I hear no heartbeats
Not even my own
No soothing beat
To ease me to sleep
I hear nothing but the
Rumble and jumble of my own mind
Nothing quiet or calming
To create sweet dreams
I’ve tried everything to hear it
The one solidifying fact
That I am a living breathing
Hunk of sentient meat
I’ve sat in the quietest rooms
I’ve lied on silent beds
I’ve waded in the hushed waters
Only to be disappointed; nothing
I hear nothing, feel nothing
I can feel the heartbeat
To reassure myself
By pressing my fingers to my wrist
But I don’t want that
I don’t want reassurances
I need the real thing
I need to hear a heartbeat
My mind is cluttered
Filled to the brim with mindless shit
Clanging’s, banging’s
Bashes and booms
It will not be quiet
And I cannot hear my own heart
I wish to hear another’s
I seek them out
I want them to sing me a lullaby
Without ever moving their lips
I want to be lulled to sleep
And fall into peaceful dreams
April 3, 2010
get thee to a nunnery
“I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, I do not want to go." I had decided that morning that I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay with John and Diane, I wanted to travel, I did not want to be left alone. A couple days ago, it seemed like such a great idea. I can go to a nunnery for a week, meditate, learn about Buddhism, and spend some time with the nuns. No. It didn't sound like a fun idea anymore. I would have very few people to talk to, only two or three people spoke English in the entire nunnery. I told Diane that I did not want to go. She told me that I could talk to her anytime I didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of going. "You have to go, she told me, it is too late to back out now." They were leaving for Punahka and they did not have extra space in the car. My vision started the blur and I looked at my hands in my lap. They couldn’t see that I was on the verge of tears. I am in Bhutan, I am supposed to be having a great time, I am supposed to be happy and appreciative. But I didn’t want to be happy, I didn’t want to go to the nunnery. But I will go. I started to smile and I realized that I could have a great time, or a horrible time, it was all up to me. So I put a smile on my face, I looked into Diane’s eyes and I told her that I was ready. The llama from Wales was staring at me intently. Was he judging me? Was he looking at me and laughing inside about this silly American girl who couldn’t just suck it up and go to a nunnery for a week? I started into his eyes and silently told him that I was going to do this, I had the strength to endure.
I shifted uncomfortably and repositioned my right foot. I straitened my back and I few cracks erupted from the middle of my spine. I would have to get use to the discomfort of having nothing to lean against. I was sitting in front of the Rinpoche of the nunnery that I was staying at. Diane was next to me, and across from me was John and Sange, our driver. A Rinpoche is a reincarnate and a very important person in the Buddhist culture. He was 19-year-old guy, Bhutanese, a Rinpoche, a Buddhist, and all I could see was a teenager. After Diane and John left I went for a walk with him. We talked about Buddhism, America, American movies and music. I found out that he is a fan of ACDC and Eminem, he has facebook, and he is an incredible pool player. Who would have thought? Now, we’ve listened and discussed American music, we’ve become facebook friends, and we’ve paired up together for a game of pool. And I don’t even know if we won or not. With their game of pool, there are a bunch of red balls, and then some colored balls, and no numbers. You win by points, and where the points come from is still a mystery.
Ziluhka nunnery, Stupa in the building on the left and building with candles for offerings on the right
After the walk we went back into his room and watched TV for a while. I didn’t think I’d see any TV’s at the nunnery, let alone be able to watch one. An hour later I was sitting by myself in a room near the kitchen, waiting. This would soon become a routine. I would be in this room alone, sitting cross-legged on the carpet with a small, rectangular table in front of me, and wait for my food. Then I would eat in solitude and leave. Halfway through every meal, a nun would ask me, “second shares?” At first I didn’t want more food so I would say no. Then, looking hurt and offended, she would ask, “you don’t like?” Shocked that I had offended her, I accepted ‘second shares’ every time since then. I think I gained 10 pounds while at the nunnery.
Nawang Pal, the nun that I had talked to in the states, showed me to my room. It was probably about 7 feet by 8 feet by 7 feet, and would be my sanctuary while at the nunnery. I was given a key to a pad lock that would keep my door locked during the day. I was confused as to why I would lock my door at a nunnery, assuming that it was probably a very safe place. I doubted that a nun would steal my belongings, but I locked by door none the less.
