A Little Yin and Yang in the Land of High Passes

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.

Musings from the Land of High Passes

What follows are the highly disjointed, and quite possibly incomprehensible musings of a boy (technically a man) from the wealthy suburbs of Washington D.C., thrust into the high altitude paradise of Ladakh, the Land of High Passes. The properly composed, eloquent stories from trek that are going to win me a book deal will have to wait. Rest assured, they are coming on strong, like a bowel movement in the middle of a snowfield at 4800 meters. Let the ramblings commence!

Perhaps because it is the beginning of tourist season, this place is crawling with Indian tourists like my sleeping bag was crawling with bed bugs. Truly, and this is no exaggeration, there are more Indians here--from all over the subcontinent, not just nearby Jammu and Kashmir--than they are Ladakhis. They are quite easy to spot for two reasons. First off, Ladakh, though politically a part of India, is culturally, ethnically, linguistically, and geographically Tibetan. As such, native Ladakhis have the Asiatic and Mongoloid physical features characteristic of the Tibetan peoples so highly distinct from those of the Indic persuasion. Secondly, though I am tempted to describe the weather in Leh, Ladakh's capital city, as near perfect--right now it is about 15°C (about 60°F), sunny with scattered clouds, a light wind, and very low humidity (it's worth noting that as far as the weather goes here, today would be considered below average in pleasantness)--the Indians are bundled up head to toe, zipped up tight in puffy down jackets and dense parkas. Their necks are wrapped in thick woolen scarves and shawls, while most wear mittens and gloves suited for a snowy winter day. It's really quite funny. It only makes sense though that the ability to withstand inhuman heat and humidity, the average temperature in New Delhi right now is 45°C (113°F) without factoring in humidity, comes at the cost of being totally unable to survive in temperatures suited for human life. I get the sense among many Ladakhis, some being quite open about such feelings, that the Indian tourists are less than welcome; at least in private. I found much the same feeling to present among the Tibetans in Dharamsala. They find many of the Indians to be rowdy, disrespectful, and quite pushy. There is at least one accusation that I can attest to, and this is that many of the Indians have virtually zero respect for the environment or the animals here. They willfully discard their trash wherever they maybe, the same is true of many Western tourists. On the other hand, most of the Ladakhis I have met are quite conscientious when it comes to littering and always properly dispose of their trash; this is one of their main grievances against the Indians: they are destroying Ladakh's fragile ecosystem with rubbish. PETA may not approve of the way the Ladakhi's treat the street animals here, but the Indians terrorize them. They throw rocks at meandering donkeys and smack wooden stakes against the ground to scare off sleeping street dogs...

This brings me to my next point of reflection, street dogs. Wherever I go, I always seem to develop a strong connection with the street dogs. Maybe because they seem so kind and innocent and loyal...usually. In New Delhi, the street dogs are emaciated and dying. In Kathmandu the street dogs live short, brutal lives dominated by cacophonous fights that carry on from sundown to sunrise; but they still benefit from the kindness of the many Buddhists and religious pilgrims, particularly in Boudhanath, who often go out of their way to show them a little bit of love and feed them some scraps of meat. The same is true in Dharamsala. Perhaps this is because the Tibetans, among the first peoples to domesticate the dog, have such a strong and lengthy relationship with man's best friend, especially the sharp witted Lhasa Apso and the indomitable Tibetan Mastiff. The street dogs in Leh are a truly pitiful sight. Dirty, hungry, skittish, and absolutely terrified of humans. I am not sure why they are so frightened, but I have good reason to suspect it is because of the Indians who see the dogs as over-sized rodents, pests, and treat them as such. I'm sure the Ladakhi's are guilty as well, I just haven't seen any of them kick a dog yet.

The Frequency is Courage

-Doug B.

P.S. Go hug a dog.