Ten days of meditation, felt more like ten months. Ten days of silence took me to places inside myself I'd forgotten I needed to go. Ten days of learning self-analysis, learning stillness, learning to be as quiet as possible and see what is really there once the storm of the self settles...
Rising before the sun and watching its' dramatic ascent over the Kathmandu hills each morning before the first meditation session. Life with a rhythm once again feels good after the directionless wanderings of seven months travelling.
Set back from the valley atop a hill, time slowly ceased to trouble our over stimulated minds. Prayer flags flowing from every tree, prayer wheels creaking their rhythmic rotations, sounds of deep chanting floating across the grounds from early morning to late evening. Stone Buddha's calmly meditate hidden in the garden grass whilst we make our daily pilgrimages round the Stoupas.
Everything in cycles, everything in rhythm, everything in repetition, everything settles, everything stills, everything calms, everything.....stops.....
At first the multi-headed deities and thousand armed gods were not quite something I could bring my mind to relate to. Tibetan Buddhism has a rather large amount of colourful deities and realms of ghosts and spirits that confused me considering it claimed to not be a religion. But in time, I slowly began to understand these images as catalysts, metaphors, symbols...the way I see my own faith. And in time, I began to really identify with Chenrezig-the image of the Buddha's compassion. White face symbolising the calm of moonlight, Chenrezig's thousand arms have a thousand eyes at the end to see the suffering of all the world. True compassion coming only from true understanding and insight into the suffering of the other...
By candle light burning we hold a 'meditation of light' service, filling the garden with the peaceful flicker of flame. I lie on the grass for a long while after, letting the silence settle deep inside and watch from afar as it slowly shifts and heals long years of self-conscious worries...all is at peace.
Kopan Monastery, www.kopan-monastery.com, was set up in 1971 by Tibetan refugee monk Lama Zopa Rinpoche and is now home to over 360 Nepali and Tibetan and Nepali monks and over 380 Nuns. From a young age the monastic training starts with a regular rhythm of education, meditation, prayer and debating. Early morning 'puja', prayer, starts at 5am each day. Rows of saffron robes rhythmically rocking in time with the deep chanting.
Trumpets blare in tuneless cacophony whilst cymbals clash the marked ending of a sutra, teaching of the Buddha. Salt tea and sweet rice brings the mornings only silence.
Sounds of clapping hands and increased passionate shouts mark the start of the morning's debating class. The art of debate is highly valued in Tibetan Buddhism, and bodies immerse themselves fully in the physical, fluid motions. Rock back, one leg off the ground, hands above the head for added momentum before a sudden forward slapping marking the point which one's opponent must respond to.
Each day our meditation and teachings were interspersed with the latest updates of the situation in Tibet. I spoke with one monk who had not heard from his family there for nearly two weeks. Wearing their black bands of mourning, each day the Tibetan monks would gather to demonstrate outside the United Nations office. And each day this peaceful demonstration of unarmed monks and nuns was greeted with police sticks and beatings....and the Nepali human rights groups continued to stay silent....
Feelings of helpless frustration where eased a little by an impromptu demonstration at the local Boudha Stoupa, one of Kathmandu's landmarks. The monks had been forbidden from going because of their previous protests, so over a hundred foreigners gathered to climb the stoupa and fly the Tibetan flag in solidarity.
We read texts of peace and light candles around the whole stoupa to the cheers and support of local Buddhists below.
It feels like such a small act. It feels like such a small cry against the global powers that be.
Yet the cheers of the crowds below when the whole stoupa is finally lit, reminds me that sometimes the best thing we can do is the keep the flame of hope alive by vowing not to forget or ignore those who suffer...
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