January 16 & 17
Bodhgaya
The group goes to Tergar Monastery in Bodhgaya for an audience with the 17th Gyalwang Karmapa, Ogyen Trinley Dorje. While I respect him, and am glad for his well spoken words of encouragement to Buddhist women; while I'm happy to be in his presence with my sisters from the conference; while the surroundings are awe- as well as compassion- inspiring as he's under house arrest, I’m unable to take or give a blessing to this man.
This trip to India makes me realize I’m not a Buddhist in the devotional sense. My devotion and gratitude is to the earth; the physical presence of the earth is my temple. It’s processes and its state of being are my dharma. I don't invest enough in this man to receive blessing, as I don't know what a blessing is and why it would be more important from him than from any other human of earth. No teacher, no idol, no single human, no building, no creed, no gospel, no dogma, no costumes, no prostrations, no status has devotional meaning. The Brahmaputra (earth touching) mudra gives comfort.
We leave the very energetic and exciting Bodhgaya and travel by bus to Sarnath and Varanasi. 40 + luggage; 5 buses to coordinate. No real toilet stops on the road. Instead we use the fields and bushes along the way and sometimes draw a crowd of locals. One toilet break on an 8 hour trip.
January 16
Varanasi
After a long bus ride (seems like ½ of it was spent driving within Varnasi city limit with its immobile traffic) we arrived at Hotel India. A lot of stress after that taxing ride, and we discover that our double rooms, have only one bed. Another mattress brought in, in an attempt to appease us, but they were either put on a small cot, or on the floor. Dealing with the yes/no wiggle headshake of management only seemed to make things worse as many did not believe that there were no more rooms and no alternative to our slightly rustic accommodations.
This tour costs under US$100/day, an outrageously cheap price for airfare, food and lodging, even in India, and yet expectations are what they are. I suppose we will each balk at whichever inconvenience bothers us most. This one doesn't bother me too much, probably because I'm so tired, and I know it will work out in the end. "If it isn't ok, it is not the end."
Varanasi--ugly, dirty, and so full of vehicles that I wonder where people are living. I look up out of the bus and see dozens of kites flying, but from where? Finally, I see children on the roofs of buildings. Our bus stops, stuck, and I watch one little boy in a red sweater, putting his kite up in what seems like no wind--tugging, jerking, moving until the little red square finally takes the wind. It continues to move higher and farther away until it’s a tiny red speck ready to do battle with the other kites in its vicinity. That kite might look down on such squalor that it would never want to land.
Early the next morning, before dawn, our group followed the tour guide through dark streets, to the ghats (steps leading down the river bank) and took a boat out on the Ganges. In the Hindu faith, bathing in the Ganges at least once in life, ensures rebirth in a higher form, or enlightenment. The ghats are steps leading maybe 50 feet down to the peaceful river, allowing people to come, visit, bathe, pray, wash clothes, and even have their cremated ashes placed in the Ganges. I looked at the oil slick on the surface and decided not to dip my hand into the water.
Small dishes of orange marigolds & candles are lit and set into the water as the sun rises. Large palaces were once home to kings who let their people come to stay and bathe. These, and what look like apartment blocks, line the river now … but who lives there? Most look abandoned. No lights shone before dawn or as we walked down or back up the steps of the ghat at 7:30 feeling peaceful for having been on, if not in, the water.
The beggers … a man pushed the stump of his arm near my face … I thought I saw shame when our eyes briefly met … not desperation. Women held suspiciously quiet infants in their arms, and we walked up the steps, deliberately not looking or feeling … I tried to maintain the peace that came from the river … and succeeded. It is a powerful place.
Varanasi to Kushinagar 8 hours
Kushinagar is the place where Buddha died (passed on) after eating a meal prepared by a local craftsman. He’d stated to his followers that he was tired, ready to leave this world at age 80, after 40 years of teaching all around India. What I love about Buddha is that I don’t believe he preached in the sense of the Christian gospel. Rather, he gave what he knew, he taught without expectation or need for anyone to believe. That serene countenance we see pictured couldn’t have been evangelical, trying to convert non-believers He had experienced something that he wanted to share, simple as that. Even today, no one pushes the dharma Far from it. Buddhists (at least in the West) are mostly introspective people, not looking to convert, not wanting to convince. They accept other religions and practices, and will bring them into their temple grounds, as long as they are peaceful and kind.
And so I wonder: why is India so chaotic if Buddhism came long 2500 years ago to bring peace and release from suffering? Is there something inherently deficient about Buddhism that caused India to fall into such dreadful disrepair, or is it because Buddhism died out that moguls, Moslems, destroyed structures, and the Hindu caste system came back as the national identity developed, eventually giving way to British rule.
