The day I met the Dalai Lama

I’m in the back of a Jeep, Shakira is blasting out of the stereo and I have tears streaming down my face. It’s not that I really have anything against Shakira – although I do think her music is bad – but I’m crying and laughing at the same time in sadness and in gratitude for the scenery that is unfolding before me and the past few days that I have spent in the Nubra Valley.

Just a few days early I was in the same Jeep, singing an all too different song. For 6 hours straight I solomly chant the Triumbyke mantra in Sankrit; a mantra that is said to omit fear and ensure safe travel. I’m not usually a nervous passenger, but then I don’t usually attempt to conquer the world’s highest motorble pass. It’s just short of 19,000 feet high to be exact.

We’re driving from Leh in Ladakh to the Nubra Valley, close to the Chinese border, to attend a series of teachings by the Dalai Lama. In order to get there we need to make a journey that will take us across some of the most impenetrable roads in the Himalaya. Although it’s only something like 60k’s, it will take hours and we have no choice but to just take it slow. The road is rocky and there is a very serious danger of falling rocks and landslides as the melting ice from the surrounding snowcapped mountains gushes towards lower land during the summer months.

We tell our driver Hosey to take it ‘slowly, slowly’ and he seems to understand. There are a few times we meet oncoming trucks, heading the opposite way and it’s a narrow squeeze and a test of our nerve whilst the two vehicles negotiate around one another and avoid the sheer drop on one side and the vertical cliff face on the other. I confess, there were a couple of moments when I stop chanting and hold my breath, which I really wouldn’t recommend at that altitude unless you want to turn blue. I promise myself if/when I get there AND, more importantly, back I’m buying the t-shirt. Luckily, the journey goes smoothly or as smoothly as is possible on choppy mountain passes and we make the ascent wailing along tunefully (?!!) to Panjabi techno, Bollywood hits and the occasional instrumental Ladakhi song. On the basis that the car is full of fellow yogi’s and meditaters, I figure we must have built up enough good karma to arrive at our destination safely. It really would be rather bad luck dying on the way to see His Holiness.

I confess to feeling rather privileged to be joining throngs of Tibetan, Ladahki and Indian Pilgrims on their way to see the ‘Dalai Lama-ji.’ If I’m honest, I actually don’t know what to expect. Although I was hoping to make it as far as Dharamsala to visit the small Himalayan, hillside village in which he took refuge and set up home when he was forced to flee Tibet I never quite anticipated I might be lucky enough to come face to face with him, let alone listen to him share some of his wisdom. But here I was, on my way.

To describe the scenery as breathtaking would be to do it a severe injustice. It is only when you’re amongst something so dramatically beautiful and so staggeringly enormous that you appreciate just how small we really are. Here, where the mountains are so high they touch the sky and the Grand Canyon-esq valleys are so deep they seem to penetrate the very core of the earth itself you simply cannot help but stare in wonder at all of this – and really question, why are we here, in this world that is so idyllically perfect without us?

Anyone who questions the existence of Creation, of the Divine, of the supreme consciousness…whatever label you wish to put on it… clearly hasn’t been to the Himalaya’s, for this is the very seat of God itself. As crazy as it sounds, and maybe you really had to be there to arrive at this conclusion, but as I stare, bewitched by these beautiful mountains and marvel at their sheer scale I somehow understand that they have been born from the same creative energy as me and in that sense I am part of these mountains, just as much as they are part of me.

You often hear people refer to feeling at one with themselves, with nature or with another. And we have all had moments of peace when we feel connected to something outside ourselves and this is what life is about. We are all interconnected. All interdependent – not independent (as we like to think in the West). We are all part of the same tapestry. If we could only remember and accept this; embrace it even, a lot of the world’s problems would be greatly reduced, because you cannot live in this knowledge and fail to treat others with respect and compassion.

We arrive in the tiny town of Disket, along with a multitude of other Jeeps, minivans and buses. The usually quiet main bazaar is overrun with local pilgrims, tourists, monks and nuns. The streets are awash with colour. Prayer flags flutter from every available window overhead, gangs of burgundy clad monks bustle about on their daily business, clutching their mala beads and softly murmuring ancient mantras, the smell of freshly baked Tibetan bread wafts from every doorway and local people in traditional dress turn prayer wheels as they spill out onto the street and chat noisily about the upcoming visit of their revered spiritual leader.

High on the hill above the town sits a shiney new Golden Buddha, which is approximately the size of your average multi-story car park. As far as India/China/Tibet is concerned the bigger, brighter and more shiney the deity, the better and this one is no exception. I understand it has been about 5 years in the making and now His Holiness will kick of the three day teaching program with a special blessing ceremony.

The following morning beneath brilliant blue skies, we make the 45 minute trek up to the big Buddha, together with about 50,000 Ladahki’s. This is a world in which I don’t belong, at least not in this body; not in this lifetime, yet one that welcomes me with open arms.
Both serenity and excitement fill the air as we pass Gompa’s, more prayer flags, pop-up campsites and gaggles of local people gossiping in anticipation or quietly reciting prayer. Everyone has a warm wave and a friendly smile. No-one makes us feel unwelcome or like we shouldn’t be there. I lose count of the amount of time I cry ‘Julay’ (Hello/Goodbye/Thank-you. In fact it just about passes or anything) as I make the climb. I stop briefly, fearing I may burst a lung (we are at altitude after all), to regain my oxygen starved breath and observe those in their hundreds scurry to be part of this local celebration. It’s incredible.

