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  • From: "Lawrence F. London, Jr." <lflj@intrex.net>
  • To: permaculture <permaculture@lists.ibiblio.org>
  • Subject: [permaculture] FW: These days in Dharamsala.
  • Date: Fri, 28 Mar 2008 07:58:59 -0400


These days, Dharamsala feels alternately like a temple and the seat

of revolution. At times it feels like both. Every morning, thousands

of Tibetans, young and old, those born in Tibet and those born in

exile, march down the hill from the market of McLoed Ganj, shouting

in English for justice and human rights, for the help of the UN, for

the long life of the Dalai Lama. Today, their shouts are mingled

with the moan of long horns blasting out from a nearby monastery.



They have been marching every day since March 10th and they never

seem to tire. Each evening around dusk, thousands more walk through

McLeod all carrying candles and chanting the bodhisattva prayer--

May I become enlightened to end the suffering of all sentient

beings--in Tibetan over and over again. This prayer has become the

anthem of Dharamsala. You hear it muttered from old women, belted

out by toddlers, and chanted by monks through loud speakers: May I

become enlightened to end the suffering of all sentient beings.



The evening marchers end up at the Tsuglakhang; the temple located

right in front of the Dalai Lama's private residence, to assemble in

what is essentially the Dalai Lama's front yard. They shout freedom

slogans and Bod Gyalo!!! (Victory to Tibet) at the top of their

lungs for twenty minutes, while young boisterous monks with Free

Tibet scrawled across their foreheads in red paint, wave giant

Tibetan flags to rally the crowd. The red, yellow and blue of

Tibetan flags are everywhere, and a feeling that must accompany all

revolutions of past times--a feeling of passion, resolve, and the

sting of injustice--stirs the air.



And then, suddenly, all you can hear is the sound of a baby crying

as the crowd sit and perform silent prayers for their countrymen.

The evening ends with everyone singing a song that was composed

after the 1959 uprising in Lhasa against the Chinese occupation.

It's stirring and evocative, and even if you don't speak the

language, its hard not to feel moved.



One evening at the temple, the monks of Kirti monastery in Amdo,

Tibet, the site of huge demonstrations in recent days, brought a CD

of photos of the bodies of Tibetans who eyewitnesses say had been

shot by Chinese police. The photos were displayed on a large plasma

television on the steps in front of the temple. A more placid group

of seven robed monks sat in front of the screen and prayed. With

hands folded at their chests, the images of bloodied and mangled

bodies filled with bullet holes flashing before their eyes, many now

wet with tears, 5,000 people joined in. One young monk told me later

that he saw the dead body of his cousin on the screen. He hadn't

known that he'd been killed.



Now these photos and other images coming out of Tibet have been put

up on flyers on the outside of the temple wall, directly opposite a

tent filled with hunger strikers. On their way back home, people

pass candles over the photos of the disfigured and bloody bodies and

speak in hushed voices. Opposite, the hunger strikers continue to

chant prayers and mantras all day and all through the night.



Tibetans seem to be able to hold, without contradiction, many

different ways of expressing their grief, and their concern for and

solidarity with the people in Tibet; to wave banners and shout until

their throats are sore, and to sit and pray with heartfelt devotion

to the Buddhas that, one day, may they become like them for the sake

of all.



Yesterday, I heard about a different kind of demonstration organized

by the monks of the Buddhist Dialectic School. No face paint, no red

bandanas, no hand-made placards reading Shame on China. They shaved

their heads clean, put on the outer yellow robe normally only worn

for religious teachings, and walked slowly, heads down, single file

through the town, chanting the refuge prayer in Pali. Buddham

sharanam ghachamay/dhammam sharanam gacchami/sangham sharanan

gachhani/ahimsa ahimsa.



A reporter asked the monks why they were wearing the yellow robe.

The monk replied, "We are monks but we are also human beings. We are

not immune to anger. Wearing the yellow robe reminds us to subdue

our negative emotions."



At an intersection, the monks met up with a few thousand

demonstrators led by angry young men with Tibetan flags draped

around their shoulders, shouting anti-Chinese slogans and punching

their fists into the air. The monks kept walking and chanting. At

the point where the two groups met, the demonstrators fell silent

and stood aside to let the monks pass, forming two lines on either

side of the street. They brought their palms together at their

hearts and bowed their heads. Many began to cry. The monks kept

walking and chanting. Buddham sharanam ghachamay. After the monks

had passed, the demonstrators picked up their flags and placards and

fell in behind them chanting another slogan; May I become

enlightened to end the suffering of all sentient beings.







  • [permaculture] FW: These days in Dharamsala., Lawrence F. London, Jr., 03/28/2008

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