Nuns of Dolma Ling

originally uploaded by discordiasdharma.

I remember my time in India fondly; it clouds my current melancholy with hues of gold and bright azure blue. The smell of spices waft lazily through the cobwebbed corridors of my memory and I smile. I think of all that these brave young women fought against to get to freedom. They walked for months over the Himalaya mountains, evading Chinese guards. Sometimes they were unsuccessful and endured beatings, rape, torture. Some made it to Nepal only to be turned in by Nepalese working for the Chinese. Yet still they pressed on; their belief in the Dalai Lama, in freedom, in their religion keeping them going.

I long to return, to refill my own flagging spirit with their overflowing ‘great mother’. They all have such a feeling of mothering. Of each other, the world, even of the people who hurt them. I am very sick, spiralling out of control. At least that’s how it feels. I would love to be able to return and cradle in the arms of the nunnery. Rest, eat, pray. Listen to the chants echo over the still morning mountains. Everyone in India is a friend.

Everyone in America is an enemy. Someone who will steal your car, rape your child, or shoot you.

Maybe that’s what’s killing my soul.

originally uploaded by discordiasdharma

Remembering India

Copyright Christina Cooper-Cummings; All Rights Reserved.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately–just quietly thinking. I am very sick at the moment, with something that has yet to be diagnosed. I think it’s probably more autoimmune stuff, nevertheless it’s very disturbing to find myself ebbing away like this again.

My mind returns often to India and the peace and calm surrounding Dolma Ling and the nuns. I long to stroll out into the fields behind and lose myself amongst the long stems of wheat and barley. I long to awaken to the silence of the towering mountains, disturbed only by the call to prayer and the rythmical chanting of devotion.

It is a feeling I will never forget. A moment I will never forget. A journey that I could never forget even if I should try. India changed me, in ways I am still not sure of. The people I met changed me, the things I saw, the sounds and smells… all of it.

I forgot about illness and stress when I was over there. But since being back I’ve undergone over $6000 worth of testing and treatment. Luckily my insurance still pays most of the tab (though not all) and I hope that this round will be the last for a while…

At least, that is my prayer.

I let writing here slip. Just as I let everything slip, eventually. It became too hard to read my journal entries and process the feelings and faces from the trip. I miss India. Somehow it feels tainted because Adam died. I don’t mean that in a bad way, but just the knowledge of his passing is reflected in every photograph, every word written. Our group was a mismatched group, abrasive and yet caring. Each locked into his or her own journey, sometimes oblivious to the things around them. No one has shared pictures. No one has written. Each encapsulated back into their own monotony. It’s strange how things happen. How even the best events can become soured with remembrance. I wanted this trip to be a new beginning, and in a way it was–yet it’s a mirror image of so many other open doors. I don’t know why Adam died. I learned many things from his death, just as I learned many things from him. I also learned from the group not to trust, not to share, and not to believe others words. I thought, in their Buddhist way, that they would be more real and more honest… but that wasn’t the case. One or two–like Adam–spoke only truth when they did speak, but others spoke constantly and veiled themselves only with deception and masks.

Jaded? Perhaps. Disappointed? Certainly.

I wonder how everyone is doing, but know there is no reason to mail any one of them. I know because the mails I sent have remained unanswered. Perhaps Adam’s death polarized the feelings that separated us all… or perhaps it reminded us all of our mortality. Either way, I still cry when I see his picture, or remember his kind words to me. Of all people. I wonder why it was him and not me–but I already know the answer. He was a great and gentle man. He was far more enlightened than I can ever hope to be in my remaining days here.

It’s the small things I remember. The children as they swarmed over him, clamouring for his attention. The garden filled with butterflies flitting around his meditating form. The kind words and gentlemanly actions. The peace. The wisdom in his being that shone through his eyes. I take these things from the trip. Not the harsh words and actions of others, not the unanswered emails, not the feeling of rejection and lies told by others. I have been silent here for too long. It’s eating away inside. My mala rests undisturbed for weeks now, because I am afraid to practice. I am afraid of the festering feelings knocking at the walls of my heart. I cannot face my Buddha with the internal conflict that tugs at me now. I can’t even face the pictures of His Holiness or the Karmapa that adorn my altar.