There is something of a festival atmosphere when the guttural chants of the monks begin the Puja (Prayer) ceremony. Their other-worldly song drifts across the Himalayan plains and seems to alter the very vibration of the entire valley.

No-one but Monks and the DL are allowed on the actual Buddha today, but provision has been made for us to sit in the lower grazing fields which have been kitted out with tents and thick canvas for sitting on. Groups of Pilgrims patiently group together, sitting in their full length, thick Ladahki coats in the blistering heat. I’m suffering in a simple t-shirt and seek shelter in one of the tents. We soon discover these have been set up for the Ladakhi women, who will be performing dance in the cultural display later, to get into costume, so we’re promptly ushered out, but not before they insist on sharing sweet bread and freshly picked apricots with us.

There’s a long wait between the blessing and opening ceremonies, so we have to hang around for several hours which provides the perfect opportunity for some people watching… and to get sun-stroke. The contrast between the local people and the foreigners and staggering and I confess to being really rather disgusted at ‘our’ behavior.

To my horror the Westerners have a special designated area, which is not only closest to the stage but filled with chairs too. But evidently this is not good enough. ‘We’ shuffle around impatiently, smoking (which is supposed to be prohibited as this is considered a sacred site), snogging and sticking our enormous telephoto lenses in startled Ladakhi’s faces without asking. To make matters worse, incredibly, food and chai is provided for the entire waiting audience. Talk about the feeding of the 5,000 – try 50,000. But instead of waiting our turn, in fear that the food will run out, everyone starts jumping up and climbing over one another to get a plate of rice. Meanwhile, the Ladahki’s just sit and wait for the food to come to them, happy in the knowledge that there will be enough or that they will simply share with their neighbor if supplies get short.

I don’t know what it is about the Western mind that is conditioned to hanker for more. To freak out and think that somehow we might get overlooked or left behind. From this little display it seemed obvious that we some kind of inbuilt function that has pre-programmed us to be dissatisfied with almost everything and really only look out for number one.

This is really a sad state of affairs, especially when you consider that these people are attending teachings about compassions – there was no compassion displayed when the DL finally made his way on stage and everyone started jostling and elbowing one another to get a better look, nor was there any compassion displayed when everyone tried to move their chairs 2 inches further forward just to be a little closer and then proceeded to stand on them, thus blocking the view of the Ladakhi’s seated on the floor behind. And there certainly wasn’t any compassion shown when I saw someone swipe an umbrella from a woman’s hand who was just trying to shelter from the sun. Perhaps they’d have been happier sitting on his lap, like visiting Santa in a Christmas Grotto.

All of this made me wonder how many of the Westerners here were just opportunists, looking for the photo-op that meant they could go home and brag to their friends they’d seen the Dalai Lama, rather than having a genuine interest in what he had to say on Buddhism. I really rather suspect that for the most part it is the former, sadly. But I suppose if they take on board just 1% of his teachings and go home and think about it, the message will spread.

In a way being in the Dalai Lama’s presence is a little like meeting the real Santa Claus. There is something really rather magical and mystical about him, even though he insists he is just a simple monk. Despite the hardship he has faced and the peaceful yet relentless campaign he makes for his freedom and the liberation of Tibet, his spirit it every bit as light as that of a new born baby. He radiates with love and compassion and a certain purity that is scarce. He giggles like a child and has the most extraordinary smile. At 75 years old he is amazing. His energy seems boundless and just being around him seems to make your heart sing. And to my delight, he sounded just like Yoda.

On day 2, I sit amongst the Ladakhi’s, cross legged on the floor. I am delirious from heat-stroke and just the joy of being here. I’m not even sure it’s real. We’re all huddle together under a sea of multi-coloured umbrellas, perched on top of a mountain, where the dry, clay coloured desert gives way to infinite blue skies speckled with fluffy white clouds. Mountain ranges extend in every direction, prayer flags flutter overhead and we’re surrounded by monks, listening intently to every syllable that passes from the lips of His Holiness. I watch in awe as everyone prostrates silently when he arrives. I understand nothing of the teachings itself, because he’s talking in Tibetan and its being translated into Hindi, but it doesn’t seems to matter one little bit, I’m happy just to simply soak up the atmosphere.

I could continue to rant about the behavior of the tourists, but what would be the point? Yes, we’re different, but perhaps this just one of the things I have to accept in this life time. Being somewhere like this makes you realise how much we have lost in the persuit of happiness through technological growth and economic prosperity, but you know what things will change, because this lifestyle that we have created for ourselves is not sustainable because it is too far removed from living harmoniously with the world and one another.

I can honestly say that attending these teaching days, high up amongst those mountains and eventually sitting just metres away, in a small audience with the Dalai Lama (an invitation which was extended to just 100 or so Western people) will always remain one of the most incredibly special experiences of my life. Finally I understand what a spiritual experience is.