I went to my room after dinner. I could barely eat the food in fear of receiving third degree burns throughout my entire mouth. I sat on my mattress, with no blankets yet, and waited. Nawang said that she had to do puja at a house nearby and would be back soon. She returned an hour or two later and gave me some blankets. Now, I’m not really one for pink; apparently nuns are. The sheet separating me from the mattress had a dark pink background. The print was a lighter pink with flowers and had the world “Love” written everywhere. Then, the thick blanket on top was a light pink with pink flowers and pink trim. I could only force a smile and thank her for the beautiful comforters. I gagged after she left the room, but could only be thankful for the incredible hospitality. During my stay, I grew to like the color a little more, damn nuns.
My room, not much is missing
That first night was memorable. I lied on my bed, which ended up being a thin mattress lying on the floor, in a fetal position and stared above. There were a few pictures of Buddha, the Rinpoche, His Holiness, and some mandalas. To my left I could hear other nuns getting ready for bed. It wasn’t hard to hear them through the thin piece of plywood separating our rooms. I was feeling alone and disconnected. But the feelings were forgotten while I drifted off to a peaceful sleep.
I opened my eyes to the darkened room. I was confused because I didn’t know why I was awake. Then I heard it again, a soft ‘gong’ resonating throughout the nunnery. It was morning prayer (puja) and it was 4 a.m. The nuns started their days at about 4:30 with a three-hour prayer. I drifted back asleep and probably awoke around 7 or so. At nine they resumed their puja and kept at it until noon. Then they finished it off with puja from about 3:30 to 7. I would come and sit down on the floor and watch them. They would chant for hours in the incredibly foreign language, bang on drums, throw rice, and blow horns; the whole shebang. I found the entire event very soothing. I would sit there for hours, breathing and listening.
No one expected me to shave my head. I was thankful that I didn’t have to. Coming to Bhutan, I half expected to shave my head. I asked Nawang about this and she started to laugh. She said that is isn’t about your hair or your clothes that makes you a Buddhist. It is about your heart and your mind.
Ziluhka nunnery, on the left above the wall is the kitchen and where I ate all meals. The building on the right is where all puja’s where held. Above the prayer room in Rinpoche's room
The days past, and I was uncomfortable. I had time to sit and be still, but I wanted to learn, or do something. Nawang took me to the market in town over the weekend. Everything imaginable was sold at the market; fruit, meat, chilies, doma, rice, wheat, shoes, bags, clothes, asparagus, everything. I talked with the Rinpoche and Nawang Pal. The third or fourth day, I met with the Rinpoche. We watched some more TV and just talked. We talked about some more movies, Thich Naht Hanh (he was currently reading a book of his), and the English language. There are some ridiculous words in the English language like colonel, knife, lieutenant, etc. After talking with the Rinpoche I went down to evening puja. While there, I created my own meditation. I started at my first shakra, the base of the spine, and worked my way to the seventh shakra. For each shakra, I would inhale and exhale once. Then after one round, I would start again but take two inhalations and two exhalations. I slowly worked my way to ten, then I would go back down to one. If I became distracted, I would inhale once for each shakra, and pick up where I left off. I rarely make it to ten, and then back down. It takes a bit of time.
One of the greatest things about being at the nunnery was not worrying about looking crazy, and their food and tea. The second morning I was served Corn Flakes with warm milk. From then on I was served only one meal after the second day. They found out that I loved their potato dish with rice, and it was incredible. They sliced up potatoes into thin slices and made some sort of curry with it. I could live off the potatoes and rice for years. Then, they usually served tea with it. They made a milk tea with sugar. They would boil the tea with the powdered milk for a few minutes, and it was amazing. I have tried to re-create it or ask for it in restaurants. The tea doesn’t even come close.
I didn’t’ feel crazy at the nunnery at all, which is rare. I could sit for hours and stare off into the distance, or sit for hours with my eyes closed, and no one took a second glance. It was alright, it was normal. I didn't feel awkward, no one interrupted me, no one started waving their hands in front of my face. It was peaceful. I could also walk around in circles muttering to myself all day. That would be a daily occurrence for almost everyone. What an incredible place! We have places like that back in the states, but they usually come with strait jackets. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not calling the Bhutanese crazy, I’m calling them sane. I think that we have to take a second look at our sanity as a society.