Now, 60 years independent, the vast inefficiency of the infrastructure is something to marvel at. Transportation is ridiculously slow by road and limited even by air. From what I gather, taxes are collected, but spending not well monitored. There are more children on the streets than seem to be in schools, and education is free only until grade 5.
January 17
We spend a short time on the bus driving to Lumbini, Nepal. Buddha’s birthplace is now a set of temples, a huge excavation, and a massive shrine surrounded by Tibetan prayer flags. We are staying at a wonderful hotel (MayaBuddah Garden) where I’d like to rest for several days. I’ve caught the cold that’s been going around the conference for weeks now, and it’s definitely dulled my spirits and lowered my energy level. The Mayadeva temple is in a lovely setting, however, and I walk around happily, by myself mostly.
A group of Korean pilgrims sit across the lake from the Mayadeva temple, their beautiful chanting expressing joy and elation. The archaeologists both inside and outside of the temple are looking for the exact spot, I guess, where Buddha was dropped from his mother’s womb and where he is supposed to have immediately walked 7 paces in each direction. One of the miracles ascribed to Siddhartha which contributes to his god-like stature.
The holy sepulcher, the dome of the rock, Mt. Sinai, Lumbini… these the sites of the world biggest religions. Now, if only we could keep these religious ideals in perspective and live according to their purest concepts.
L has become increasingly assertive and arguments between her and the local tour guide occur constantly. She insists on finding a temple run by a Burmese nun she knows and drags everyone in the bus out in the darkness and rain to find it. I wait on the bus until the traipsing is done. I’m sorry that I didn’t take off on my own and get back to our lovely hotel for the evening.
Information about what we are doing from moment to moment is incomplete and capricious.
We leave reluctantly early in the morning
January 18
Bus to Svarasti
Yesterday, 3 days into a cold, I spent the day in bed. I missed the last of our pilgrimage sites, where Buddha was to base for 25 years of his teaching career at a garden, Jetavana, acquired for him by a disciple. The ruins, according to my roommate, were much like the ruins of Nalanda, and not to worry that I missed seeing them.
Left Svarasti at 5 am next morning with the usual confusion, this time with the added stress of needing to get to Lucknow in time to catch a plane to Delhi. We’ve had a male tour guide from India, “leading” a group of women mostly from western culture. Comments, rumors, complaints among the group spread like crazy, as we are wanting clarity about information that is only given sparsely and incompletely. The Taiwanese women of our group are just as uncomfortable with the leadership as are the western women. We are like a herd of cats, and trying to get us to move in one direction is a chore.
Yet we do get to Lucknow in time for our flights, despite a broken wheel, misinformation about where to eat lunch, and an airport guard who tells us that the slips of paper we have been given are not tickets to get us into the airport, even to use the bathroom. Security is very tight at all of the Indian airports I’ve been to, no one can even get into the lobby without a ticket of some sort for a flight that day. And once in, it’s difficult to get out; once out, it’s difficult to get back in. Luggage is scanned and tagged before one goes through security, then scanned again. Every body is scanned by someone of their own gender (no xray scans); purses are physically examined even after they’ve been scanned; and today a second physical look is taken before we board the plane.
We arrive back at the Ashok Country Resort. I left the group when we landed in Delhi, choosing to take a taxi on my own rather than wait the 45 minutes it took the group to get organized, load their luggage and board the bus at the airport. I told a Chinese woman my decision to leave the group and she looked at me so incredulously that I had to ask if she understood, even though I know she speaks English well.
The benefits of traveling with the Sakyadhita group were immense. Hotels and meals were scheduled and more than adequate; transportation was safe; company was good and I learned wonderful things from Lekshe’s talks while on the bus, and from the camaraderie, the fascinating lives of the women with me. Coming from countries all over the world, all so independent and strong, and still able to follow consuming, sometimes inane instructions.
But at that tipping point… the end of the tour . .. I completely reverted back to my own ways … and took off on my own in order to get my body to bed in a calm place. Back at the Ashok, where we’d begun, I took a shower, had a cup of tea, and sat in the lobby reading. When the group returned, I was centered again.
Bodhgaya
The group goes to Tergar Monastery in Bodhgaya for an audience with the 17th Gyalwang Karmapa, Ogyen Trinley Dorje. While I respect him, and am glad for his well spoken words of encouragement to Buddhist women; while I'm happy to be in his presence with my sisters from the conference; while the surroundings are awe- as well as compassion- inspiring as he's under house arrest, I’m unable to take or give a blessing to this man.
