An Accident in Compassion

We had just left the Root Institute and the sun had disappeared below the horizon in Bodhgaya. The dirt track was visible in front of us under the soft moonlight. I saw him coming; a single full beam headlight raced towards me as I moved myself and Hazell to the left. The majority of the road was now available for the driver to pass us safely. I saw him approach and he must have seen me in his headlight; I felt no fear until the last second when I realised he wasn’t going to pass me, he was going to go through me. He made no attempt to prevent a collision as I started to leap out of the way to the left. I took the blow with my hands and right leg while spinning off into the ditch. The first thing I heard was Hazell’s voice, ’oh my God, oh my God; Carl are you OK? Carl?’

I picked myself up and checked I could move all my limbs. I was fine, only a few bumps and scratches and a stunned though objective thought, ’Oh, right, I just got hit by a motorbike.’ I reassured Hazell and the shocked Indian onlookers that I was OK and then turned, expecting the driver to be in attendance, checking that his victim was still alive. All I saw was a tail light speed off around a corner into the dark distance. Hazell yelled, ’are you not even going to stop you bastard?’ There was a murmur of tutting and incredulity from the Hindi speaking contingent. I brushed myself down and as the shock subsided my mind got to work. ‘You f****** Indian t***. I want to smash your f****** face in…….

STOP

I quickly had a word with myself. Now is the time. This is the very moment you can put into practice everything you have been learning. A crossroads has been reached where you can increase your suffering or develop the mind of wisdom.

Option number one. I choose to increase my own suffering and strengthen the illusion of a separate, ’wronged’ self who requires justice and revenge:

I adhere to the commands of the despotic ego and rant and rage at thin air. ’I have been wronged. Justice must be served, the perpetrator must be punished. I fucking hate India, it’s people and it’s culture. Yesterday I even discovered the place had given me Typhoid and Hook Worm. They’re filthy, inconsiderate animals, and I must tell the whole world this. I must denounce them to everyone I know because ’I’ the non existent ego have been wronged by ’them’.

Option number two. I choose the approach of wisdom and compassion which will minimise my suffering and weaken the strangle hold of the ego:

Firstly I’m OK, no serious damage is done. Secondly I reassure the people around me that I’m OK. A series of causes and conditions resulted in an accident, the most important thing now is to minimise any further suffering, and this can all be achieved with the mind. Firstly I have compassion for myself and reassure the screaming ego that I am OK, there is no need to wrestle. By choosing the route of anger and hatred I will only increase my sense of separation and strengthen my destructive emotions; in essence this is self harm. Instead I feel these emotions flow through me but I don’t follow them or fuel the fire with further thought. It is human to feel aggrieved, but I can turn this moment into a learning process. I consider my approach to the perpetrator who would usually be positioned as the ‘enemy’. If the reason he hit me was because he was intoxicated, then he is in a state of mental delusion which in itself is suffering. If he hit me intentionally with the purpose to harm me, he is suffering from a very painful state of mental aggression, counter to happiness and peace. Furthermore, he drove off and will never know whether he killed me or not; this is a terrible mental burden to carry and will likely cause him prolonged mental unrest. At the very least, if he feels no guilt or remorse his mind is in a state of severe detachment and isolation from his fellow man, and this is a primary cause of suffering. I was left with only a few bumps and scratches, so who suffers more?

I then went home and meditated on developing compassion for this man who had just hit me with a motorbike. His sufferings are, and will continue to be, far greater than mine, and therefore opening and wishing him freedom from his pain was the wisest response. To close and tighten with anger and resentment would have increased my own suffering and the generalisations I would make about India and it’s people would reduce my enjoyment of travel in this country. These mental approaches are an example of Tibetan mind training, or ‘Lojong’; turning situations on their head to open the heart. They are concrete, practical methods for developing compassion and wisdom in any situation, rather than viewing the world as a set of experiences that are ‘for or against’ our illusory ego. These are not ‘hippie’, idealistic concepts based on apathetic detachment; they are practices which disarm situations and can encourage non-violent resolution.

Powerful examples of these techniques in action have been displayed by Tibetan Lamas. On release, many Lamas have relayed their stories of imprisonment at the hands of the Chinese. The Dalai Lama often sites one such story; a fellow Lama was subjected to unthinkable and prolonged torture at the hands of the Chinese and told His Holiness that he ‘nearly lost it’, during his imprisonment. ‘What do you mean? You nearly resorted to violence?’, ‘No’, he replied, ‘I nearly lost compassion for my torturer’. The Lama in question knew from the depths of his being that his torturer was suffering; suffering from the pain of anger, aggression, delusion. Physical wounds will heal, but mental ones last much longer, and this realisation generated great sorrow in the victim. These Lamas who practice in this way have been evaluated by modern ‘psychologists’, and commonly suffer no forms of post traumatic stress or lasting mental anguish. Their torturers were not enemies, but fellow human beings experiencing acute mental pain. The highest practitioners are even thankful for such events, as they are the most powerful teachers. This approach is an inspiration to us all and a lesson in the power of human compassion.

Worms Under the Bodhi Tree

The bus from Rajgir to Gaya was characteristically bursting at the rusted metal seams. I was standing, snuggled nicely in an armpit, as more and more people were shoehorned into the vehicle. Families were crushed into too few seats and children were piled on top of their parents in a game of human Jenga. A young lad alongside me fell asleep on his feet, woken by every sharp bounce of the suspension. Dirt flew everywhere through the cracked windows, shards of glass hanging precariously from the frames. We were awarded some respite as the inevitable puncture occurred, and as I stood back and observed I was full of admiration for the people around me. This was a normal bus journey for them; no iPod, iPad, or iPhone, no air conditioning and no guarantee they would arrive in one piece. They didn’t choose to live in these conditions, they were just dealt the hand. Being born in the UK is an enormous stroke of good luck, and the things I would often take for granted seemed ludicrous, even shameful.