I shifted uncomfortably and repositioned my right foot. I straitened my back and I few cracks erupted from the middle of my spine. I would have to get use to the discomfort of having nothing to lean against. I was sitting in front of the Rinpoche of the nunnery that I was staying at. Diane was next to me, and across from me was John and Sange, our driver. A Rinpoche is a reincarnate and a very important person in the Buddhist culture. He was 19-year-old guy, Bhutanese, a Rinpoche, a Buddhist, and all I could see was a teenager. After Diane and John left I went for a walk with him. We talked about Buddhism, America, American movies and music. I found out that he is a fan of ACDC and Eminem, he has facebook, and he is an incredible pool player. Who would have thought? Now, we’ve listened and discussed American music, we’ve become facebook friends, and we’ve paired up together for a game of pool. And I don’t even know if we won or not. With their game of pool, there are a bunch of red balls, and then some colored balls, and no numbers. You win by points, and where the points come from is still a mystery.
Ziluhka nunnery, Stupa in the building on the left and building with candles for offerings on the right
After the walk we went back into his room and watched TV for a while. I didn’t think I’d see any TV’s at the nunnery, let alone be able to watch one. An hour later I was sitting by myself in a room near the kitchen, waiting. This would soon become a routine. I would be in this room alone, sitting cross-legged on the carpet with a small, rectangular table in front of me, and wait for my food. Then I would eat in solitude and leave. Halfway through every meal, a nun would ask me, “second shares?” At first I didn’t want more food so I would say no. Then, looking hurt and offended, she would ask, “you don’t like?” Shocked that I had offended her, I accepted ‘second shares’ every time since then. I think I gained 10 pounds while at the nunnery.
Nawang Pal, the nun that I had talked to in the states, showed me to my room. It was probably about 7 feet by 8 feet by 7 feet, and would be my sanctuary while at the nunnery. I was given a key to a pad lock that would keep my door locked during the day. I was confused as to why I would lock my door at a nunnery, assuming that it was probably a very safe place. I doubted that a nun would steal my belongings, but I locked by door none the less.
I went to my room after dinner. I could barely eat the food in fear of receiving third degree burns throughout my entire mouth. I sat on my mattress, with no blankets yet, and waited. Nawang said that she had to do puja at a house nearby and would be back soon. She returned an hour or two later and gave me some blankets. Now, I’m not really one for pink; apparently nuns are. The sheet separating me from the mattress had a dark pink background. The print was a lighter pink with flowers and had the world “Love” written everywhere. Then, the thick blanket on top was a light pink with pink flowers and pink trim. I could only force a smile and thank her for the beautiful comforters. I gagged after she left the room, but could only be thankful for the incredible hospitality. During my stay, I grew to like the color a little more, damn nuns.
My room, not much is missing
That first night was memorable. I lied on my bed, which ended up being a thin mattress lying on the floor, in a fetal position and stared above. There were a few pictures of Buddha, the Rinpoche, His Holiness, and some mandalas. To my left I could hear other nuns getting ready for bed. It wasn’t hard to hear them through the thin piece of plywood separating our rooms. I was feeling alone and disconnected. But the feelings were forgotten while I drifted off to a peaceful sleep.
I opened my eyes to the darkened room. I was confused because I didn’t know why I was awake. Then I heard it again, a soft ‘gong’ resonating throughout the nunnery. It was morning prayer (puja) and it was 4 a.m. The nuns started their days at about 4:30 with a three-hour prayer. I drifted back asleep and probably awoke around 7 or so. At nine they resumed their puja and kept at it until noon. Then they finished it off with puja from about 3:30 to 7. I would come and sit down on the floor and watch them. They would chant for hours in the incredibly foreign language, bang on drums, throw rice, and blow horns; the whole shebang. I found the entire event very soothing. I would sit there for hours, breathing and listening.
No one expected me to shave my head. I was thankful that I didn’t have to. Coming to Bhutan, I half expected to shave my head. I asked Nawang about this and she started to laugh. She said that is isn’t about your hair or your clothes that makes you a Buddhist. It is about your heart and your mind.
