It’s been over a year since I last reflected and put my
thoughts down on paper, or rather, imaginary paper on the internet. Finally,
after more than twelve months of mental constipation, the weight of my
collective experiences has forced my hands. A great deal transpired over the
previous year, good and bad of course, but I don’t really feel like reflecting
upon it now…maybe I will later, otherwise you will just have to wait for my
autobiography (I already have several titles in mind). But, onto the present!
For starters, I’m once more in Ladakh. For those counting, this is my fourth
journey to this trans-Himalayan cold desert. Though the mountains high above,
jagged and glistening white, seem static, immovable, unchanging, the valleys
and settlements are in constant flux, as dynamic as the melting glaciers. This
change, though it is the way of the world, is not all good. With the increase
in access to information, medical care, and opportunity has come more tourists
(not necessarily a bad thing), more trash, the throw-away mentality of mass-produced
consumerist society, more vehicles, more drunkenness, and more pollution. And
as the water channels running through the streets become ever more choked with
discarded wrappers and empty plastic bottles there is less and less of what
makes Ladakh such a wonderful and unique place. Less respect for religion and culture
(a growing phenomenon among the local population), less sustainability, less
village life, less farming, less respect and compassion. But who am I to
begrudge the Ladakhis (or anyone else for that matter) the amenities and
comforts I take for granted everyday back in America. Who am I to deny these
people a satellite TV and a compact car, a washing machine and an electric
stove? Though it makes for a depressing realization, the dream of the
developing world is not democracy or the high-minded ideals of liberal Western intellectuals,
no matter how much we might spout off about it. The dream of the developing
world is an easier life, one with a certain degree of material comfort. Don’t
get me wrong. I’m not advocating the Ladakhis get rid of their cars and
television sets and return to eking out a meager existence in the narrow
valleys and arid pastures beneath the lifeless peaks. I have no good answers,
no solutions to the curse of development. All I can really do is pose the
following question in the hopes that someone more driven and capable and
intelligent than I will be pushed to do something, if there is indeed anything
that can possibly be done, and this question, actually questions, are as
follows: was human life ever meant to be so comfortable, and as we seek to
further insulate ourselves from the unpleasantness of the world around us, do
we not block out something else? Something perhaps necessary to our existential
wellbeing? Surely, as we immerse ourselves in decadence and lessen the
hardships we face, something is abandoned, forgotten; a timeless element of our
existence—let’s just call it calloused hands—by which I mean struggle and
challenge and discomfort having a demonstrable, subtly positive effect on human
life. Am I onto something…you be the judge.
But
that’s enough brooding for today. Rather, I’ll end with a little story from my
morning hike. I was skirting the eastern edge of Leh, taking a purposely long
and out of the way route on the way back into town. On the left side of the
road was a little puppy, sleeping peacefully, or so I thought. As I drew
closer, something was clearly amiss. A great many flies buzzed about, but the
little pup did not move, its abdomen bloated, but terribly still. And so, a
brutal realization dawned. This little puppy, having only recently come into
the world, was dead. Its innocent spirit again being forced to navigate the
crucible of the bardos, the liminalities all beings must traverse as they
journey from one life to the next. I took out my headphones, uttered a few
mantras, and made a quick prayer for the puppy to be reborn in a pureland, a
dimension of no suffering in which enlightenment is easily attained in one
lifetime. Nothing tears at me here quite like the suffering of dogs. Indeed,
the first time I cried in India was after seeing a mangy, emaciated dog in New
Delhi vomit up nothing but bile from its empty stomach, which other starving
dogs proceeded to lick up. Brutal, right? Anyways, back to the story at hand.
Having been vividly reminded of the Buddha’s First Noble Truth that all life is
suffering, I continued with my hike, albeit, now a little distraught. It was
not long before another dog, this one full grown, came trotting over a low rock
wall, with, much to the benefit of my inner wellbeing, a little up in tow, this
one very much alive. Judging by the size and colouring of this spritely pup, it
was more than likely the sibling of the dead puppy lying some twenty meters
behind me. And so, I was reminded of another eternal truth: the cruelness of
existence is matched only by its beauty. For darkness and light exist side by
side, complimenting and completing one another. As the Daoists would say, the
Way, or Dao, is composed of both yin and yang. One without the other and the
whole world would be but chaos. Harmony is balance, and so, for a few fleeting
moments this morning, my world was harmonious. And that, dear friends, is as
clean of an ending to a story you are ever going to get, from me, at least.
The Frequency is Courage,
-Doug B.
P.S. I would link unfamiliar terms for your convenience, but the internet is too slow for that to work at the moment.