Arriving in Gaya we had to negotiate for a rickshaw to Bodhgaya, a 13km journey. A repeat human crush ensued; Hazell and I were joined on the back seat by two old ladies who omitted on odour strikingly similar to a refuse dump, jabbing their walking sticks into places even Stig wouldn’t go. The economy size boot was rammed full with unspecified goods, on top of which a third old lady was sandwiched. To finish the show, a young Indian man then sat on her lap, grinning as we sped away. ‘Why treat each other like this?’ I thought to myself, but the answer is obvious. The more people there are in the rickshaw the more money the driver makes, while the passengers can share the cost between them. A short journey in discomfort could well mean they can afford to eat dinner.

It was fantastic to finally arrive in Bodhgaya, the most important pilgrimage sight for Buddhists the world over. It was here that the Buddha gained enlightenment sat under a Bodhi tree over 25 centuries ago. The historical sight was almost lost to history and the original Bodhi tree disappeared, though thankfully it lived on through an offshoot taken to Anuradhapura in Sri Lanka. A further cutting was taken from this tree and replanted in Bodhgaya, where it continues to flourish on the grounds of the Mahabodhi temple. The park area is a wonderful place to spend time; monks and lay people of all nationalities and traditions join in reverence. We bumped into a number of Tibetan monks who we had met in Dharamsala, many of whom we found sweating as they performed a special practice of 100,000 prostrations on wooden planks. Elsewhere, lay pilgrims read the sutras, Theravadin monks sat peacefully and a Chinese prayer festival was getting underway. The enormous spire of the temple towered above us, surrounded by green grass, small stupas and Tibetan carved prayer stones. I was filled with humility as I sat quietly under the Bodhi tree, an opportunity only dreamed of by many.

I was lost in the moment, but India always manages to bring one back to earth with a bang. An Indian man was arguing with a monk outside the temple; hawkers were collecting fallen bodhi leaves and selling them in the throng outside the grounds; beggars lined every empty paving slab. The sound of small metal wheels scratching on the pavement is an Indian sound bite that will stay with me; it is the signature of the legless man dragging himself along on a self made wooden skateboard. Hoards of homeless back onto the dusty roads, gathered under a sign which reads, “Proud To Be Bihari”. Children play in the dirt as if it was sand, only looking up to ask for money or ice-cream. It is saddening that such an important area should be so under developed, but ironically, it is therefore the perfect teacher of the Buddha’s message of compassion.

One of the joys of a visit to Bodhgaya is a journey around the many temples. Most countries where Buddhism predominates are represented, each bringing their own distinctive style. Our favourite was the recently built Kagyu Tibetan temple of the Karmapa, who was soon to be teaching in the area. After a lunch of Tibetan Momos, (which we had sorely missed), Hazell and I spent a pleasant afternoon strolling through the fields to the typically colourful, Tibetan building. We then spent the evening at the ‘Root Institute’, the FPMT (Foundation for the Preservation of the Mahayana Tradition) centre in the area. It was this Tibetan organisation that we did our course in Nepal with so we felt very much at home! We sat and watched a showing of the Karmapa’s teachings in the USA and attended an evening meditation session, thrilled to be able to practice in such an auspicious environment.

The other dimension to our time in Bodhgaya was very much in the domain of physical health. I had been suffering from intermittent fever and sickness for some time now, so decided to go and see a doctor. I was sent to the local ’pathology lab’ where I was required to give a blood and stool sample. To sharpen the image in your mind, replace the word ’lab’ with ’dirty hovel in the gutter’. The shopkeeper from over the road kindly translated as a freshly unpackaged syringe was inserted into my arm. So far so good. I then used sign language to communicate the phrase, ’do you need my shit as well?’ To which the pathologist, smiled and nodded, and an awkward silence ensued. I stood blank faced and my host then laughed again and began to scan the room. At the culmination of his search he picked up a match box, emptied its contents and handed me my ’receptacle’. I burst out laughing and said I’d be back in a while.

The wonders of modern science went to work over night and I returned to the doc with results in hand.

’Ah yes, you’ve got Typhoid’

’Erm, right, that’s not ideal is it?’, I replied.

’And Hookworm’, he added.

At this point my concern was intertwined with incredulity and the desire to burst out laughing. Furthermore, I felt a twang of victory as I now had (semi) scientific evidence to prove to Hazell it wasn’t just ’man-flu’. She was still unconvinced, though had been feeling ill herself. The doctor believed she probably had worms too and prescribed her some drugs, though we didn’t have time to go and see my mate the pathologist again. As we were both feeling ill we decided to leave our Vipassana meditation course for another time. However, we were both plagued by a pertinent moral question given the circumstance: do we take the drugs and kill the living creatures inside us? We decided we had only one worm each; mine was named Frank and Hazell’s Edgar. Perhaps we shouldn’t have humanised them and become emotionally attached before taking the medicine…The Karmapa had just arrived in Bodhgaya; we wondered what he would do…

Following the Buddha’s Footsteps

Our visit to Varanasi also signalled our return to the Buddhist pilgrimage circuit. In Nepal we had spent time in Lumbini, the birthplace of Prince Siddhartha Gautama, who later became Sakyamuni Buddha and travelled northern India teaching his doctrine. Just outside Varanasi lies Sarnath and the Deer Park, where the Buddha gave his first sermon after attaining enlightenment. Following a dusty ride through local villages, we arrived to a huge queue of Indians on the main road. The area is also a major Jain pilgrimage and the devotees appeared to be gearing up for a celebration of one of their gurus. We sidestepped the crowds and entered the main park of green grass and ruins, slowly making our way to the large Dhamek Stupa, which marks the spot where the Buddha is thought to have given his first sermon.

Buddhist or otherwise, the park is a peaceful place to stroll through and imagine past kingdoms. We weaved between the brick ruins of monasteries and stupas, joined by pilgrims from Tibet, Thailand, Sri Lanka and Japan among others. I watched as members of the Buddhist community from different countries eyed each other up with curiosity, joined by common teachings but very different in custom. I couldn’t help imagining what might be running through their minds, “Ooo, I wish we were allowed to wear that colour. Look at his bag though, it clashes terribly.”