This trip to India makes me realize I’m not a Buddhist in the devotional sense. My devotion and gratitude is to the earth; the physical presence of the earth is my temple. It’s processes and its state of being are my dharma. I don't invest enough in this man to receive blessing, as I don't know what a blessing is and why it would be more important from him than from any other human of earth. No teacher, no idol, no single human, no building, no creed, no gospel, no dogma, no costumes, no prostrations, no status has devotional meaning. The Brahmaputra (earth touching) mudra gives comfort.
We leave the very energetic and exciting Bodhgaya and travel by bus to Sarnath and Varanasi. 40 + luggage; 5 buses to coordinate. No real toilet stops on the road. Instead we use the fields and bushes along the way and sometimes draw a crowd of locals. One toilet break on an 8 hour trip.
January 16
Varanasi
After a long bus ride (seems like ½ of it was spent driving within Varnasi city limit with its immobile traffic) we arrived at Hotel India. A lot of stress after that taxing ride, and we discover that our double rooms, have only one bed. Another mattress brought in, in an attempt to appease us, but they were either put on a small cot, or on the floor. Dealing with the yes/no wiggle headshake of management only seemed to make things worse as many did not believe that there were no more rooms and no alternative to our slightly rustic accommodations.
This tour costs under US$100/day, an outrageously cheap price for airfare, food and lodging, even in India, and yet expectations are what they are. I suppose we will each balk at whichever inconvenience bothers us most. This one doesn't bother me too much, probably because I'm so tired, and I know it will work out in the end. "If it isn't ok, it is not the end."
Varanasi--ugly, dirty, and so full of vehicles that I wonder where people are living. I look up out of the bus and see dozens of kites flying, but from where? Finally, I see children on the roofs of buildings. Our bus stops, stuck, and I watch one little boy in a red sweater, putting his kite up in what seems like no wind--tugging, jerking, moving until the little red square finally takes the wind. It continues to move higher and farther away until it’s a tiny red speck ready to do battle with the other kites in its vicinity. That kite might look down on such squalor that it would never want to land.
Early the next morning, before dawn, our group followed the tour guide through dark streets, to the ghats (steps leading down the river bank) and took a boat out on the Ganges. In the Hindu faith, bathing in the Ganges at least once in life, ensures rebirth in a higher form, or enlightenment. The ghats are steps leading maybe 50 feet down to the peaceful river, allowing people to come, visit, bathe, pray, wash clothes, and even have their cremated ashes placed in the Ganges. I looked at the oil slick on the surface and decided not to dip my hand into the water.
Small dishes of orange marigolds & candles are lit and set into the water as the sun rises. Large palaces were once home to kings who let their people come to stay and bathe. These, and what look like apartment blocks, line the river now … but who lives there? Most look abandoned. No lights shone before dawn or as we walked down or back up the steps of the ghat at 7:30 feeling peaceful for having been on, if not in, the water.
The beggers … a man pushed the stump of his arm near my face … I thought I saw shame when our eyes briefly met … not desperation. Women held suspiciously quiet infants in their arms, and we walked up the steps, deliberately not looking or feeling … I tried to maintain the peace that came from the river … and succeeded. It is a powerful place.
Varanasi to Kushinagar 8 hours
Kushinagar is the place where Buddha died (passed on) after eating a meal prepared by a local craftsman. He’d stated to his followers that he was tired, ready to leave this world at age 80, after 40 years of teaching all around India. What I love about Buddha is that I don’t believe he preached in the sense of the Christian gospel. Rather, he gave what he knew, he taught without expectation or need for anyone to believe. That serene countenance we see pictured couldn’t have been evangelical, trying to convert non-believers He had experienced something that he wanted to share, simple as that. Even today, no one pushes the dharma Far from it. Buddhists (at least in the West) are mostly introspective people, not looking to convert, not wanting to convince. They accept other religions and practices, and will bring them into their temple grounds, as long as they are peaceful and kind.
And so I wonder: why is India so chaotic if Buddhism came long 2500 years ago to bring peace and release from suffering? Is there something inherently deficient about Buddhism that caused India to fall into such dreadful disrepair, or is it because Buddhism died out that moguls, Moslems, destroyed structures, and the Hindu caste system came back as the national identity developed, eventually giving way to British rule.
Now, 60 years independent, the vast inefficiency of the infrastructure is something to marvel at. Transportation is ridiculously slow by road and limited even by air. From what I gather, taxes are collected, but spending not well monitored. There are more children on the streets than seem to be in schools, and education is free only until grade 5.
