In the meantime...

So, its been quite some time since I posted to this weblog. Life has been very full since I started school a month ago. While I only sit in class for 3.5 hours at most a day, soaking myself in the Tibetan language is a full time endeavor. I have relaxed significantly recently and am beginning to settle into the long haul that will be required to really learn this language. Habitually I would give myself grief for not perfectly understanding something (here, a language) that I've only really been studying formally for a month, so thankfully this tendency is beginning to relax itself as I gain awareness of it and see it for what it is.

Also, over the last few days I have been reflecting on what I feel is my most significant internal accomplishment of this life - that I have finally gained significant altitude on the most troubling inner voice in my psychology: The Critic. For those of you who are intimate with my psychology, you know that there is a significant habit pattern of crippling and indiscriminate self-judgement which has been a roadblock to my personal and spiritual development for much of my life. Beginning two years ago when I met Lama Drimed, and really taking off this year after working with Louis Carrosio, I finally am able to see the arising of this voice which bears terrible and false messages like "You're not doing this right!" or "You'll never master this!" or "No, you aren't feeling _____ strongly enough! So it doesn't count as feeling!" Following a month-long solitary meditation retreat in southern Oregon this summer and endless weeks of suffering at the heavy hand of the Critic, I finally got enough perspective on his ways and means that I am able to see him arising, and to tell him to take a hike. For this skill, I can definitely thank Ranier Maria Rilke, whose Letters to a Young Poet I read in retreat. I quote a passage which perfectly captures my new relationship to the Critic:

And your doubt can become a good quality if you train it. It must become knowing, it must become criticism. Ask it, whenever it wants to spoil something for you, why something is ugly, demand proofs from it, test it, and you will find it perhaps bewildered and embarrassed, perhaps also protesting. But don't give in, insist on arguments, and act in this way, attentive and persistent, every single time, and the day will come when instead of being a destroyer, it will become one of your best workers - perhaps the most intelligent of all the ones that are building your life.

- Letter 9; November 4, 1904

This weekend I'm hoping to see Marcus, a friend from my Bodh Gaya days who has spent the last few weeks driving a three wheeled auto-rickshaw from Goa to somewhere in Nepal (over 2000 km - an insane distance in a contraption not designed for long-distance travel nor known for reliability). We are also having a day off of school as the Hindus celebrate Desain by (so far) blasting trance music in the emptied school yards and (soon apparently) sacrificing goats en mass and accumulating negative karma as quickly as possible.

Its really disconcerting every time I peek my head into the news-sphere and am confronted with the unfortunate reality of political discourse in America. Given that my opinion matters far less than it even minimally does normally, I will refrain from pronouncing on the subject, but instead offer my prayers that my country will get its collective shit together, start speaking in meaningfully complete sentences that convey useful information, and get in the habit of making difficult decisions about more than whether to get up and go to the refrigerator.

I hope that is extravagant enough for you!

Empty Echoes

Sitting in my bedroom, the acoustic space is filled with empty reverberations. Usually, from upstairs, the drum n' bell sounds of an endless puja reorient the body/speech/mind to practice. Starting early in the morning and continuing well after dark, the whine of an electric skill saw and hammer strikes remind me to work hard, to study. Often popular Nepali music can be heard, mixing with the sound of prayer, mantra, and reading aloud that reverberates from my vocal chords. Today though, interspersed with excited Nepali conversation, is something new and strange. The sound of bagpipes. Yes, bagpipes. The nasal notes floating over a steady bass background note. These bagpipes though, speak the tonal structure of the music of the subcontinent, not Scotland. Every day, an unexpected experience arises in Nepal.

A handful of regular beggars strategically situate themselves at the end of our alley to catch the Injee's (westerners) who come out of the few clustered apartment buildings where I live, as well as those walking down Seto Gompa Marg (White Monastery Road), which I cross daily on my way to class. A young boy, his legs hopelessly disfigured and an old man with leprosy, his fingers shrunken to barely function stubs, accept my measly five rupee note with great dignity and silent solemnity and drop it into their tiffin. There are others who seem more able bodied and haven't yet found their way into my heart. The orange clad (holy?) men wandering through Boudha are more insistent, following for a few steps, and in a low nasally tone repeating “Namaste” and “Hello,” as I continue down the road. Until I figure out their social role within Nepali Hindu society and why they are out begging, I don't feel comfortable giving to them either.

We finally started classes yesterday. I feel quite bad for the administrators here at Rangjung Yeshe, who I've really given hell while trying to figure out where I belong. My final lineup, presuming that I pass the language placement test this week will be:

• First year Colloquial Tibetan
• Second year Classical (written) Tibetan
• Second year philosophy class, on Mipham Rinpoche's “Gateway to Knowledge” a commentary on the Abhidharma.

I am so very happy to have begun my studies. The colloquial class will likely be slow for a while, though the instructor Catherine is widely reputed to be truly excellent, and my conversation with my conversation partner Penpa (meaning that he was born on Saturday) went really well. When I have somebody to speak with who is good at prompting me with questions and then repeating them slowly and clearly (difficult for many Tibetans), I find that I am able to express quite a lot despite the fact that I haven't really studied or spoken colloquial Tibetan in five years. My challenge now is to settle in for the long haul to fluency, and remember that this is going to be a multi-year process and that I need to give it time, and simply do my best with the work and challenges that I am given right now.

A small victory recently has been the discovery of greater space around some seriously negative self-voices that have dogged my being for a long time. On my meditation retreat earlier this summer back in my sweet Oregon, they did their best to sabotage confidence in the practice, the lama, and my capacity or worthiness to awaken. In the last few weeks though, I have been pleased to be able to witness these negative voices, “Oh, you'll never actually learn this language,” and the classic, “Oh, you're doing this wrong,” and seeing them clearly, allow them to dissipate in the open cognizance of my mind. In the meantime I'm working on loving myself without giving way to laziness and indolence, the habitual comfort food of this self-structure. Also, studying quite a lot, although not feeling very effective while doing so. My capacity for keeping new words and linguistic structures in mind is quite limited at present, though I'm hopeful this will grow with practice. If you have any suggestions for learning a new language, please send them along, they would be much appreciated.

Finally, the groove has been settled into, and the long journey has begun. Always with love.

In conclusion, some words from Goethe which definitely capture my feeling in setting out the long journey to learn to translate Tibetan:

Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation) there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way.

Whatever you can do,

or dream you can, begin it.

Boldness has genius,

power and magic in it.