We circumambulated the main stupa with a group of mischievous young Tibetan monks, treading on each others robes as they scurried clockwise. Sitting on the grass we were joined in the sun by other pilgrims, some reciting prayers, some meditating, while others simply looked on in awe. For many of these individuals, this visit will be a once in a lifetime event and is of huge importance. We felt privileged to share it with them and my imagination ran wild picturing the events here many centuries ago. My train of thought was broken only by frustration at seeing Indians dropping litter, beggars hassling devotees, and the owners of the ceremonial elephant outside the main temple smoking some home grown. I certainly didn’t want to carry anger around with me so I let it go, a technique that is vital for survival in India.

From Varanasi we journeyed eastwards to Kushinagar, the sight where the Buddha died and attained Parinirvana, the final release from rebirth. A long, bouncy bus ride took us to the border between the Indian states of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, a challenging area to travel due to underdevelopment. The old man on the bus next to me warned of frequent cases of theft, while his wife shared her roasted ground nuts with me and pointed out the only landmark on the route, a sugar factory. A baby stared at me from the seat in front, certain that there was something different about me, but still keen to play peekaboo.

We jumped off at the entrance to the historical site and set off to find accommodation. The first hotel was full, as was the Chinese temple, and the Tibetan temple; it was turning into a “no room at the inn” situation, though I hoped Hazell wasn’t carrying anything biblical in her belly. We ended up at the Sri Lankan pilgrims guest house, and they very kindly gave us a room for the night. While waiting for the manager we were greeted by a large group of pilgrims dressed in white, each of them beaming at us with delight. We communicated as best we could, (the ’English Teacher’ spoke surprisingly little English), and informed them we were due to visit Sri Lanka soon. This was met with wails of approval and two full pages of addresses and phone numbers in my diary. They also informed us that Jaffna was now accessible to tourists, which we were excited about, but Hazell was a little less enthusiastic about my suggestion to swim from Tamil Nadu in India to the Sri Lankan peninsular.

Kushinagar is a quiet place with a similar landscape to Lumbini in Nepal, which resides nearby. Large, open fields are punctuated by palms and hillsides bathed in dry heat; all services are basic with little in the way of comfort. We enjoyed walking under the impressive Burmese stupa, where events from the Buddha’s life are depicted on the walls and pilgrims took shelter from the sun. Many countries where Buddhism is the principle religion are represented at the main pilgrimage sites; various temples and monuments of differing styles adorn the landscape, with only the poorest countries such as Laos being conspicuous by their absence. The Mahaparinirvana grounds are well kept by Indian standards, and I found the atmosphere in the main shrine very affecting. A gold leafed Buddha image lies in reclining position to mark the spot where the former prince passed away. We joined with the other pilgrims in silent meditation, inspired by the sense of history and connection to a location so important to so many. The energy was palpable.

We grinned as a maintenance man entered and gave the statue a bit of a facial. The gold leaf on the Buddha’s face needed a touch up and on completion he looked like a new man. We turned to look at the shrine on exiting and in all honesty it’s rather an eye sore; a questionable design which owes much to drainpipes and submarines. We also visited another effigy nearby, where I was nearly struck on the head by a live hornet being consumed by maggots. We moved quickly onwards. It was once again disheartening to see the grounds being used as a playground by children on a school outing; litter was strewn across the grass and the crumbling remains were utilised as climbing frames. Once again India was proving to be a consummate teacher of patience, a lesson which continued into the evening’s events at the Uttar Pradesh State Guest House, our new dwelling.

Late afternoon was marked by a sound system check for the imminent Indian wedding party. Our room happened to be directly behind the bass bins. The hotel was full to capacity with party guests, hence we were unable to move rooms, but we were reassured that the noise would be short lived. If you have been even remotely close to an Indian wedding celebration, you will be well aware that the chances of things ’quietening down’, even in the preparation, are about as likely as the Ganges drying up. We sat in our room bouncing up and down as the bass from the latest Indian techno tracks reverberated. Others in the guest house complained, as well they might in a supposedly peaceful place of pilgrimage. Every hour we were told it would soon finish, but the hotel staff became tired of lying and eventually just said, “C’monn, it’s a wedding party. No problem.” Well, if you can’t beat them, join them I thought, upon which I introduced myself to the DJ and asked if I could play my iPod on his system. Though a little reluctant at first, he found the appropriate cables and soon the wonderful sound of Source Direct’s 1996 Drum and Bass classic, “Secret Liason”, was pounding out across a perplexed group of Indian onlookers. I sat back and grinned while a man who must have been the bride’s father stared at me disapprovingly. One young Indian shouted ’more, more’ on completion of the track, but I felt gratified and moved away to reception.

I informed the young man behind the desk that I expected the noise to go on well into the night, a prophesy which proved to be accurate, and that the best solution I could offer was that we stay the night, but the cost of the room be charged to the party. He looked at his feet and agreed reluctantly, clearly not relishing the prospect of informing the benefactors. Hazell and I bounced around in our bed for most of the night, but found some consolation in leaving for Bodhgaya in the morning without paying a penny.

Further Delights in Dharamsala

6.00am, the alarm sounds. Climbing slowly out of bed we get dressed and roll our yoga mats out on the hotel balcony. The air is crisp and refreshing as we start the first round of ‘Sun Salutations‘. I watch across the hillside as others mimic our actions on a mosaic of rooftops. Numerous devotees perform an early morning Kora of the Dalai Lama‘s residence to my right, while below the landlady lights the ‘Potala Incense’ and the aroma drifts up through the hotel. Like clockwork, on the fourth sun salutation the warm rays burst out from behind the spine of the Himalayas. As I moved into a shoulder stand, my legs straight up in the air, I thought to myself, ‘wow, this must be that thing they call a “healthy lifestyle”’.

 

Our days in Dharamsala were full and rewarding. Once the sun was up and we’d showered, it was down to the local Tibetan café for an enormous serving of Muesli and Yoghurt. Every day at this time the place was full with fellow travellers, volunteers, teachers, spiritual philosophers and locals. We would normally meet a regular crowd there doing similar things to us; from all over the world people had been drawn together to help the Tibetan cause. Of course the area was also well populated due to a certain ‘Dalai Lama’ arriving in town, and even those who have little interest in Buddhism were excited about seeing this spiritual superstar.

