The Fear of Familiarity and Another Story About Tourists

I woke up this morning before 6, spending another thirty minutes or so awake, but not so awake as to actually get out of bed. As is always the case during my first few days acclimatizing at high altitude, I have woken up, like clockwork, on an hourly basis during the night. The first time this happened, way back in the fall of 2008, I was a little bit freaked out. Now it’s just become part of the process. It should go away in a few days. Funny, how this blog so often delves into the most tedious matters of my biological wellbeing…anyways, it is my third time in Ladakh, and I find myself finally acknowledging that which I knew was fast approaching, but refused to see. Ladakh is beginning to lose its luster. Actually, I take that back. I have barely even scratched the surface of Ladakh’s beauty and culture, there is so much more to experience, so much more to see. On the other hand, Leh, Ladakh’s capital, and its surrounding environs have become, dare I say, familiar. Don’t get me wrong, I still love Leh, but as I begin round three of my misadventures here, it is now obvious that a great deal of this city’s almost frightening majesty has evaporated as its familiarity has grown.

            This is only natural, but I have never wanted to admit to it. Part of the reason I have become so enthralled by India, and Ladakh, and Nepal, and the hinterlands of Tibet and Tibetan Buddhism stems from their oriental splendor (I can see my professors cringing now). When I first encountered India, and Ladakh shortly thereafter, it was foreign, exotic, and frightening. My senses were bombarded by a million new sights and sounds. As I endured new lows of suffering, I was also propelled to new heights of joy and fulfillment. There was a lot of crying and a lot of laughter, all of it pure and resplendent. I have clung to these first experiences, and in doing so, as the Buddha cautioned, I have only brought suffering upon myself and in some cases, those around me.

Let me now attempt to bring this back to my present quandaries concerning my existential relationship with Leh. My first experiences in India, and the lengthy (and ongoing) soul-searching that followed have led me to at least two conclusions: the first is that I am a Buddhist; the second is that deep down I am a nomad, a pioneer. I am desperately in search of that feeling of unfamiliarity and excitement. I long to climb new mountains, travel new roads, wade through new rivers, meet new people (clichéd), and face new demons. The notion of spending the rest of my life in a single context is absolutely terrifying. I know why this is, and why, if I am ever to be more than a Buddhist in name only, I must confront and ultimately liberate myself from such fears. This world is but an illusion, an infinite flux of causes and constituents devoid of permanence or inherent meaning. No wonder then that as I familiarize myself with the illusion, and Ladakh is part of this illusion, the uncomfortable truth reveals itself: my desperate need for new experiences is only a stop-gap measure, a means of finding temporary happiness on the long and arduous road to the state beyond suffering, nirvana. I didn’t mean for this to turn so negative, but I guess it fits, giving my uncomfortable realization.

On an unrelated note, I told myself that this time in Ladakh, I am not going to get so frustrated by tourists. Israelis, the French, whoever, let them go about their experience as I go about mine. Now I told myself this, and have been pretty open minded and non-judgmental over the last couple of days, but just now, as I sit in my good friend Namgial’s coffee house, I again find myself quite pissed off at my tourist kin. A white male, early-mid 50’s, Italian by the sound of his accent comes up to the counter; his tone is dismissive, as is his body language. It is obvious that he suffers from old Europe syndrome, and that these archaic, uncivilized people are beneath him. He begins complaining that he has not received his coffee, some weird chimerical half Americano, half Macchiato, but in a certain type of cup with a side of espresso. He badgers Namgial’s employee, a very nice young Ladakhi woman who is less than five feet tall and cannot weigh more than 90 lbs soaking wet, “Where is my coffee? Twenty minutes ago I ordered a coffee, what is taking so long? It does not take twenty minutes to make a coffee. This is ridiculous!” Having sufficiently swung his dick around, he goes back outside to smoke a cigarette. I don’t know how long it actually took to get his coffee. I don’t think it was twenty minutes, but it doesn’t really matter. Besides simply being an asshole to this very nice lady, Steve Job’s Italian doppelganger needs to pull his head out if his ass and look around. He is in India, in a trans-Himalayan cold desert. That he can even get coffee here is a miracle (and also a curse) of industrialized civilization. If he can’t wait twenty minutes to get his coffee, because he is clearly so busy on his vacation, he should have went somewhere with a Starbucks. But that too, would no doubt be beneath him. Tourists aren’t dicks, some dicks are just tourists.

Okay, with that out of my system I can get on with my life and you can get on with ours.

The Frequency is Courage.
- Doug B.

Spring is in the Air, or Something...

Tashi Delek kindred spirits,it's high time I got back to the old blog and indulged my ego by writing things I think other people want to read.  Anyways, I have writer's block and can't seem to make any progress on my thesis, so I figured I'd ramble here instead. I don't feel like, or even have anything particularly cogent to say, I'm just going to spit out some flowery Buddhist platitudes that have been kicking around my head since I woke up this morning to witness an unobstructed blue sky of sublime brilliance. Enjoy, or don't, it is finally spring, the season of rebirth, and I am in a good mood!

Just as the sun rests in the center of the pure blue sky, so too is the infinite light of Buddha-nature to be found in the heart of emptiness.

Just as the sun continues to shine, even when it is obscured by clouds, so too does the light of Buddha-nature shine with unending brilliance, even when obscured by the three poisons of anger, ignorance, and desire.

The essence of all living beings is the resplendent seed of the Sugatas, those gone to bliss. Nothing can add to it. Nothing can subtract from it. It pervades all existence, yet has no form. It is absolutely complete, yet it is completely empty. It cannot be filled, as it is beyond full. It cannot be exhausted, as it has no limit. Primordially pure. Infinitely luminous. Timelessly encompassing. Without origin or end, nor nadir or zenith. To find it is to stop looking. To realize it is to go beyond realization. It is the true heart of all beings, the essence of enlightenment, the matrix of wisdom perfected. To those who have merged with it, I submit in obeisance. To those who have touched it, I bow down completely. To those who have glimpsed it, I offer prostrations. To those who have heard of it, I listen attentively. To those who look for it, I join in searching. Though I myself am still trapped in this world of illusion, I pray for all beings likewise caught
in the ocean of karmic consequence. A crystal of pure light, may the blazing wisdom of the victorious ones shine upon all beings, spontaneously delivering them to the abode of pure bliss utterly beyond sorrow. May I too, though of little capacity and blinded by the three unwholesome roots of ignorance, anger, and desire, develop the unsurpassable wisdom mind of the tathāgatas, the ones who have thus gone. Through the power of this supplication, may I work only for the benefit of all beings and never bring harm to another. May the mindstream that inhabits this corporeal form attain the highest state of unconditioned awareness, the nature of pure light. Finally, may I, through the union of indestructible wisdom and immeasurable compassion attain the infinite dharmakāya, so that I may set living beings in nirvāṇa. This is my sincere wish. Emaho!

This is the view going up the Khardung-La pass in Ladakh, not to be confused with Connecticut, where I am now. I included it because I thought it fit the mood.