed with people that we had to just stop and inch our way through the crowd to get to the parking area about 30 meters away. After we finally made it to the parking lot, we walked to the mosque, which commanded and excellent view of the city.

 The inside of the mosque isn't that impressive - however it is the largest one in India. It had a huge, open terrace and only a small covered area facing west (toward Mecca). There wasn't very much geometric decoration, which is common of mosques in the Middle East and elsewhere. However there was a nice breeze at this spot, it wasn't very crowded and there were a lot of foreign tourists there.

After the mosque, we had to fight our way through the same crowded market to get to the Red Fort. The Red Fort is a very famous place in Delhi (and India in general), and it's HUGE! Pictures don't do it justice, because this fort goes on and on for blocks. It's also very wide and is still an active Indian military base. I didn't go inside because the line was very long and I didn't have much time to spare.

Moving on from the Red Fort, Amar took me to a very peaceful place: the Mahatma Ghandi Rajghat - Ghandi's memorial. It's situated in a green park on a slight hill. There are tree-lined walkways towards the memorial, large open grassy areas, families having picnics and people just relaxing in the sun. Like the man it memorializes, the place is very peaceful. The memorial itself has an eternal flame, and you have to take off your shoes before walking around the memorial site. (It's a sign of respect.)

Standing in front of this memorial, one can't help but think about all he did for India and the inspiration he project - and still projects- around the world. Ghandi did it all in a peaceful, simple, constructive and very skillful way that included everyone.

 I remember that he once said, "I believe in the unity of all people and all things. And therefore I believe that if one person gains spiritually, the whole world gains. And if one person falls, the whole world falls to that extent." He didn't draw lines between religious traditions, and he understood that there are many paths toward "the Truth" and universal understanding. (Ironically, this is almost exactly what a high-ranking Tibetan Buddhist rimpoche told me a few days later!)

When some Indians wanted to violently kick out the British colonial rulers, Ghandi said that wasn't the way to do it. He advocated a peaceful transition, and said, "we should seek to shake their hands as they leave here" and not harbor hate towards them. What a voice of reason at such a turbulent time!

All I knew about the man surfaced as I stared at the black reflective stone of his memorial. And I found happiness in the fact that his ideas and skillful actions still burn bright today, just as the flame over his memorial does.

After some restful moments at the Rajghat, I walked over to the parking lot and found Amar. He drove me to some tourist shops, which is something almost all taxi drivers do to tourists. These shops have higher prices and sell things Westerners would be interested in, like statues, carpets, clothing and jewelry. At first I was annoyed at Amar would do this to me, but I quickly realized that it's just part of his job and is the culture here. I'm sure the taxi drivers get a commission from any sales generated by the tourists they deliver. This isn't dishonest per se, it's just how business works in India. I did buy some things at the shop, but only after bargaining a lot. (The store owners actually gave me a nice discount after they found out I was a volunteer and not just an ordinary tourist.)

Having "shopped" the next stop was the famous India Gate. This is in New Delhi, which is a part of the city that was planned and laid out like Washington D.C. was. The British built wide avenues, huge roundabouts, green parks and spaces for monuments. There's even a park-lined avenue that stretches from the Parliament building to the India Gate, which reminded me a lot of Washington D.C.'s Mall.

The India Gate looks kind of like the Arc du Triumph in Paris. It was built to commemorate all Indian soldiers who died fighting for the Allies in World War II. (Remember that India was still ruled by Britain at that time, and many Indians died in fierce fighting with Japanese troops in Burma and elsewhere in Asia.) The names of all the fallen soldiers are written on the arch.

This area is the heart of the capital and it's popular with families and tourists alike. It has a relaxing atmosphere, wide open spaces and trees - in sharp contrast with crowded Old Delhi.

Amar and I left the India Gate and headed back towards the Tibetan enclave where my bus would depart for Dharamsala in a few hours. Along the way, we drove past Connaught Place, which is a massive roundabout shopping area. Concentric rings of shops form this circle, and the inner rings and center of the circle is a pedestrian-only zone. Connaught Place is one of the more upscale shopping areas in Delhi, and consequently it's not far from the gated, luxurious hotels frequented by businessmen and rich Westerners.

This wrapped up my day tour of Delhi. I saw a lot of famous sites, but I also got a feel for how many people in this world live. Even along the broad avenues of New Delhi, there are beggars, deformed homeless people, orphans and unemployed people just sitting around. The dirt and smog are thick, and traffic is crazy. If you glance in almost any direction, you'll see massive inequality around you.

I've seen poverty and this type of inequality before in Bangkok, but in India it's more visceral and in-your-face. I don't know how some people survive here, but they do.

On this note, I want to make one point clear: I did not feel pity for the poor people I saw. Al lot of tourists feel pity when they come into contact with grinding poverty for the first time. Pity implies that you feel separate from the other person, and that you are comparing their circumstances with your own. (You feel lucky not to be in their shoes.)

Instead I felt compassion, because their suffering is also my suffering. There is no separation when it comes to compassion, because you realize that suffering is a universal part of the human experience. We all suffer - just in different ways. These ways are shaped by our circumstances, and often by our own minds. So when I witnessed so much suffering, poverty and hardship around me, I became one with it. There was nothing to fear - only love, compassion and skillful action to offer.

Despite the chaos, pollution and poverty of Delhi, it was an excellent place for me to come to grips with realities of life in India. Delhi's like a crash-course in culture shock: if you're mindful and open to change, it'll teach you a lot of things in a very short period of time.

Oddly Familiar...

I've only been in India for a day, but I can't shake the feeling that this place and culture is somehow familiar.

I'm not fearful of the religions, the filth, poverty and chaos in the streets. The smiling faces, the people's clothing, the smells of incense burning, the dust, perfumes and delicious food being cooked - it all seems so familiar. Perhaps I was an Indian person in a past life... But who knows for sure. I'm just happy to be here.