I remember what the Karmapa said to me–in order to forgive others, I must learn to forgive myself. It’s hard. I try but inevitably come full circle. I know some of my actions will have others feeling the same anger towards me, and I wish to eradicate that by removing the hatred I have of myself. Why can’t I be a better person? Why can’t I have people like me, genuinely, for me? I know I am confused and have one hell of a past to deal with–but does that invalidate me as a person? Sometimes I feel as though it does. As though I can’t be close to anyone because they are afraid of me.

Perhaps I’m even afraid of myself.

 

The days seem endless at the moment.

I am somewhat lost for words.

Adam shaved his head–he looks amazing. Why can’t I look that way? I don’t feel so pretty these days. Something inside is shifting. I can’t explain what. Instead I will draw or doodle or… stare aimlessly into space. I don’t seem to have words anymore. I feel almost like I’m losing as much as I’m gaining…

Well, today was the day. We saw His Holiness the Dalai Lama!!!!! I never thought it would happen in my entire life-but here I am. Sitting here. I was only three feet away from him at one point. Amazing.

Anyway, the day from the beginning; We rose early, and left Kashmir Cottage a little after 8am. The puja wasn’t set to start for a while, and HHDL wasn’t even set to show up for certain. Ju Lee and Adam had walked up around 6 via the Lingkor. I wasn’t brave enough for that. There was a steady stream of people into Namgyal when we got there. The security was quite heavy, but by now I’m sort of used to that; getting patted down and scanned everywhere. Eventually we got through into the yard and I found a seat vaguely between Ju Lee, Jana, and Adam. 

There is word going around here that the Dalai Lama is going to attend the long life puja the villagers are doing up at Namgyal tomorrow. I don’t believe it. How impossible would that be? Seeing the Karmapa AND the Dalai Lama? I couldn’t … can’t… it’s amazing. Walked around Dharamsala a little, and it just seems so… comfortable. I don’t know. I just… I like it here. Sure, I’m a little ‘different’, but luckily for me, at least a couple of people ‘get’ that here. I think most of us are changing… and visibly. Several aren’t–which surprises me. How one can come somewhere so… unbelievable and stay stoically the same. Like a rock.

Once again I would like to rededicate this blog to Adam Zilinskas and thank Adam’s wife and friends for allowing me to share moments of his trip with you.

Later that night some of the group attended chöd prayers down at Shugseb. I didn’t go. I was too tired… and too… thoughtful. I suppose I just wanted some space. I’d had a pleasant talk with Maggie and also Adam in the afternoon. It’s so refreshing to have made new connections. Adam is so wise, in such a quiet way. Sometimes we just sit, on the wall, watching the spider monkeys or the golden eagles, in silence. Each contemplating our own thoughts. It’s… nice.

It didn’t take the group long to get back, and Adam had taken some footage on his little camera. It was really interesting to see–and so thoughtful of him to take a little clip so that we all could see it.

Here is the clip:

Day eight part one–Kashmir Cottage, Old Shugseb

We arrived at Kashmir cottage early today and had a little while to settle into our rooms. It is different here, but still peaceful. As the former residence of Dekyi Tsering, the mother of the Dalai Lama, it certainly has a distinctive air. Rinchen Khando Choegyal, Director of the Tibetan Nuns Project, also spends a lot of time here. I’m rooming with Debi again–after her last roommate didn’t work out. I don’t mind–I like her a lot and we seem to get on well. I think a change will be good for all of us. Many emotions surfaced at Dolma Ling, and perhaps a different space will help us to breathe again.

After a wonderful lunch we headed over to the old Shugseb site. It was an amazing walk, with Pündrun-la our guide. A small trail led to the buildings which immediately just broke my heart. A cluster of small delapitated houses huddled together as if afraid they might fall apart at any moment. The walls showed outward signs of the ravages of the monsoon. It… was depressing. Yet, the nuns, once again, were full of life and welcoming. To think those at Dolma Ling also used to live like this…

Day Seven–Goodbye, part 2

After a look at the new Shugseb and a brief tour of McLeod Ganj (the “upper” part of Dharamsala) we returned to Dolma Ling to pack our things and head off to Kashmir Cottage. Ju Lee and I, as we’d packed the night before, took some time to wander around the nunnery and talk with the senior class some more, before saying our goodbyes. Once I get home and can write this up in my blog I’m sure there’ll be a myriad of pictures to include. At least I hope so. I’m going to miss it here so much. I’m also going to miss the nuns, my friends, my… I don’t know. I feel strangely close to them. I think it’s their openness and compassion.. and love. Love for everyone, everything, no matter what. Truly unconditional. They’ve taught me a lot; taught all of us a lot.