(excerpted from Chapter 7: Trekking with God: The Grateful Unrich: Revolution in 50 Countries)
As a butterfly lost in a flower. As a bird settled in a
tree. As a child fondling mother’s breast. For 67 years of this world I
have played with God - Sasaki Roshi
In search of a hotel, I wander down a side street and notice a sign
that says “Tibetan Guest House”. I walk up a narrow staircase and a
pudgy 14-year-old girl comes to the door. Her pleasant demeanor captures
my imagination. She and her six brothers and sisters are huddled around
a television watching Bill Cosby. I take a room.
The girl brings me a huge bowl of vegetables and noodles with
chopsticks, followed by the best coffee I’ve had in India. Her little
brother climbs up on a chair, grabs of pack of Four Square cigarettes
from atop the refrigerator and offers me one. Their mother brings me a
soda. Their father walks in with fluorescent bulbs for the whole house,
as if my arrival has brought them spirited rejuvenation. The kids
surround him and wait for their turn at a hug. Some are content with a
pat on the head. These are people who know intimately the secrets to
happiness. I need to stay awhile.
I wonder if praise is not one of our biggest mistakes. When an Ituri
Pygmy hunter comes home from having killed a springbuck, he gets no
praise from his fellow tribesmen and is the last to receive his portion
of meat. Out of this silence the hunter learns humility. He learns that
his fate and that of his tribe are one. Praise for his efforts would
only create a schism of the whole and fill the hunter with arrogance. In
America, when one praises a friend exceedingly, that friend often
begins to mistreat his or her admirer. To praise someone is to put them
on a pedestal – separate from the masses of un-praised others. It is a
product of dualistic thinking athe root of scores of flawed Western
philosophical underpinnings.
This conundrum may explain why I always feel that I need to leave
America where I treat everyone as if they are intrinsically good.
Westerners, trained in dualistic thinking, take this as weakness on my
part. They see my kindness as a green light to take, to gain some
emotional advantage. I do not find such a dilemma in India or for that
matter any other Third World nations I have visited. Here kindness is
greeted by reciprocation.
I guess Reagan and his supply-siders are right in one sense about
their trickle-down theories. An evil government imparts its paranoid set
of values to its citizenry, whose collective denial of a bloody
colonial history only reinforces the “taker” mindset. To stop and
question the rules of this rigged game would be to risk losing one’s
television or VCR or, God forbid, one’s cherished automobile. Westerners
live in a state of guilt, shame and fear – knowing in their guts, but
never acknowledging, the trail of tears they have left in their wake.
Their penance is their work, their half-hearted daily grind, their
boring monotonous meaningless assignment from the cruel Great White
teacher. Their weekends are spent indulging in a swirl of contradictions
that, by gosh, they deserve after spending all week doing penance. They
break out their speedboats, gorge at fine restaurants, guzzle copious
amounts of alcohol and throw their hard-earned money back into the
whirling cogs of the system. They do not deserve freedom. They must
repent. They are the system.
No one’s heart is sad at birth. No one is filled with gloom when
their tiny eyes first awaken to the world outside their mother’s womb.
No amount of phony social Darwinist propaganda can make it so. Charles
Darwin, whose “survival of the fittest” terminology is often invoked by
wealthy fat Republicans as justification for their callous journey
through this life, actually argued that the most important key to human
and animal survival was “cooperation within species”. The entire debate
over whether man is naturally good or evil is itself a dualistic
windstorm that could only take place within the simplistic minds of the
colonial West.
Surely man has the ability to do both good and evil. He must choose
which path to embark upon – one of fear and greed, or one of love and
compassion. Yet his circumstances greatly influence the nature of his
soul. His environment plays a much greater role than his DNA. Most pit
bulls are socialized to be family protectors or worse – stone cold
killers. But some pit bulls are not instructed so, and are as gentle as
lambs. A grizzly bear in Kodiak, Alaska – well-fed on salmon and unused
to human interaction – is much less likely to maul a person than one in
Yellowstone National Park, where his habitat is a tiny island of
government protection and where ignorant humans are constantly pestering
him for photographs.
