Up, Up, and Away
N. L. Drolma (far left), an armful of prayer flags, and dharma siblings broiling in the sun, Dzogchen Monastery, India 1994
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It was a madcap scramble of tasks I undertook to join Sogyal Rinpoche on the road for a year of teachings and retreat in 1994. Without a friend’s experience in world travel (which I woefully lacked) and her energetic help packing and emptying my apartment for incoming tenants, I doubt that I could have pulled everything together so quickly. I was a tearful, exhausted mess when my new luggage was finally zipped and locked and I was heading out to JFK airport. But once I was up above the clouds and looking out over the wing into a fathomless blue, I imploded with happiness, unbuckled my seat belt, and relaxed.
On my initial layover in London, my dharma sister Beatrice said bluntly, “You don’t expect me to help you with your luggage, do you?” She often packed Sogyal Rinpoche for his travels and knew the art of traveling light. I understood her amusement at seeing me juggling two suitcases, a large duffle bag, oversized shoulder bag and winter coat.
The next day I repacked and left one stuffed suitcase with another friend in England. (At that time, I didn’t suspect this shedding of my things had only made my bags light enough for me to later serve as a courier of texts and baggage for the Tibetan lamas.) It was my good fortune to meet with Alak Zenkar Rinpoche in London; he was leaving soon for Hong Kong and I didn’t know when I would see him again. I wanted Zenkar Rinpoche to think of me and keep me in his heart, so I presented him with a photo of us in New York in the company of Tulku Thondup. I was touched by Zenkar Rinpoche’s gift of a tiny silver Guan Yin, the Chinese Goddess of Compassion, which I have worn around my neck ever since.
(L to R) Choktrul Pema Kalsang Rinpoche and Dzogchen Rinpoche Jigme Losel Wangpo (Photo by N. L. Drolma)
It was a merry time for me in London too because I was reunited with the effervescent Tulku Pema Kalsang Rinpoche, the abbot of Dzogchen Monastery in Tibet who, along with his beautiful sister Dondrup-la, had been my house guest in New York. Days later, the free-spirited Beatrice and I soared above the clouds with Tulku Kalsang for an overnight stay in New Delhi, and then departed for Dzogchen Monastery in South India. Soon after arriving at the gompa, we joined a coterie of western students in a puja (ceremonial practice) led by Dzogchen Rinpoche, Sogyal Rinpoche and Tulku Kalsang Rinpoche. The Indian sun shone through the temple windows haloing an elegant-looking Tibetan woman seated in prayer and spinning a large Mani wheel. Her presence and that of her fellow refugees drew my attention away from my prayer book.
Dzogchen Monastery temple, Kollegal, India, 1994 (Photo by N. L. Drolma)
The 4th Patrul Rinpoche (looking straight at camera), Dzogchen Rinpoche, Sogyal Rinpoche and monks, Dzogchen Monastery, South India 1994 (Photo by N. L. Drolma)
Tibetan refugee, Dzogchen Monastery, South India, 1994 (Photo by N. L. Drolma)
This was the first time I was practicing in a Tibetan Buddhist temple among Tibetans. How could I sit there and not be distracted by their authenticity and by their impoverishment? Prayer itself was major sustenance for this community. For my own dharma practice to be meaningful, I needed to open my heart more to all beings. It wouldn’t do to simply voice prayers in the manner of a well-trained parrot (who might recite words of compassion for all sentient beings and in the next moment eat a worm).
Few yards away from the temple was a makeshift gray tent. Tibetans, lay and ordained, were sitting cross-legged on the ground near large metal vats of boiling water. Several members of the community were engrossed in conversation while others were sipping tea and watching two young boys play in the dust. A lone deer wandered among the monastery’s dogs—a sight that suggested the birthing of a parable. One afternoon, I counted eleven dogs lazing in the shade of the temple’s walls. Some of us ambled onto land that bordered the monastery—terrain under the auspices of HH the Dalai Lama—a sunbaked orchard of prayer flags beautifully muted in color, whose muslin garlands seemed to outnumber the vast tangle of branches. At Dzogchen Monastery, I met Sogyal Rinpoche’s parents. Rinpoche’s mother pressed into my hand a gift of a lovely Buddha figurine. His stepfather surprised me with a gift of a large phurba.
