Shhhhh

I admit, this is not so much a posting about our adventures. It's more a "meta-posting" about what to expect from this blog for the next ten days: exactly nothing.

From 15 April to 26 April I will be secluded in the forest above McLeod Ganj in the little village of Dharamkot, meditating. On what? I have not a clue. I will be taking a ten-day silent meditation course, also known as Vipassana meditation. Sounds very strange at first, but I know several people who have completed this course (Monica included) and who have recommended it highly.

I am a little afraid of losing my mind, but I think that is part of the point of the practice. Here goes nothing (pun intended).

Dharamsala

(Note: this post written by Therese)

We are now staying in the beautiful, rugged mountain town of McLeod Ganj, elevation 5800 feet. This is the home of His Holiness, the fourteenth Dalai Lama, and of numerous Tibetan refugees and northern Indian people. Yesterday we went to a meeting of the Dharamsala Lion's Club to inaugurate the 20th annual plastic and reconstructive surgery camp. We went because we wanted to see the Dalai Lama. Even though this was a civic event, his beauty, spirituality, and compassion was shining through. It is hard to imagine that the Chinese (or anyone) could wish him any ill. But, as much as I don't want to admit it, there is a shadow side in this world.

I have seen three photos together here in this town: Mahatma Gandhi, the Dalai Lama, and Mother Teresa. They are all very much revered in these parts.

We are all well and having wonderful adventures. Today I went to the temple at the monastery where the Dalai Lama lives and teaches. (Cheryl and Jim: we have not yet met his younger brother Tenzin Chokal) The temple here is very beautiful and quite humble. It was exciting to watch the monks in spiritual discourse. Amazing.

The Buddhist teachings are challenging me. I spent the afternoon searching in my heart and writing in my journal. I do wonder if I could stay here forever. Perhaps ...

Love, Therese

PS - we inadvertently forgot all addresses at home, so this is your postcard. Apologies.
PPS - prayers and healing energies to Helen K., Elfi, Claire N., Ursula, Helen R., Tucker, and Bernhadine.
PPPS - Love to all of you from all of us here in Dharamsala. See you later in this life.

Taj Mahal Mania

To tell you the truth, Monica and I had decided that we would not visit the Taj Mahal. This outstanding mausoleum is perhaps the quintessential tourist attraction. It is India's most popular destination (and deservedly so) which made both Monica and myself want to boycott the whole thing. Thankfully we relented.

While I won't even try to describe how fantastic this place is, I will give it my complete endorsement--with one proviso. Go first thing in the morning. Get there by sunrise if possible. This is for two very good reasons. Firstly, the mobs of tourists who show up at eight or nine must be avoided. Secondly, the Taj is made of white marble. To gaze upon it bathed in early morning sunshine is divine; to be blinded by the glare of mid-day sun bouncing off its every surface would be downright painful.

Cave Temples of Dambulla

Sri Lanka has loads of history. Most of it is Buddhist history, which is very interesting to us. We took a trip to the ancient cave temples outside of Dambulla in Sri Lanka's "cultural triangle." The picture above is of the courtyard outside the temples. The white walls provide the "fourth wall" of the caves, where the rock provides the floor and ceiling and the other three walls.

These spectacular Buddhist temples date to the 1st century BCE when the caves were cleaned and filled with a tremendous number of Buddha statues. The cave's inside surfaces were frescoed at that time, and they were repainted some 800 years ago. Actually, one of the five temples was painted in the 1950s---but it was painted with artificial pigments. It actually looks more shabby and weathered than the 800-year-old paint jobs done with natural pigments.


These cave temples were so amazing that my heart stopped and my breath was taken from me. We tried to take some pictures inside the caves; but alas, caves are dark and the flash on our camera is nearly useless. I think you will just have to visit the caves yourself.

Ceylon Tea

Tea is picked by hand. This worker is collecting the leaves from the top of a hearty tea plant, stashing then in the bag on her back. When her bag is full, she will take it up to the road where a man is waiting with a scale. He weighs the bag and writes something down in a book. All the pickers I saw were women, and I believe that they were all Tamil. This ethnic minority was imported by the British (from nearby India) to work on the tea plantations.

Tea is a cornerstone of the Sri Lankan economy. But this was not always so: tea came as an emergency substitute for coffee after the near-total destruction of the island's coffee plantations due to disease (source: Lonely Planet). But since this was in the 19th century, nobody really remembers this fact. People think of Ceylon and they think of the eponymous tea.

Devotion at the Sri Menakshi Temple

Here's a picture I meant to post a while back. This is a group of people in worship at the Sri Menakshi temple in the southern city of Madurai. The temple itself was enormous. There were many separate shrines and focal points of devotion. I must admit to being somewhat confused about this aspect of Hindu temples; but perhaps I'm simply accustomed to the altar-centric focus of Christian houses of worship.

Remnants of the Tsunami

Coastal Sri Lanka was devastated by the Boxing Day Tsunami of 2004. From what we saw, buildings had been destroyed and many new buildings were being erected. The rebuilding has progressed to the point that a casual visitor might not notice (in the areas we visited) the destruction. One would have to remark, however, the newness of most of the standing structures. Fresh paint everywhere.

Everyone you meet has a story about that day. When we arrived in Unawatuna beach town, at dinner, the restaurant owner told us that he'd just finished rebuilding a copy of his old restaurant. This time around he put a guest house on top. The original was swept away, he said, along with his cook and his wife.

Instantly I felt horrible for asking. I resolved not to ask any other people about their experiences or their losses. I'll just look around, I thought.

In Unawatuna, the rebuilding has gone well enough that we were not constantly reminded of the losses. I felt lulled into forgetting the horror until, while snorkeling 30 yards offshore, I came across a vision I'll never forget: half of a cement house laying askew on the ocean floor. At first it struck me as funny, as though someone had gotten fed up with the work of their contractor and decided to begin their house again, tossing the half-finished one into the water for the fishes. And then it hit me in the stomach: this fragment of civilization was swept out to sea by the destructive force of the tsunami.

I usually like to include photographs with my posts. Here I could not bring myself to take photographs, for it seemed far too intrusive.

Pilgrimage up Adam's Peak

And so, I decided to make a determined effort to make the climb with Sean and Monica. In the wee hours of the morning, several thousand feet up in a long queue of faithful in search of Nirvana. The trip should have been effortless, as I was pure of heart. And what did I discover? I learned that my muscles and bones and joints are old and that weariness overcomes my body before my mind or soul. And I learned a bit of humility, as I found myself being half carried up the mountain. My hips hurt and my calves quivered and my frail lungs were huffing and puffing. But was I having a good time? Actually, at some levels I was. It was indeed wonderful to be with my son and his fine friend. And, having no need to appear young and vigorous anymore, I was grateful for their help. In the end, they went ahead to finish the climb for us all and I stayed behind to rest and contemplate. And to witness a climb by thousands which has been carried out over the millennia. And yes, my legs felt like jelly on the return journey and cramped for three subsequent days. But I would not trade the experience for anything. It was a lesson in love and humility.