Friday, June 30, 2006
Seeking spirituality
Prayer flags behind Sakya Monastery, Bylakuppe, November 2005.
November 2nd, 2005: I wanted to pray.
(Nov 4) Wherein I compete with the street-side Polaroid photographer: Where is my sense of humour? Why didn’t I offer to click and mail them the pictures? Why refuse outright? With those two staring at me, why didn’t I just click instead of putting the camera away? I came here to learn to connect to people. They attempted and I rejected them.
(Nov 2) I’ve been here before. I’ve gaped at these idols. I’ve photographed them, even been happy with one of my pictures. Yet, on seeing them again now a year later, my first sensation was of being overpowered. Weak in the knees, except it wasn’t in the knees. Secure. Powerless, yet secure. Needing no guard. Safe. Like I could spread my arms and fall back, and know that I needn’t worry. That all my worries would be taken care of. I felt like I had to do something to deserve this. I wanted to pray. Now this is a very curious sensation since I’m an atheist, non-religious, don’t believe in reincarnation, don’t recognise a higher authority. Who or what would I pray to? Why prayer, of all the things I haven’t felt the need to do before?
Go to Bylakuppe before the tourists run over the place and the Tibetans end up having to enforce security or shut off access.
“Aha! A drum! Let’s tap it!” seems to be the universal reaction of people walking in. Then they walk past, see that the other one has a banner on it saying “DON’T TOUCH”, and turn around to notice this one has the same, feeling whatever it is that they feel on having such a realisation. They don’t touch it again.
This monk comes up to me with an old towel and wipes away the water spill I’ve been sitting by for at least a couple of hours. I had knocked my bottle over accidentally, ignored it for a second thinking the cap was on, and then realised it wasn’t.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says smiling faintly, finishes wiping, and walks away.
(Nov 4, 4:15 PM) Why am I so lonely? So wanting to run back to the comfort of home? What am I missing here? The hardest moments are when waking from dreamy sleep, waking to find that they are all gone, that I am alone in a foreign place with no friends and no activity to look forward to.
No friends and no activity.
I came here to learn to connect to people. I’ve discovered I also need to learn to plan. I’ve done neither yet. Which probably explains why I so crave the comfort of familiarity. If I go back now, will it be defeat? Or will I go back at least knowing what it is I lack? If a mere three days here are being so hard, how will I manage a full month travelling alone? I have the coming week to use wisely. Should it be here? Should it be elsewhere?
Monks run to the dinner hall at Sara Mey Monastery, Bylakuppe, November 2005.
Walking lets one look to the sides at sights off the road. Riding does not afford this.
The canteen at the monastery is a good social spot. It’s dingy, seems unclean, but has a very friendly air to it. The manager is always smiling. Her joy invariably transfers to anyone walking in. The waiter, one of two or three who emerge occasionally from the kitchen, is from Orissa and speaks Hindi. He shares a certain intimacy with the monks. They pat him when they come in. He taunts them in return, bearing a large grin, questions them, hears their tales. The manager’s smile erupts into a happy laugh.
(Nov 3) This white woman sported a Lowepro backpack and a Canon SLR. Digital. Her two girlfriends, also white, hung around while she clicked. I wanted to tell her that this was a bad time to be shooting. The sun was far too high in the sky, far too bright. She’d get bad highlights where it reflected off the gold, or if she metered for it, the rest of the area would be in shadow. It seemed a good thing to start a conversation over. Go up and tell her she’d get a good shot if she came early, before 8 AM, and maybe if she stood at this particular spot, she’d get a good angle on Buddha Amitayus. (I like the picture I got last year.)
Supper at Sara Mey Monastery, Bylakuppe, November 2005.
I didn’t tell her. I took out my camera, flashed it where she could see, hoped she would notice and start a conversation, but didn’t go up and talk. Then to my disappointment, she and her girlfriends walked out. I did too, hoping to speak up at the footwear stand, but all three were walking away by the time I got mine. I didn’t see them again.
The next day (4th) I came back at 8 AM and found it was still too bright. The problem wasn’t the angle of the sun. Yesterday it was better because of the cloud cover. It had rained all night and continued to drizzle into the morning. The sun didn’t come out until 10 AM (9 AM?), which was when I, sitting inside, had watched as the statues got noticeably brighter.
This place is overrun by tourists. Not so many as to be a security concern, but still too many. How can one possibly sustain a non-material monastic life when faced with an endless parade of the latest fashions in clothes and cameras? One monk gave me a suspicious stare yesterday in the canteen. Perhaps he was bothered I, a tourist, was invading one of the last few remaining spaces? That I wasn’t eating at the tourist restaurants like I should be? Or is that my ingrained paranoia speaking?
I visited Sara Je and Sara Mey yesterday. They are the real religious centres. The monks there are unaccustomed to tourists running around the place. Neither structure is as impressive as the Golden Temple, which also appears to be a more recent construction. The core Tibetan settlement is around Sara Je. There’s an entire village there. A monk inside the Golden Temple said it was painted six years ago. That means the structure itself can’t be much older.
Sara Mey Monastery, Bylakuppe, November 2005.
Why was it built? Did they realise that their religious centre would be taken over by visiting tourists? Perhaps they built it expecting that? Built it knowing that the inconvenience caused would be easily offset by being able to spread the message of their faith and their cause for a free Tibet? Perhaps everyone who is involved, every monk, has his or her own explanation for it?
(Jan 12) Do they even care for a free Tibet anymore? They seem comfortably settled into their lives here. Is “Free Tibet” a cause that gives them something to talk about but not one that spurs them to action?
(For Zee, currently away seeking her own.)