While the Aryans have a lock on colonization, there were rapists
among the Zulu and murderers among the Lakota. These bad apples likely
were impacted by negative events in their childhood and the like. But
Aryan history books exaggerate these anomalies in an attempt to justify
colonial endeavors. Tribal peoples treated their offenders much more
compassionately. Wrongdoers in tribal cultures were shunned and sent
away for a period of time. Wrongdoers in colonial cultures are executed,
upsetting the cosmic balance and reinforcing the dualistic thinking
that alienates industrialized man from both earth and other cultures. We
can kill criminals because we believe in the dualism that they are the
bad people and we the good. The fact that tribal cultures did not kill
their criminals speaks volumes to their humility, to their lack of
dualism-driven fear and to their earth-inspired wisdom. By all accounts
the shunning of offenders worked. Recidivism among Lakota offenders was
virtually non-existent. The person knew he did wrong, but he also
discovered that his life was too valuable to be taken. Thus, the value
of all life was reinforced in both his mind and in the collective mind
of the culture.
Modern-day prisoners in South Africa, Israel, the US or China – all
subject to death at the whim of their governments – hold no such respect
for human life. Nor do the people who live in those countries. The
nature of human existence holds no relevance in arguments for or against
the death penalty. Nor does it matter in any discussion of social
policy. Our decision is one of which path we shall take from right here
and now. Will we choose a path of darkness and nihilism, or will we
choose one that restores balance and harmony to earth and its
inhabitants? When we feel good about who we are we do good things.
Happiness and justice are two results of harmony – one and the same
thing.
McLeod Ganje sits above Dharamsala, which is perched at 6,400’ above
sea level. McLeod is a refuge for Tibetans who fled their homes
following the 1949 Chinese Revolution. Their spiritual leader the Dalai
Lama led them to this new mountain home, also a refuge for travelers to
India who grow weary of the hot crowded hassle-ridden lowlands. Here
there is much compassion and deafening silence, echoing cheerfully off
snow-capped peaks.
Today the 14th Dalai Lama speaks at a three-day celebration of
Tibetan culture. His presence is gentle power to an open heart. His
message is compassion, which is the central tenet of Tibetan Buddhism.
This ideal emerged from the philosophies of Ghautama Buddha, who
centuries earlier in northern India, recognized that of all the values
revered in his native Hinduism, compassion was the only one that really
mattered. The Dalai Lama does not blame the invasion by Chairman Mao’s
Red Army for his people’s tribulations. He attributes the act to the
karma of the Tibetan people themselves. He discourages divisive language
of any kind since it creates a reality where dualistic thought becomes
the paradigm. Without duality there can be no enemies. He encourages
compassionate living as the path to good karma and nirvana. To en-courage is to be courageous. To dis-courage is cowardice.
This tiny village is living peace – heaven on earth. I have not seen a
happier, more content or more compassionate people. I feel it in the
simple gourmet food, in the sparse spotless hotel rooms that you pay for
when you leave, in the suddenly smiling Westerners taken aback by the
joy of the place, and in the Himalayan foothills that surround the
village and remind me of my smallness – peaks now shrouded in gray-white
billowy clouds through which even more remote villages come into view.
This evening the sound of Tibetan gongs mingles with the chattering of
rhesus monkeys and macaques playing in the surrounding forest. The few
cars here carry Indian tourists back down the mountain, leaving in their
wake a silence so profound that I feel every dry swallow and breath of
air. The sun lays itself to rest over the Changra Valley and the gentle
hand of the Buddha blankets McLeod Ganje in starry darkness.
After my usual breakfast of lemon curd cake and mint tea at the Toepa
Restaurant, I begin my ascent towards the Tibetan children’s village,
where a festival is in its second day. I pass dancing monks in
outrageous costumes and a monastery where young monks debate with the
fire of Fidel Castro. I can’t stop walking. Soon I arrive at Dal Lake. I
turn left on a road heading up into the Daula Dar range. I pass through
the village of Niddi, where Gadi nomadic herder girls tend their sheep
and goats. At the next village of Talanu the pavement ends. I take a
narrow winding dirt path around the side of a majestic mountain and
suddenly, I am struck with awe.
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