Ziluhka nunnery, on the left above the wall is the kitchen and where I ate all meals. The building on the right is where all puja’s where held. Above the prayer room in Rinpoche's room
The days past, and I was uncomfortable. I had time to sit and be still, but I wanted to learn, or do something. Nawang took me to the market in town over the weekend. Everything imaginable was sold at the market; fruit, meat, chilies, doma, rice, wheat, shoes, bags, clothes, asparagus, everything. I talked with the Rinpoche and Nawang Pal. The third or fourth day, I met with the Rinpoche. We watched some more TV and just talked. We talked about some more movies, Thich Naht Hanh (he was currently reading a book of his), and the English language. There are some ridiculous words in the English language like colonel, knife, lieutenant, etc. After talking with the Rinpoche I went down to evening puja. While there, I created my own meditation. I started at my first shakra, the base of the spine, and worked my way to the seventh shakra. For each shakra, I would inhale and exhale once. Then after one round, I would start again but take two inhalations and two exhalations. I slowly worked my way to ten, then I would go back down to one. If I became distracted, I would inhale once for each shakra, and pick up where I left off. I rarely make it to ten, and then back down. It takes a bit of time.
One of the greatest things about being at the nunnery was not worrying about looking crazy, and their food and tea. The second morning I was served Corn Flakes with warm milk. From then on I was served only one meal after the second day. They found out that I loved their potato dish with rice, and it was incredible. They sliced up potatoes into thin slices and made some sort of curry with it. I could live off the potatoes and rice for years. Then, they usually served tea with it. They made a milk tea with sugar. They would boil the tea with the powdered milk for a few minutes, and it was amazing. I have tried to re-create it or ask for it in restaurants. The tea doesn’t even come close.
I didn’t’ feel crazy at the nunnery at all, which is rare. I could sit for hours and stare off into the distance, or sit for hours with my eyes closed, and no one took a second glance. It was alright, it was normal. I didn't feel awkward, no one interrupted me, no one started waving their hands in front of my face. It was peaceful. I could also walk around in circles muttering to myself all day. That would be a daily occurrence for almost everyone. What an incredible place! We have places like that back in the states, but they usually come with strait jackets. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not calling the Bhutanese crazy, I’m calling them sane. I think that we have to take a second look at our sanity as a society.
April 2, 2010
night
In the darkest nights,
Skeletons play foolish games
They laugh and tumble like children
Let the skeletons dance.
The sounds of bone hitting bone
Echo in the bottomless caverns
The click clacking click clacking
Softly plays against my ears
I am not afraid of the dark
Or scared of what goes
Bump in the night
I am the creator of the light
The darkness, whether large or small
Is a shadow, your shadow, my shadow
I am the creator of the night
As are you,
will you dance with me
Under the stars?
The dark will not frighten me away
I will howl at the moon
And wish upon a star
I am the creator of the night
The light will not
Play tricks on my eyes
Or transform me
Into a frightened child
I am the creator of the night
I am here to tell you, to help you
You too can create with me
Let us create a symphony
Or let us create a life
A life that we can live together
A life where we can all belong
But this life must be without light
I am the creator of the night
Skeletons play foolish games
They laugh and tumble like children
Let the skeletons dance.
The sounds of bone hitting bone
Echo in the bottomless caverns
The click clacking click clacking
Softly plays against my ears
I am not afraid of the dark
Or scared of what goes
Bump in the night
I am the creator of the light
The darkness, whether large or small
Is a shadow, your shadow, my shadow
I am the creator of the night
As are you,
will you dance with me
Under the stars?
The dark will not frighten me away
I will howl at the moon
And wish upon a star
I am the creator of the night
The light will not
Play tricks on my eyes
Or transform me
Into a frightened child
I am the creator of the night
I am here to tell you, to help you
You too can create with me
Let us create a symphony
Or let us create a life
A life that we can live together
A life where we can all belong
But this life must be without light
I am the creator of the night
March 30, 2010
March 29, 2010
tree
I see my soul as a tree
Standing tall and strong
Protecting me from the harsh
Elements fighting to come in
My tree will protect me,
Its leaves will keep out the rain
And harsh sunrays,
But will let the moonlight seep through
I gladly welcome the moonlight
Into my new found home
Its silver rays heal my skin
And give life to my soul
My tree equally welcomes in
The beautiful moonlight
For my tree feeds off it
Not the harsh, unforgiving sun
The moon can heal, and bring life
To the darkest corners of the universe
When the sun leaves, abandons hope
The moon is there with an extended hand
The branches will be my shelter
And block the strong wind
The trunk’s heat will keep me warm
It will be the body I can huddle
Up to in the dead of night
I will water this tree with
My tears, I will feed it with
My loneliness. And in turn,
It will grow strong
Stronger than I could ever be
For this tree can soak up my tears,
My pain, my loneliness, my fears
And it will protect me.