January 17
We spend a short time on the bus driving to Lumbini, Nepal. Buddha’s birthplace is now a set of temples, a huge excavation, and a massive shrine surrounded by Tibetan prayer flags. We are staying at a wonderful hotel (MayaBuddah Garden) where I’d like to rest for several days. I’ve caught the cold that’s been going around the conference for weeks now, and it’s definitely dulled my spirits and lowered my energy level. The Mayadeva temple is in a lovely setting, however, and I walk around happily, by myself mostly.
A group of Korean pilgrims sit across the lake from the Mayadeva temple, their beautiful chanting expressing joy and elation. The archaeologists both inside and outside of the temple are looking for the exact spot, I guess, where Buddha was dropped from his mother’s womb and where he is supposed to have immediately walked 7 paces in each direction. One of the miracles ascribed to Siddhartha which contributes to his god-like stature.
The holy sepulcher, the dome of the rock, Mt. Sinai, Lumbini… these the sites of the world biggest religions. Now, if only we could keep these religious ideals in perspective and live according to their purest concepts.
L has become increasingly assertive and arguments between her and the local tour guide occur constantly. She insists on finding a temple run by a Burmese nun she knows and drags everyone in the bus out in the darkness and rain to find it. I wait on the bus until the traipsing is done. I’m sorry that I didn’t take off on my own and get back to our lovely hotel for the evening.
Information about what we are doing from moment to moment is incomplete and capricious.
We leave reluctantly early in the morning
January 18
Bus to Svarasti
Yesterday, 3 days into a cold, I spent the day in bed. I missed the last of our pilgrimage sites, where Buddha was to base for 25 years of his teaching career at a garden, Jetavana, acquired for him by a disciple. The ruins, according to my roommate, were much like the ruins of Nalanda, and not to worry that I missed seeing them.
Left Svarasti at 5 am next morning with the usual confusion, this time with the added stress of needing to get to Lucknow in time to catch a plane to Delhi. We’ve had a male tour guide from India, “leading” a group of women mostly from western culture. Comments, rumors, complaints among the group spread like crazy, as we are wanting clarity about information that is only given sparsely and incompletely. The Taiwanese women of our group are just as uncomfortable with the leadership as are the western women. We are like a herd of cats, and trying to get us to move in one direction is a chore.
Yet we do get to Lucknow in time for our flights, despite a broken wheel, misinformation about where to eat lunch, and an airport guard who tells us that the slips of paper we have been given are not tickets to get us into the airport, even to use the bathroom. Security is very tight at all of the Indian airports I’ve been to, no one can even get into the lobby without a ticket of some sort for a flight that day. And once in, it’s difficult to get out; once out, it’s difficult to get back in. Luggage is scanned and tagged before one goes through security, then scanned again. Every body is scanned by someone of their own gender (no xray scans); purses are physically examined even after they’ve been scanned; and today a second physical look is taken before we board the plane.
We arrive back at the Ashok Country Resort. I left the group when we landed in Delhi, choosing to take a taxi on my own rather than wait the 45 minutes it took the group to get organized, load their luggage and board the bus at the airport. I told a Chinese woman my decision to leave the group and she looked at me so incredulously that I had to ask if she understood, even though I know she speaks English well.
The benefits of traveling with the Sakyadhita group were immense. Hotels and meals were scheduled and more than adequate; transportation was safe; company was good and I learned wonderful things from Lekshe’s talks while on the bus, and from the camaraderie, the fascinating lives of the women with me. Coming from countries all over the world, all so independent and strong, and still able to follow consuming, sometimes inane instructions.
But at that tipping point… the end of the tour . .. I completely reverted back to my own ways … and took off on my own in order to get my body to bed in a calm place. Back at the Ashok, where we’d begun, I took a shower, had a cup of tea, and sat in the lobby reading. When the group returned, I was centered again.
2 comments:
This trip to India makes me realize I’m not a Buddhist in the devotional sense. My devotion and gratitude is to the earth; the physical presence of the earth is my temple. It’s processes and its state of being are my dharma. I don't invest enough in this man to receive blessing, as I don't know what a blessing is and why it would be more important from him than from any other human of earth. No teacher, no idol, no single human, no building, no creed, no gospel, no dogma, no costumes, no prostrations, no status has devotional meaning. The Brahmaputra (earth touching) mudra gives comfort.
And so I wonder: why is India so chaotic if Buddhism came long 2500 years ago to bring peace and release from suffering? Is there something inherently deficient about Buddhism that caused India to fall into such dreadful disrepair, or is it because Buddhism died out that moguls, Moslems, destroyed structures, and the Hindu caste system came back as the national identity developed, eventually giving way to British rule.
i like both these paras...
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