 

People had come from all around to hear His Holiness teach, and the town exuded an air of excitement in the days preceding his appearance. The whole experience was strangely like attending a football match or a music gig; we went and registered beforehand and received our ’passes’ before heading up to the temple to reserve our seats with a carefully placed sheet. He entered the ’arena’ past all his followers, taking the time to wave and greet as many people as he could. It was quite moving to be in the Dalai Lama’s presence alongside all the Tibetan monks and laypeople to whom he means so much. He symbolises everything Tibet stands for and the struggle they continue to endure. For decades his country and its culture have undergone systematic destruction at the hands of the Chinese, yet his message has remained consistent; violence will only lead to more violence, and all those involved should strive to negotiate through peaceful means. His political acumen is what the Dalai Lama has become renowned for, and it was therefore incredibly refreshing to hear him in the role of ’teacher of Buddhism’, rather than politician.

 

As the Dalai Lama taught in Tibetan, we listened intently to the English translation on FM radio. The teachings were being given at the request of a large group of Taiwanese Buddhists, and it was pleasing to hear His Holiness interact with the Chinese speaking contingent. The topics covered provided good fuel for discussion in our English classes. A monk student of Hazell’s asked if she had understood all she had heard, to which she replied, ’erm yes, I think I grasped the basics’. ’No. No. No,’ he replied, ’you may have understood intellectually, but you haven’t realised with the non conceptual mind. You must go home and meditate upon the teachings until you realise for yourself’. So that we did, but it turns out the ancient teachings of the Buddha take a little longer than one meditation session to sink in; it would seem one must start thinking in lifetimes rather than years.

 

The rest of our time was filled with numerous other activities. I took on a second student named Dolma, a shy Tibetan refugee with only very basic English, but unfortunately her sister became ill during our stay, so we only met on a few occasions. I was looking forward to helping her tell her story in English, as it was this part of the interaction which proved to be most rewarding. Gradually, as a students vocabulary improves, the richness of their tale reveals itself in full colour and further communicates the plight of the Tibetans to the rest of the world. We also attended a number of events with ’guest speakers’ who had their own story to tell. One such man told his story to a room full of people at the LIT centre, and the tale culminated in him displaying the wounds inflicted by Chinese soldiers during the 2008 uprising in Tibet. The Chinese military had begun shooting indiscriminately into the protesting crowd and had badly wounded a monk, who eventually died. The speaker had attempted to move the injured man out of the crowd and was shot in the arm. He fled as the Chinese gave chase and was wanted as an instigator of the protests from then onwards. He knew he couldn’t return to the city so he escaped to the hills where he received no treatment for his wound, and his arm eventually became infected with maggots. His friends cut out the rotten flesh and luckily his arm began to heal, and it was at this point that he decided to make the dangerous journey through the Himalayas to Dharamsala. The Tibetans love a tall tale, but this man desperately wanted to relate his story in the hope such efforts would increase awareness of the continuing Chinese brutality.

 

I also attended a number of interesting screenings and discussions given by the ’Active Non-violence Education Centre’ (ANEC). ANEC provide the local community with training in using non-violent means to bring about positive change, with the teachings of Buddhism, the Dalai Lama and Ghandi acting as guiding principles. The workshops they run in the Tibetan transitional school are of particular importance; recently arrived refugees are educated in non-violent techniques with which to protest against the Chinese occupation. Many of the students choose to make the dangerous trip back to Tibet after education, and therefore the work ANEC do is of huge benefit inside the country as the inhabitants continue to contend with Chinese oppression and brutality.

 

At one discussion a representative from the Tibetan Youth Congress was present; this organisation are known for a more aggressive approach to protest, and his belief was that the media only take notice if protest is forceful. This opinion is prevalent, particularly among young Tibetans, as they feel the passive approach is not working and force must now be utilised. I explained that I had worked in the British media and believe the Tibet issue is woefully underrepresented; this is a concern as the support of the major world powers is crucial to Tibet. I commented that in Western media there are images on our screens every day of conflict and violent protest and viewers are anaesthetised through overexposure; another news article with burnt out cars and smashed shop windows is unlikely to shock or change opinion. I asked the Youth Congress member what the most powerful and enduring image of the 1989 Tiananmen Square protest was; he replied straight away that it was the unarmed man stood in front of a Chinese tank, protesting peacefully. I therefore suggested that the most powerful thing the Tibetan population, monks and laypeople, could have done in the protests of 2008 was to congregate on mass in front of the Jokhang temple, sit down, and begin reciting prayers as the armed Chinese military looked on. In my mind this would have been an immensely powerful image of peaceful protest and any unprovoked violence from the Chinese would have been immediately apparent and condemned globally.

 

During these discussions I became a little frustrated and disheartened by the idealistic and unrealistic opinions of how the Tibet situation could be resolved; ’Ghandi did this’, ’Martin Luther King said this’, ’When Soviet Communism collapsed this happened.’ Nobody could really offer a workable, ongoing solution to their specific difficulties. In other discussions we had been involved in, the advent of Chinese democracy was proposed as one of the most likely catalysts to a free Tibet. The young in China are miseducated about Tibet and it is taught that it has always been a province of China and that the Chinese have done immense good there by ‘liberating’ the area from regressive feudalism and a tyrannical, separatist in the Dalai Lama. Therefore, an accurate education through freedom of information would enable an intelligent population to vote democratically for a mutually beneficial resolution to the Tibetan situation. Another suggestion is to utilise the classic non-violent tactic of non-cooperation; boycott all Chinese products and services and use only Tibetan produce. I commented that having been to Lhasa recently, the Tibetan population are so dependent on Chinese products and services these days, that to boycott everything would likely leave the Tibetans in a state of impoverishment. Furthermore, the more successful the Chinese economy becomes in the world arena, the more likely it is to bend towards democratic principles. As stated, this could be beneficial to Tibet, so by attempting to harm the Chinese economy, they may inadvertently damage their own chances for autonomy.

