11/19/2020 0 Comments India - Tibetan Monastery - Part 2India – Tibetan Monastery – “Being” There I like to imagine that the Tibetan demons and deities that we would soon see painted on the monastery walls sent us a “gift” to help prepare us (Peter and I) for our visit. The terrifying gift occurred on our ride to the monastery. There appears to be an unwritten rule when driving in India that you MUST, yes MUST pass the car in front of you. Please visualize that the major road going toward the monastery has only one lane in each direction. Remember, that in India, the cars drive on the left. Following the above stated rule, our driver felt compelled to pass any car in front of him. He would beep his horn, pull to the right and speed up even more to pass. At the same time, from the other direction, another car was doing the same thing so that our car was going at full speed toward the “slower” car and vice versa. It appeared that we would crash, head on. Then in what felt like the last second, the two fast cars passed the slow ones and got back into their own lane. The first time this happened, I believe I stopped breathing completely. I asked the driver if he could consider staying behind the car in front of us. He responded with a laugh “Oh, you will get used to it.” It took quite a while, repeating this procedure many more times, but he was quite right. By what seemed the 30th time he did this, it was no big deal. I took this as an invitation to face my own fears and be open to whatever came our way during our visit. Looking out the windows at this remarkably flat country, we would occasionally see some Indians appearing from far away on the horizon walking toward the road, often carrying something on their head. Our driver told us that they were walking from their villages. It felt like I was seeing India from way, long ago. After an hour or so, we made a left turn and passed a few stores. “Are we there?” “Oh no, not yet”. Within less than five minutes, the entire topography and environment changed dramatically from flat land to very hilly forests. We drove for another half hour and began to see some farm land. Then, our car dipped into the swale of a hill and as we came to the top, we saw this gleaming, golden temple. It was stunning and shocking. Wow! How was it even possible that such an incredible structure could exist in the midst of “nowhere”? We were soon dropped off at the entrance to the monastery and agreed to meet our driver late in the late afternoon. The beautifully constructed and painted gate to the monastery was open, and there was no one around. Really, no one, literally. Peter and I shared the thought that perhaps if anyone makes it this far, they are welcome. We entered the gate into a large outdoor courtyard area surrounded by gardens, leading to the temple entrance. To our pleasant surprise, we saw a very old monk sitting on the steps with a young assistant. We asked their permission to enter the temple which they gladly granted. They told us that there were no ceremonies or studies today and that we could stay as long as we wished. They reminded us to take off our shoes. From the time we entered to when we left, Peter and I were the only ones in the temple (prayer hall). There were three very large (60-foot) gold plated statues, one of the Buddha and two others. with placards (in English) telling the story of each one. The walls were decorated with vibrant paintings with demons, deities, dragons, animals, flowers and birds, all telling the Tibetan Buddhist stories. The grandeur, both in its architecture and art felt like the great Roman Catholic churches including bells, gongs, and even Tibetan horns ranging in size from 6 to 15 feet. We took our time absorbing the symbols and stories. There was an air of orderliness and silence throughout. It felt like an invitation to sit quietly which we did for quite a while enjoying the atmosphere. We left the monastery grounds and took a short walk to the center of town (Bylakuppe). It was a simple main street with stores on both sides and Tibetan prayer flags everywhere. We saw some monks wandering about. It felt like we had left India and gone to another country. In this world, we were definitely strangers and some of the children looked and pointed and then hid behind their moms. We laughed and hid behind each other waving to the children. We stopped at a souvenir place and Peter took a great interest in some of the small paintings. The owner asked if we would like to meet the artist. He then took us several blocks from the main street and knocked on the door of an unassuming little house. An old man with a very kind face opened the door and invited us in. It was a two-room house – the kitchen/ sitting room and the bedroom. He invited us into his bedroom and on the wall were many of his paintings not yet framed. It was so simple and lovely and Peter bought a few of the paintings. We stopped at a little outdoor Tibetan café and had tea and some cheese sandwiches. In a deeply relaxed state, we felt very appreciative that we were actually here, living in the moment. By now, we were felt comfortable and decided simply to wander a bit and see what mystery would find us. We both felt clearly in the hands of the good forces we had seen at the temple. On a back street, we saw a group of maybe 100 people doing something, but we could not tell what. We sat on a hillside and watched what turned out to be a community of people grinding corn. It was an extraordinary sight. Every age was represented from old men and women, sitting in lawn chairs, to little children running around. The unground corn was in a large pile of what looked like 100-pound bags that men and especially teenage boys threw over their shoulders and carried to the grinding machine. The grinder was clearly a home-made contraption that was run off a generator. Several men were on a platform receiving the corn and dumping it into the grinder. After the corn was ground, it was put into the same bags and carried to a different pile. The grinder makes quite a mess and women were continuously sweeping up the corn and putting it in piles. And, of course, there was food. In fact, someone brought us some, so we felt part of the remarkable ceremony. We watched for a long time and marveled at what a true, inclusive community event looks like. This was clearly the final “gift” for us. We met our driver and drove back to Mysore to sleep. The next day we took the bus to Bangalore which seemed, dare I say, somewhat familiar. Categories
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