It will love me, it will hug me
And sing to me when
I feel like I can’t go on
It will sing me a lullaby,
The one that I have never heard
And soon, its roots will rise
From the earth, and wind its
Way up my legs
The tree will bend over,
And the branches will
Grab hold of my arms
And it will wrap around my chest
It will enclose me, hug me,
Hold me, cradle me
It will protect me and keep me safe
It will guard me against
My deepest fears
It will wake me and hold me
During my worst night mares
And it will be there
When everyone else has left
My tree is my protector,
My guardian angel, my mother
My father, my brother,
My sister, my friend,
My lover, my teacher,
My enemy
My tree is my soul
Forever shall I love it
And forever shall it love me
Standing tall and strong
Protecting me from the harsh
Elements fighting to come in
My tree will protect me,
Its leaves will keep out the rain
And harsh sunrays,
But will let the moonlight seep through
I gladly welcome the moonlight
Into my new found home
Its silver rays heal my skin
And give life to my soul
My tree equally welcomes in
The beautiful moonlight
For my tree feeds off it
Not the harsh, unforgiving sun
The moon can heal, and bring life
To the darkest corners of the universe
When the sun leaves, abandons hope
The moon is there with an extended hand
The branches will be my shelter
And block the strong wind
The trunk’s heat will keep me warm
It will be the body I can huddle
Up to in the dead of night
I will water this tree with
My tears, I will feed it with
My loneliness. And in turn,
It will grow strong
Stronger than I could ever be
For this tree can soak up my tears,
My pain, my loneliness, my fears
And it will protect me.
It will love me, it will hug me
And sing to me when
I feel like I can’t go on
It will sing me a lullaby,
The one that I have never heard
And soon, its roots will rise
From the earth, and wind its
Way up my legs
The tree will bend over,
And the branches will
Grab hold of my arms
And it will wrap around my chest
It will enclose me, hug me,
Hold me, cradle me
It will protect me and keep me safe
It will guard me against
My deepest fears
It will wake me and hold me
During my worst night mares
And it will be there
When everyone else has left
My tree is my protector,
My guardian angel, my mother
My father, my brother,
My sister, my friend,
My lover, my teacher,
My enemy
My tree is my soul
Forever shall I love it
And forever shall it love me
March 28, 2010
My tree
While being here, I thought I was experiencing a deep feeling of homesickness, but I was wrong. I was not longing to be back home, for I have none. I have no place that I can give such a label. I don't know if I was longing for anything. It was loneliness. A deep kind of loneliness, a seed that was planted many years ago. And I have felt this loneliness take root and burst out of the ground over a year ago. But now, with no distractions, with no lies and deceptions, this loneliness is flourishing. Branching out, growing, thriving, showing its true colors, showing whether it bears fruit or thorns.
This loneliness is more real than anything I've experienced. More tangible than the bed I lie in. Its voice is clearer than any teacher talking before me. Its company is more consistent than any friends'. And it's love, more real than any parents.
But, I am planning on change. A new variable to take place. For this tree, growing inside me, I do not see it as a hollow tree, deadened to life. It is not chared, black, hollow, or lifeless. It is vibrant, or it will be in the future. This tree is my home. Its branches will protect me from the winds, its leaves will protect me from the rain. And its trunk will keep me warm at night when I feel myself growing cold. This tree has its own heart beat, its own life. We feed off each other, provide for each other, give and take from each other, love each other. Perhaps it is easier to see this tree as my soul, if we have such things. All things must be created from something, and I have the power over the soil in which my tree feeds from. For now, it is out of my control and the tree will continue to grow from this loneliness.
This loneliness is more real than anything I've experienced. More tangible than the bed I lie in. Its voice is clearer than any teacher talking before me. Its company is more consistent than any friends'. And it's love, more real than any parents.
But, I am planning on change. A new variable to take place. For this tree, growing inside me, I do not see it as a hollow tree, deadened to life. It is not chared, black, hollow, or lifeless. It is vibrant, or it will be in the future. This tree is my home. Its branches will protect me from the winds, its leaves will protect me from the rain. And its trunk will keep me warm at night when I feel myself growing cold. This tree has its own heart beat, its own life. We feed off each other, provide for each other, give and take from each other, love each other. Perhaps it is easier to see this tree as my soul, if we have such things. All things must be created from something, and I have the power over the soil in which my tree feeds from. For now, it is out of my control and the tree will continue to grow from this loneliness.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)