the monastery

Today I get to be lazy. Tshering, YDF’s driver, is taking me to Dechen Phodrang, the monastic school, at two o’clock in the afternoon. I have a gross of toothbrushes to deliver.

In the morning Darlene and I visit her neighbor and landlady Dinka, who lives down the path from us. Dinka’s family is having their yearly puja for good luck, health and prosperity. We are welcomed inside and sit around the bukhari, or traditional Bhutanese wood-burning stove, and the family members bring trays of snacks mostly made of puffed rice or pounded maize. We are handed two steaming bowls of savory rice porridge, a comfort food that warms us to the core. The porridge contains btis of yak fat and chugo, the hard yak milk cheese. You cannot really eat chugo unless you’re prepared to gnaw on it for a few hours. It’s hard as a rock, but it’s soft and delicious in the hot porridge. I scarf down two bowls and go into the altar room and take photos of the chanting monks and the family altar, decorated with colorful butter sculptures. We’re invited back for dinner later tonight.

I meet Tshering and we drive up the winding road to Dechen Phodrang, hih above the Thimphu valley floor. The monastic school houses 450 young monks, most of whom could not be cared for by their families or come from broken homes. Tshering finds one of the head monks and teachers. We shake hands and I give him the boxes of toothbrushes. He invites us in for tea and cookies, and then Tshering and I wander around the open areas so I can take photos for a future YDF brochure. One of YDF’s programs is Sponsor a Monk, where a donation of $250 provides for a young boy for 2 years. I have already vowed to sponsor a monk in 2009. I visit one of the classrooms where dozens of the youngest boys in red robes are sitting on the floor chanting. Sort of. It’s pretty noisy, just like any classroom, and there’s a bit of horseplay. Boys will be boys. I am not permitted to enter, but I can observe through the door. I can’t help but wave and lots of little hands wave right back. When we leave, Tshering offers to take me to the Zilukha nunnery down the road, a tranquil place where 50 Buddhist nuns make their home.

After we pay our visit to the nunnery, Tshering takes me to the Motithang Takin Preserve. The takin is an odd animal whose taxonomy baffles scientists. It is unrelated to any other animal and looks like a cross between a musk ox and a goat. Legend has it that Lama Drukpa Kunley created Bhutan’s national animal.

In the early evening I attend a meditation class at the Youth Center that is taught by Lama Zhenphen, a visiting monk. Lama Zhenphen is quite a charismatic character, and funny as well. He teases latecomers, and pokes fun at two young men for closing their eyes all the way. “I’m going to prop open your eyelids with toothpicks so you don’t fall asleep.” We do several rounds of 10 minute meditations interspersed with teachings and observations. I realize that all my volunteer work and giving has not been exactly selfless. There’s always been something in it for me, whether a portfolio piece or even a thank you. When one gives selflessly there is no expectation. When you are detached, it doesn’t matter whether someone acknowledges your actionsor not. Giving should be as natural and instinctual as breathing. We don’t think about breathing, we just do it. It’s something I need to work on. I am so physically tired from trekking today that meditation comes easy. My mind is a total blank.

After our session with the Lama, Darlene and I walk home to Langjo Pakha. The moon is nearly full and the night is clear and cold, but the vigorous walk is warming. We go to Dinka’s, and her family brings us milk tea, followed by green beans in cheese sauce and grilled beef with rice. I have a lovely conversation with Dinka’s 18 year old niece. She is bright and articulate and wants to study art at the Halifax School of Art and Design in Nova Scotia. I don’t doubt that she will. Most Bhutanese study abroad. The women in her family are ambitious and wear the pants in the household. In Bhutan women play a dominant role. Women own most of the land, and polyandry is common in some parts. I’m not sure how I’d like having more than one husband. One man is more than enough.