 

This jostling of political ideas could have continued all evening, and ultimately we all became aware of just how difficult the Tibetan situation is. There is certainly still hope that Tibet will be free in the future or at least achieve a level of real autonomy, but unfortunately this appears to depend upon the attitude of the stubborn Chinese government. I was also very disappointed to discover that the UK have recently decided to shift their position and define Tibet as a part of China. This is a cowardly response rooted in the fear of upsetting the modern superpower of China. If you take only one thing away from the words I have written here, let it be this: Tibet is a country illegally occupied by Chinese forces. It is not a province of China.

 

Nobel Peace for Tibet?

During our stay in Dharamsala, we had the good fortune of being in the same guest house as an American named Erik Zelko. Erik is currently working as the Editor for ‘Contact’ magazine, a local English language publication which focuses on all things Tibetan. He was looking for volunteer contributors and I said I would help him out. At the time Liu Xiaobo, an imprisoned Chinese democratic activist, was controversially awarded this years Nobel Peace Prize. I felt this development could have an impact upon the Tibet situation and therefore I submitted this article which was published in the November issue of Contact. The awards ceremony will take place on Friday and so far China and eighteen other countries have declared they will not be attending. 

Nobel Peace for Tibet? by Carl Chapman

“We support the Dalai Lama’s appeal for peace, and hope that the ethnic conflict can be dealt with according to the principles of goodwill, peace and non-violence. We condemn any violent act against innocent people, strongly urge the Chinese government to stop the violent suppression, and appeal to the Tibetan people likewise not to engage in violent activities.”

Taken from ‘Twelve Suggestions for Dealing with the Tibet Situation’, a petition which Liu Xiaobo co-wrote in the aftermath of the Tibet protests of 2008.

On December 25th 2009, human rights activist Liu Xiaobo was jailed by the Chinese authorities. He was sentenced to 11 years in prison and an additional two years deprivation of political rights for “inciting subversion of state power.” Liu is one of the leading advocates of peaceful democratic reform in The People’s Republic of China and was involved in the Tiananmen Square protests of 1989; he is also a committed campaigner for Tibetan freedom.

On 7 October 2010, during his 4th prison term, Norwegian TV networks reported that Liu Xiaobo was a candidate for the 2010 Nobel Peace Prize, and on 8 October 2010 the Nobel Committee awarded him the prize “for his long and non-violent struggle for fundamental human rights in China”. The Chinese Foreign Ministry responded with anger and issued a statement proclaiming, “Liu Xiaobo is a criminal who has been sentenced by Chinese judicial departments for violating Chinese law. Awarding the prize to Liu runs completely counter to the principle of the award and is also a desecration of the Peace Prize.”

In receiving the award, Liu joins an esteemed list of previous winners such as Barack Obama, Nelson Mandela and of course, His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama, who himself is a firm believer in democracy. If campaigners such as Liu succeed in their aims, China will move into a period of increased freedom in both personal expression and information. This could have a profound affect on the electorate who, empowered with new knowledge, may be ready to cast a vote for Tibetan freedom. It is difficult to predict whether this would mean ‘full independence’, or a ‘middle way’ approach, as proposed by His Holiness The Dalai Lama.

Lhakpa Tsering is Director of McCleod Ganj based ‘Volunteer Tibet’, and he feels that Liu’s award is unlikely to have an immediate effect on the Tibet issue.

“In my opinion even a democratically governed China will never vote for an ‘Independent Tibet’. However, if a large scale democratic movement does take place in China, then during the transitional period the country will be very unstable. It is at this stage that Tibet can claim its independence, in much the same way that the Post-Soviet states did after the Soviet Union collapsed.”

Liu Xiaobo has requested that his wife Liu Xia collect the award on his behalf. However, she currently remains under house arrest and fears that the Chinese government will prevent her from attending the award ceremony in December. In a recent interview with the UK’s Guardian newspaper, she voiced her concerns stating, “I can’t even get out of my home, how could I go out of the country?” Chinese authorities have continued to protest against Liu’s award by blocking the Nobel Peace Prize website along with other independent news sources.

The aftershock of Liu Xiaobo’s achievement may take some time to be felt within Tibet, but the future of the country is inextricably linked to the political climate within China. The power of democracy lies with an informed electorate, free to make decisions and to vote on the basis of their knowledge. If these freedoms are made available to the Chinese public, then as the Dalai Lama states, “truth and justice will ultimately triumph.”

The Nobel Prize award ceremony will take place in Oslo, Norway on December 10.

Me and the Man From Bhutan

I was slightly nervous before meeting Ngawang for our first English tutoring session together, (and yes his name is hard to say. It’s pronounced ‘Ng’, as at the end of ‘thing’, a -wang). The previous day we had visited the ‘Volunteer Tibet’ office in Dharamsala to offer our services, and we were both excited about helping people from a culture we had come to love. There is always a long list of people looking for English tutors in the community, so Lhakpa the Managing Director of Volunteer Tibet soon found us some ’students’. The first young man who came into the office could speak next to no English; he did all the communication that was necessary by choosing the pretty young female as a teacher rather than myself, (yes I do mean Hazell). My victim was a humble, maroon robed monk, who introduced himself and asked if we could meet the following morning at the nunnery he was staying at. Inwardly I was chuffed that I had been given the opportunity to work with a practicing monk, and I was looking forward to a rewarding exchange. He was on ‘holiday’ from his Tibetan monastery in South India and was in Dharamsala to learn English and hear the Dalai Lama teach.

The following morning I made my way to the Nunnery and tentatively knocked on his door. In my mind I had planned to use the hour as a ‘getting to know each other session’ and to understand his motives for learning English so we could have a focus. His English level was good enough that we could have a reasonable conversation, and he told me eventually he would like to travel to Europe and teach Dharma in English. He was very self motivated and had his own English grammar text book and ‘Tibetan to English’ dictionary. It was at this stage that I realised my A-Level linguistics studies had hidden themselves under a rock in my mind. ‘So I’m up to the ‘Present Continuous’ chapter in my text book’. ‘Er, OK. Sterling work Ngawang; full steam ahead. We’ll look at that next time OK.’ He also showed me a short piece of written work he had done, which he wanted me to correct. His handwriting was better than mine, but bar this knock to the ego, I enjoyed helping him with his work. It was particularly nice to have a student who was so eager to learn, and for the first time in a while I felt as though I had an asset that I could utilise in helping others. The respect Tibetan monks are taught to hold for any ’teacher’ also became apparent, as Ngawang addressed me as such and even gave me an apple at the end!