Mayumla Tsering Wangmo, Dzogchen Monastery, South India 1994 (Photo by N. L. Drolma)
My fellow westerners were getting sick from the water and also the food. I didn’t want my gut to be a Bed ‘n’ Breakfast for amoebas, so out of pure fear I wasn’t eating much of anything. We spent a week at the monastery and then departed by car for Bangalore. Five hours later, I was cheered on seeing the city’s billboard sign, “Welcome to the Air-Conditioned Capital of India.” After checking in at our hotel, however, I suffered a dizzy spell and passed out. I was dehydrated for having jettisoned my bottled water en route from Dzogchen Monastery after someone said the local brand that I purchased wasn’t safe to drink. I didn’t risk the Maha Cola either; the soda pop’s glass bottles were rumored to be recycled creatively— randomly refilled and diluted with tap water. Paranoia is not the province of wisdom, so I was down for the count. (The hotel staff administered an interim remedy and the next day with medication from the local apothecary I was fine, if a bit weak.)
Days later, after a pit stop of surreal poverty in the outskirts of Calcutta, we arrived in Sikkim, a principality of Northern India. What a splendid change of environment! Its capital, the slow-paced town of Gangtok, was a friendly mix of Tibetans, Indians and Sikkimese. The spacious village scene was unpretentious and soothing after my initial dizzying weeks in India. The mountain vistas of rice fields were stupendous. Sikkimese tea, a mix of Assam and Darjeeling, became my tea of choice, and I favored eating vegetable momos (Tibetan dumplings), thentuk (Tibetan flat noodle soup) and buttered Naan with saag paneer, a yummy baked dish of soft cheese cubes and pureed spinach. (Food laced with chili invariably made my stomach howl.) In 1994, unlike today, Gangtok was sparsely populated, and there was little if any traffic bottlenecks on the main road.
My dharma siblings and I wended our way to Chorten Monastery for a teaching with Dodrupchen Rinpoche, a preeminent Dzogchen master and principal holder of the Longchen Nyingtik lineage.
We were also privileged to meet with the great dakini Khandro Tsering Chodrön who resided in the temple on the Royal Palace grounds, and we later enjoyed a bountiful tsok (feast) there with her. The welcoming atmosphere of her living quarters was tempered by an austerity that for me was sobering, if not intimidating.
Khandro Tsering Chodron. Royal Palace Temple, Sikkim (Photo by N. L. Drolma)
Mural of Goddess with the White Umbrella (Sitatapatra, deity of longevity), Palace Chapel, Sikkim (Photo by N. L. Drolma)
There was no furniture, only a single futon on the floor covered by a Tibetan carpet, and two brightly painted chokste (low set Tibetan tables) that served as a support for daily prayer books, alarm clock, and teacup. Khandro was the spiritual wife of the revered Tibetan master, J. Khyentse Chokyi Lodrö. She slept at the base of an elaborate shrine featuring a life-size bust in his likeness and a large jewel-studded golden reliquary. The room was lined with pechas (Tibetan prayer books) from floor to ceiling, and its hardwood floor had a polished, aged beauty unto itself—as if all who had visited there over the years had fashioned by their prayers and prostrations a unique patina, crowned by Khandro’s daily practice. Khandro sat in great ease, and silence amplified itself around her. Her reserve and modest manner thwarted visitors if they tried to approach her as they would a master for blessings. She was a long life dakini revered by the greatest masters.
Tsuklakhang (Royal Palace Temple) Sikkim 1994 (Photo by N. L. Drolma)
Early morning time with Khandro was spent mostly sitting in silence or reciting mantra and then circumambulating the tsuklakhang (palace temple). Her diffident yet commanding presence conveyed a sense of boundless spaciousness.
Khandro Tsering Chodrön in residence at the Royal Palace temple, Gangtok, Sikkim 1998 (Photo by N. L. Drolma)
When I first met Khandro, being in her company evoked in me the sense of inadequacy and shyness that plagued me as a teenager and that same yearning to feel comfortable in my own skin. Her world of simplicity and quietude in Gangtok was markedly different from the frenzy and clamor of my Manhattan universe.The contrast made me reflect more deeply on what changes I needed to make to become one with the dharma. Khandro Tsering Chödrön was a mirror for me in which I saw reflected the diligence requisite for tasting the fruit of dharma. I was very much the neophyte poised at the starting line.
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Sogyal Rinpoche announced to those of us who were practicing with him in Sikkim a change in itinerary: he would not be going on to Nepal as planned but returning to Europe. Several students followed Rinpoche back to Europe, one woman went off to practice at the Karmarpa’s monastery in Rumtek, and I chose to travel with two dharma sisters to Nepal. Rinpoche counseled us not to go running in a grasping, pell-mell fashion after lamas and teachings as so many westerners do in Boudha, “sniffing everywhere like the street dogs in Nepal.” But he also advised us to try by any means to meet one lama revered by all—the legendary Dzogchen master Chatral Sangye Dorje Rinpoche.