Rooftop Ruminations

I have arrived in Varanasi. Insects instantly clung to the stank smell that only thirty-five hours of travel can produce. As soon as I emerged from the cobalt blue sleeper car I was barraged on a number of senses. While I was still orienting myself a small man in a tailored pink button up shirt directed me to the exit. I quickly discovered that his immediate willingness to lend a hand was because he drove a motor rickshaw... damn rickshaw drivers. As soon as I was able, I was being ushered through hundreds of strewn out bodies littering the train station courtyard, most of which were alive, towards a very typical and obnoxious Indian Tuk Tuk stand.

"Where you going?" He asks in a typical Hindi-English accent.

"Old Yogi Lodge, near Sarkakand Gali," I respond with an appropriate amount of solidarity in my voice.

And then with a little gas and a few tugs on the starter we were off. Once again navigating our way through throngs of honking and constipated Indian traffic. Varanasi, like every other Indian city has a very distinct smell. All cities activate the same part of you olfactory center, but each is slightly different than the last. I suppose if you average a few million people, their pheromones and body odor, waste products and nourishment materials with a sensible dash of pollution and a few thousand head of cattle this is what you get. Strangely however, I have come to enjoy it. The honking and insistent amount of noise pollution bother me more than the grungy air that makes your lungs seize in bewilderment. When the air is completely saturated with pollution every sunset has a fiery crimson glow to it that isn't possible without man's harmful brushstrokes on creation.

India, I love it and i hate it. I want to get as far away as possible, but can not wait to come back. Strange as it may be, I think this will be a place I grow quite fond of... once I am gone. I know that sounds bad, but I think that people's appreciation for this place is best realized their second, third or even fourth time they come back. But the fact that they come back speaks loudly. The overwhelming amount of movement and activity in this place produces its own gravity. And, people come back. Understandable I guess. There is no way to shape any of our western/American schemas to prepare for any part of India. It is entirely different. Beautifully different.

Voices and Candlelight

Yesterday was a very powerful day for me. I briefly wrote about it in my last post, but to follow up: there is a really large struggle going on in Tibet right now. The unfortunate thing is many people don't have any clue as to the size and measure of what has been going on for over fifty years. This last month, the Dali Lama spoke to the citizens of Tibet asking them not to outwardly celebrate New Years, because the Chinese government would take footage of Tibetans singing and dancing and use it as propaganda for their cause. Naturally, the Chinese government reacted by mandating the attendance of forced parades and celebrations so that the rest of the world will think that everything is okay. Well, I now know that it is not okay. Thousands of Tibetans die everyday, and even more are brutally beaten.

Standing in the temple courtyard last night, listening to a couple thousand people sing on behalf of their friends, family and countrymen was a very eye opening experience. I was listening to Tibet's voice. I was listening to the only cry and entire country has been able to mutter. Unlike Darfur, Uganda, Burma and nearly every other mass killing and ruthless attack, Tibetans do not have a spot on the world stage. There are very few campaigns advocating for a "Free Tibet." Sure we walk by the Free Tibet store when walking down Pearl Street, but what is happening deserves a response. During the vigil an English speaking Tibetan stood up and asked any of the foreigners to take their message of hope, perseverance and non-violence back to their countries as best they know how. He asked anyone to use their hobbies or their gifts to help support the largest non-violence campaign ever. At one point he said, "Non-violence did not die with Martin Luther King, it did not die with Gandhi and it was not taken to prison with Nelson Mandela... Non-violence is alive and an integral part of EVERY Tibetan's struggle for freedom and autonomy!" It is true, every single Tibetan I have met these past couple of days was so tranquil, so loving and so very humble. I have had many conversations that rocked me to the core, and in leaving Mcleod Ganj I can only hope that I too become more peaceful, more loving and more humble.

I suppose this post is an attempt to share Yeshi, Tenzin, Schuy and every other Tibetan's struggle. I know that this blog does not have a large audience, but maybe the truth about what is happening, to a very beautiful culture and people, will spread.

Faces of Tibet

I have a lot going through my mind right now. I have been in a town called Mcleod Ganj for the last four days and I am loving it. Mcleod has become the home to the Tibetan Government as well as the Dali Lama. It is a very peaceful and tranquil place compared to other parts of India. Yesterday I hiked to a 8,600 foot ridge line that had spectacular views of a 16,000 foot Himalayan peak. The most profound moments however have been spent with a crew of Tibetan Monks who run the hostel I am staying at. Yeshi, Tenzin and I have spent the last three nights eating traditional Tibetan dinners together by candlelight. We have traded personal stories, explored the differences between Eastern and Western philosophies and shared our biggest struggles. It has been a treasure staying here with them. Each of them have shared their personal journeys through the Himalayans to seek refuge in India more than ten years ago. Stories of hope and of suffering have been shared.

At one point I asked Yeshi: "If you could go anywhere in the world where would you go?"

After much thought and consideration he responded with hopeful excitement, "Tibet!"

I proceeded to ask him, "If you could go anywhere other than Tibet where would you go?"

He closed his eyes and with a gentle softness responded with, "Heaven."


Today I took part in a very emotional "Free Tibet" rally. Tears were pouring and chants were being shouted. The Tibetans, both young and old, walked for nearly 12 kilometers down a 4,000 ft mountain to the town of Dharamsala to share their message. It was a very moving demonstration. If I can find a decent Internet connection I will share some photos... otherwise it would take hours to upload. I am about to go to meet with my Monk friends one more time for dinner. Tomorrow I take a bus out of Mcleod Ganj to Pathankot where I board a train to Varanasi. As soon as I am able I will post again. Until then, Peace and Love.