Our meetings continued throughout our three week stay in Dharamsala. As we got to know each other better, we spent a lot of time discussing each others cultures and backgrounds. Ngawang’s parents are Tibetan and from the Tsang province, but fled to Bhutan under the Chinese occupation. He is the second oldest of ten children and he suspects his parents had cultural preservation in the face of the Chinese as a motive for the number of offspring! All the major Tibetan monasteries have active counterparts in the exile community in South India, and Ngawang is undertaking the final three years of study in a Gelug monastery for his ‘Geshe’ degree, (the culmination of roughly 25 years study). He has been unable to visit his ‘homeland’ Tibet for his entire life, and the discovery that we had seen more of Tibet than many Tibetans became a distressing theme while in the community.

A reliable method in challenging ones own customs and beliefs is to compare them to those of an alien culture; the comedic value of explaining what are often just habits to a bemused listener really helps to broaden the mind. Ngawang told me he had recently asked a ’western’ English teacher how old she was and had been met with a rather cold response. Understandably, he was a little perplexed at why such a basic question had caused such offence, and in all honesty I had no rational explanation. ’Erm, because….we‘re British. Ngawang, talking man to man here, there are many things about the British female we will never understand, so we just stopped asking. But next time why don’t you ask her how much she weighs, that’ll cheer her up. You know that Buddhist teaching on the habit of protecting the ’illusory ego’? Well here is your chance to see it in full effect.’

In the more structured elements of the tutoring, (there were some), I showed him my CV and we discussed how he might structure his. Admittedly the details were slightly different; my ‘fifteen years in education culminating in work as a television tea boy’, would have to be replaced by Ngawang’s ’25 years of scriptural and experiential study into the ultimate nature of reality and wisdom.’ We also discussed how he might approach Buddhist institutions for work, and in particular how he could structure a formal letter. This again required a rummage through the memory banks, ’now is it ‘Yours Sincerely‘ or ‘Yours Faithfully?’ Trying to uphold the traditions of the English language in the age of e-mail and Facebook is rather difficult it would appear.

In later lessons we started to discuss Buddhist teachings a little further, as Ngawang’s overall goal is to teach Dharma in English. He recommended a succinct piece called ‘The Thirty-Seven Practices of All Buddha’s Sons’ by Thogme Zangpo. It was very interesting to discuss the intricacies of the language used and especially the meaning that was sometimes lost in translation. It became apparent that to fully appreciate any scripture, it is of most benefit to learn the native language. Ngawang also really enjoyed sharing what he could with me in English, though I think it was a little frustrating for him when he realised he didn’t have the vocabulary to explain the finer points! This would usually end up in him bursting into fits of contagious laughter while rubbing his shaven head. I always enjoy being around people who are able to laugh at themselves and their mistakes; it’s certainly a habit I could benefit from developing!

At the end of our last meeting I was rather sad to be saying goodbye. After a photoshoot, Ngawang had kind words to say and thanked me for ’spending my precious time with him.’ I told him that the values of his culture and religion are an inspiration to me, and therefore not to think of our time together as having been a burden. The Buddhist teachings Ngawang has spent twenty-five years studying place selfless, compassionate action at centre stage; he could therefore understand my motive for volunteering and that my ‘payment‘ was far greater than any financial reward.

Positive Karma in Dharamsala

After travelling Tibet and witnessing the oppression of the Tibetan people at the hands of the Chinese Government, we felt a cold shadow of guilt softly surround us on our journey. The money we had spent in Tibet had gone back to the very government that was tormenting the culture and the people that we had come to love and respect. We decided to re-address our karma by volunteering in Dharamsala, home of the Dalai Lama, the Tibetan Government in exile and thousands of Tibetan refugees, many of whom had braved months of walking through the freezing Himalayas to get there. Many refugees arrive with severe frostbite, many without toes, feet or hands, while others arrive without the loved ones they’d begun their journey with. One of the goals of these refugees who’d fled their homeland was to get educated. They refused the Chinese education that has now fully established itself within the schools of Tibet, in favour of skills such as languages and IT; skills which will help them spread their Buddhist message, and establish a voice within the world.

Carl and I arrived in Dharamsala on Saturday and on Monday we had joined ‘Volunteer Tibet’ as tutors, teachers and office helpers. The volunteer community here must be one of the most advanced in India. We joined many travellers, some with similar experiences to our own, who were all here to help the Tibetan people. We met some very inspiring volunteers as well as students. Gerry, an IT expert from Holland, had come over with computers and set up daily computer skills classes for beginners and advance level students. He was in Dharamsala for 4 weeks and in that time he trained Tibetan students to take over as teachers and run the classes themselves. He left behind a new, fully functioning institution offering free computer classes to refugees and locals to gain new skills. This man wasn’t a traveller or rich philanthropist, he was a normal working man in his fifties and had collected the computers by asking friends for old equipment. Then he’d persuaded his workplace to give him four weeks off, and when they found out about his plans they also donated some equipment.

Well, Carl and I didn’t bring computers but we did bring our native English, which in Dharamsala is considered gold dust, (even if my native English is a Welsh-English). I jumped straight in and began teaching a class and helping out in conversation classes both at Volunteer Tibet and another organisation called LIT (Learning and Ideas for Tibet). In ‘conversation classes’ teachers are sat with a group of 4 to 7 students and given a topic along with some questions to discuss. Through introducing new themes the students, (whose age ranged from 11 to 70) learnt new words and ideas. The topic would usually relate somehow to their situation or their religion; topics that the Tibetans wanted to discuss and investigate with the outside world. I really enjoyed going to these classes and meeting new people everyday. More than once I found myself sitting outside the classroom or walking around Dharamsala chatting with students who were keen to continue their practise outside the classroom. The students who attended the conversation classes were a little more advanced than my individual tutee, Lobsang.

