Between the Extremes...

Hellos to all from Dharamsala. The extremes which I have experienced In India since leavingBali have been simply mindblowing, stretching me to the edges ofmy own heart and mind. My last day in Delhi was bothinteresting and challenging. At my request, my rickshaw driver,Shog (who I have come to really like and trust), took me to seeseveral of Delhi's most beautiful temples, including the largestHindu temple in Delhi, a smaller Hindu temple dedicated toShiva, a Baha'i temple built in the shape of a lotus blossom,and a Sikh temple where I happened upon "bhajans" (devotionalsongs) performed by three bearded men in turbans playingharmoniums and tablas. I also visited Mahatma Gandhi's shrine(thanks for the tip Kartik!) where I felt what I can onlydescribe as the softest, sweetest vibe I have yet to experiencein Delhi. The serenity there helped carry me through the roughspots of the day and the remainder of my time in Delhi... Iwon't go into details now, because they're pretty gruesome, butif you read my last posting you can imagine what I mean. But let me just say, your imaginings can only scratch the surface ofwhat is common, frightening reality for so many people overhere... The overnight bus ride from Delhi to Dharamsala proved to be oneof the most insane bus rides of my life, and as such, offeredits own set of challenges. Much of the road, especially throughthe mountains, is narrow and mauled with potholes. Tocompensate for this, bus and truck drivers tend to drive in themiddle of the road - at night, and around blind curves. When anoncoming vehicle approaches, there's a twisted littlegroove-dance that happens between the drivers. They sort ofhang out in the middle of the road as long as they can, as ifpreparing for head-on collision, and then moments before thecrash they blow their horns as each vehicle swerves out of theway to avoid certain death. Why do they do this? I can'treally say. I can only say that they do it - and it went on allnight... So after what turned out to be a gruelling, fifteen-hour, allnight bus ride, I arrived (virtually sleepless but happilyalive) at the mountain village of Dharamsala in Northern India. The vibe here is beautiful... giant mountains, pine forests,Tibetan prayer flags swaying in the wind... Dharamsala is a small village with a sort of internationalscene. There are shops filled with Tibetan handicrafts andgarments, yoga classes, and cafes that claim to cook all theirfood with sterilized water. Most of all, however, Dharamsala isthe home of Tibet's exiled spiritual leader, the Dalai Lama, andheadquarters of the exiled Tibetan Buddhist Government. I amcurrently staying at the Namgyal Tibetan Buddhist Monastery in aquiet room surrounded by hundreds of Buddhist monks, nuns, andTibetan families who have fled Tibet. My room is simple, butit's all I need. The view looks out to the Dhauladhar Mountainsand the Kangra Valley lying below. The monastery sits at around6,000 feet, but surrounding peaks rise to over 12,000. I arrived here at about 8:00 a.m. Monday morning and immediatelyheaded for the Namgyal Monastery, hoping they would have anavailable room for me. There are several Buddhist monasteriesup here, but Namgyal is the largest and the main one, seeingthat in includes the Dalai Lama's personal residence, and themost important ceremonies are carried out in Namgyal's maintemple, a beautiful place called Tsuglagkhang, adorned withamazing images of the Buddha and various other buddhas andbodhisattvas. To my surprise, the paths that led through thenarrow streets and up the hill into the monastery and templegrounds were crowded with people - Tibetans, Indians, evenWesterners. Turns out the Dalai Lama was in town (he's oftenabroad or in the U.S.) and a special ceremony which he wasadministering had just begun. Moments later, I found myselfsitting amidst hundreds of robed Buddhist monks, gazing intoTsuglagkhang, and peering at the Dalai Lama seated cross-leggedon this raised, golden cusion with a big smile. The Buddhistimages in the temple rose boldly behind him, while Tibetan hornsblew and cymbals crashed around him. The ceremony continued forabout two hours, complete with drums, bells, incense, chanting,and concluded with an oracle (kind of like a prophet) dressed inelaborate, ceremonial costume going into a trance dance in themiddle of the temple. It was wild! The Dalai Lama departedwith the oracle and a crowd of senior monks and personal guards,and then two more hours followed of deep Buddhist chanting withperiods of intermittant horns and cymbals. I wrapped myself inmy purple, Balinese sarong, smiled, fell deep into the drone ofthe monks' voices, and drifted off to a sweet, deep place Ihaven't been to in a while... or at least since Bali. Enjoying the breaths, between the extremes...Hope everyone is well!Thanks to all who have written. More to come...Ari

Namaste'