Tutoring was a very daunting but very necessary task. Volunteer Tibet had a waiting list full of students who were either too shy or knew too little English to attend any of the formal classes. My student, Lobsang came from a Tibetan family who lived in Shangrila. He spoke both Tibetan and Chinese fluently but only knew very basic English. I didn’t really know where to start – how do you teach someone when you don’t speak a common language? I bought a Tibetan phrase book to help me but I was usually able to explain things to him by pointing and with drawings (which made him laugh a lot!). We started with pro-nouns and basic phrases and through these we exchanged information about ourselves and got to know each other. I wanted to find out about him so that I could teach him the kind of English that would be useful for him. We talked about goals and the future. He told me that his goal was to become a famous actor and teach the world about Buddhism and give all his money to poor people. And this was why he wanted to learn English. So I thought we’d start with question words…

Lobsang had fled with other refugees to Dharamsala when he was a young boy and had then moved on to Karnataka in South India to become a monk. His Uncle is a High Lama who had also fled Tibet to study in South India. Lobsang studied Buddhist philosophy under his Uncle and other Lamas. Lamas are currently unable to teach in Tibet under the Chinese occupation, so universities and centres of Buddhist teaching have been established elsewhere by the refugee community to enable Tibetans to study their religion. Lobsang showed me photos of his past life as a monk. I didn’t really find out why he’d left monkhood, but he did express an interest in having a family so that could have been significant in his decision. He wasn’t as politically involved in the Free Tibet campaign as many other young Tibetans I met. He had grown up in Shangrila which is half Chinese and half Tibetan and he told me that in Shangrila they lived together in peace. Although I cannot be sure of his political stance he seemed to favour peace and togetherness over freedom.

Other Tibetans I spoke to were not so laid back about the situation. Those who spoke decent English wanted to talk to me about three things. The first was politics and their experiences of oppression under the Chinese occupation. The stories they related with such enthusiasm were often about losing loved ones or being violently beaten. But more distressing for them was the seeming loss of their culture and heritage. The second topic of conversation was Buddhism. In no way were these conversations given as single pointed lectures. The students were especially keen to know what Westerners thought of the Buddhist concepts and how these can apply to the Western world. The third topic was me. They were all so keen to know about my life, about Wales (an obscure small country that no-one had ever heard of), about my family, friends and work. In a conversation with one monk I started to talk about my job at Azza working with Sudanese refugees. He was in complete shock and called others over to listen. The question on all their lips was ‘how did the refugees walk from Sudan to London?’ It was this question that really made me realise how ignored the Tibetans have been by the international community. While other refugees had rights, and flights, over a sixth of the Tibetan population have been killed by the Chinese communist regime and more now continue to die as they risk their lives fleeing over the Himalayas into Nepal and India. But back to blogging about teaching…

After 3 weeks with Lobsang we’d covered much ground and I could really see a difference. He was even using the correct verb tenses (I’d introduced 3 new verbs a day), writing simple sentences and using conjunctions to link his sentences. I was very proud. I’d put a lot of effort into making various materials for his learning and to show how grateful he was he spent hours everyday after our tutorials memorising new words and learning the grammar for the next lesson. He also took me for lunch a few times and gave me the white scarf that he had personally received from the Dalai Lama when he first arrived in India as a refugee. He wanted me to have it to keep me safe on my travels and I was very humbled to receive it. Although I never got given an apple like Teacher Carl did.

 

Exercise for the Mind

After our first nights sleep we both began to settle in and really enjoy ourselves. The periods of noble silence turned out to be extremely pleasant! In the evenings after a period of mantra recitation, everyone would return to their rooms in a relaxed silence and soon fall asleep. I particularly enjoyed the early mornings; the bell ringer would wake us at 5.45am and in silence I would slowly make my way to the canteen for tea. Not having to engage in the niceties of idle chit-chat, we were free to slowly engage our minds with the activities of the day. It was truly beautiful watching the mist and cloud roll over the Kathmandu valley as the sun began to bring a warm glow to the monastery. At these times it became evident why people come to the Kopan intending to stay a week and end up staying a lot longer. Hazell and I quickly made an intuitive decision not to sit with each other during silent meal times. Knowing that we were prohibited from communicating, every time we made eye contact we inevitably started laughing!

The Kopan is renowned for its English language courses on Tibetan Buddhism, and our course leader was a practiced monk named Venerable Namgyel; an Englishman who now lives in India. His accent suggested he was from Lancashire, and he certainly had the sense of humour which contributed to these suspicions. Not necessarily what one would expect, but he was well practiced in conveying the Dharma to a predominantly non-Tibetan audience. Our meditation teacher was an Israeli monk named Venerable Tingyel with an inviting warmth that made everyone feel at home. Once the introductions were over, it was time to get stuck in, and I will now attempt to briefly outline the history of the form of Buddhist teachings we were being given. If you couldn’t care less, skip this bit!

Buddhism originated with the Buddha’s teachings in northern India and then spread in two principal directions. One school went south through Sri Lanka and on to South East Asia and countries such as Thailand and Cambodia. Another school went north, eventually reaching Tibet, China, Mongolia and Japan. The southern transmission came to be known as the Hinayana teachings, and the northern transmission became known as the Mahayana teachings. A crude translation of these terms leads to the Hinayana being described as the ’lesser vehicle’ and the Mahayana as the ’greater vehicle’. However, these definitions imply a hierarchy, and therefore the Hinayana practitioners prefer the term ‘Theravada’, which roughly translates as ‘teaching of the elders.’

There is a fundamental difference between the two schools. The emphasis in Theravada Buddhism is on personal liberation from the repeating cycle of birth and death, thus reaching ‘Nirvana‘. The Mahayana school introduces the concept of the ’Bodhisattva’, a practitioner who’s goal is to obtain enlightenment for the benefit of others. The vow of the Bodhisattva is to forgo the release from cyclic existence, and to remain on Earth in order to help others free themselves from suffering. Therefore the primary motive within Mahayana Buddhism is always to develop personally in order to benefit others. These are the first two ’turnings of the Dharma wheel’, and within Tibetan Buddhism there is also a ’third turning’, known as the ’Vajrayana’, or ’Tantric’ path. It is the topic of much discussion as to whether the Buddha himself gave all these teachings, with Theravadans claiming the Buddha never taught the Mahayana, and some Mahayana practitioners claiming he never taught the tantric path. To conclude, during our stay at the Kopan we were learning principally from the Mahayana teachings. (Phew! Apologies to all Buddhists for my necessarily stunted history!)

Our morning meditation sessions were generally of the ’calm-abiding’ nature. Here, one focuses the mind on a single object and attempts to keep it there. The object of meditation could be the breath, an external or internal image, or the mind itself. Inevitably the mind wonders off, thoughts arise and it is at this stage that many conclude, ’I can’t meditate’ and become frustrated. This is the nature of mind, and this is the work to be done in calm-abiding meditation; one notices the activity of the mind without attaching to it. If the mind should wonder, awareness is gently brought back to the point of focus, over and over and over and…….Try it – close your eyes and try to focus on the movement of the breath for sixty seconds. It sounds easy, but the mind is notoriously misbehaved! The idea is that with a little more practice we become less attached to the workings of the mind, and therefore less driven by reactivity to it.

In our teaching sessions, Venerable Namgyel covered a large array of the fundamental concepts of Mahayana Buddhism. The teachings of the Buddha are tools with which to investigate the nature of the phenomenal world and of the mind. The mind is used to assess the causes of happiness and suffering and to develop a wisdom free of delusion. Buddhism teaches that we live our lives in various states of mental delusion, (mis)guided principally by our ego. Belief in a separate ’I’ or ’self’ is a fundamental cognitive error which keeps us trapped in the cycle of suffering. Further to this, through philosophical reasoning, it is taught that everything has causes and conditions and are also interdependent, having no permanent, inherent existence of their own. As an example, the computer you are reading this on has been labelled by your mind as ’computer’, however, it is actually a product of causes and conditions and comprised of many constituent elements. The individual parts such as the screen, the keyboard, the drives, were all manufactured somewhere and then assembled in a factory. These parts are made of plastic, which itself had to be produced by a skilled manufacturing process. It also relies on power from either a set of batteries or a mains source; this mains source relies on the national grid…..etc. etc. etc………This logic can be applied to anything including the ’self’. If you can find anything that isn’t a product of causes and conditions and interdependent parts, let me know, because we couldn’t find any!

Buddhist philosophy is completely mind bending at times, but it is a tool to be used in uncovering truth and removing delusion. Over and over again by teachers, monks and nuns, Hazell and I have been told, ’you may understand it intellectually, but this is just the beginning; you must meditate upon the teachings and REALISE them.’ As someone who has suffered from depression, I know all too well how the conceptual mind creates delusion and clings to a sense of ‘self’ which is separate. In Buddhism this is a fundamental cognitive error that can be overcome. While identifying with a ‘self‘, we grasp at pleasure and push away discomforts, and it is this process which ultimately keeps us trapped and unable to find lasting, rather than fleeting, happiness. The energy of depression is a contraction; a closing down and disconnection which makes one painfully aware of the illusion of a separate self. My experiences demonstrated this continuum to me. Disconnection resides at one end and pure awareness at the other; an acknowledgement that the ‘self’ is merely an illusion which keeps us trapped.

Another important topic covered was that of impermanence. Buddhism and modern science agree that all the causes and conditions which combine to create the world we live in are constantly changing and evolving. To believe things are permanent is a cognitive trap, and tantamount to building a house on sand. Therefore on day two we performed a meditation on death. Buddhists love a bit of death, and Venerable Tingyel tittered in an endearing manner as he introduced the evenings activity. He then guided us through a contemplative meditation which involved imagining ourselves on a plane which crashes and we die in the blaze, our body ceases to be ours and is just a bag of bones. It is a slightly morose, but very powerful practice in awakening to our impermanent nature; from this a respectful joy arises in the fact we were born into a human body, but our time in it is limited so we must not waste a moment.

This is a little taster of the what we learnt at the Kopan. It was a fascinating time and very interesting to see people from all over the world wrestle with these philosophies and techniques. One young lady we met, on finishing a course in molecular biology had proclaimed ‘is that it? Is that really all we know?’ and therefore was looking for further wisdom. I was particularly pleased for Hazell, who seemed to get a lot from the week, even though I feared she would hate it. She even stated at the end that she would like to undertake a ’Vipassana’ meditation course. This involves ten days of complete silence and prolonged periods of meditation. Yes, this is Hazell I’m talking about! What has also been satisfying for us both is that we can share in discussing our experiences, and Hazell understands now why I spent so many hours sat on my bum in complete silence back in London! The end of the course was marked by a number of the students taking ‘Refuge’, in a short ceremony with the Abbot of the monastery. This undertaking is recognition that you have chosen to live by the Buddha’s teachings and will continue to do so. I was very close to taking Refuge myself, but I reflected that I have many more cultures to see and many more opportunities to learn Dharma before making the decision.

Jump On Board The Bus

That’s right – it’s here! Just a quick post to let you all know, the Veggie Bus is rolling.

Jump on-board at www.theveggiebus.weebly.com to find out what it’s all about.

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Brmmm Brmmm

Hazell’s Homecoming

I’ve never sat with myself before. We’ve been together all this time and we’ve never sat, never listened. A waterfall of thoughts pervade through my body. They tickle my tongue and fumble down to my feet which are numb from sitting. I fidget and struggle. Is it over yet, can I move? I need to talk to someone, anyone but myself. I come to the conclusion that I am insane.

Everyone else sits still, they focus, they breathe slowly. I’ve never sat with myself before. I try to control the breath. I have six more days of this; sitting with this mad person.On day four I am calmer. I have become a quiet observer. I don’t judge the thoughts but they still come. Now they are like the soft smoke of incense, creeping upwards I watch them. I let them go and they vanish into thin air. I watch the breath. I don’t control it. My body is still. I am learning. My awareness expands and I have to open one eye, just to check I’m not levitating. I’m still sitting on my cushion on the floor. Where I remain. Watching.