Beyond the Sky and the Earth_ A Journey Into Bhutan - Jamie Zeppa [109]
Amala is surprised that I believe in the oracle. “Foreign peoples is only believing if they see with their own eyes,” she says. “Not seeing, then not believing.”
“But Amala, lots of people in the West believe in things they can’t see,” I say. “People believe in god, and ghosts, and theories that no one can prove.”
“But not in Bhutanese things,” she says. “They are only believing in their own things they can’t see.”
I think of the European woman I met having lunch here some time ago. She had been in Bhutan for three months with an international aid agency. “The Bhutanese are so superstitious, don’t you find?” she had asked me. “Everything happens because of ghosts or demons.”
“But Christianity has the Holy Ghost,” I argued. “And the Devil.”
“That’s different,” she said. She didn’t explain how. “I really feel sorry for them. So much of their faith is based on fear.”
“At least in Buddhism, hell is not forever,” I countered. “I can’t think of anything more frightening than the idea of eternal hell after only one lifetime.” The woman ended the conversation by paying for her lunch and leaving. I hadn’t meant to insult her faith. I wanted only to point out what Amala has just put so succinctly. Being in Bhutan has shown me how strong this tendency is, to think that what we believe is real and valid and what everyone else believes is fearful nonsense and superstition.
I have finished most of the Buddhist books from the library, moving from basic texts to esoteric writings such as The Tibetan Book of Great Liberation and back again. The first sermon of the Buddha still stuns me with its clarity; I read it and feel the world grow still and quiet around me. I read teachings on meditation and wisdom, keeping in mind Nima’s summation that belief without practice is useless. Buddhist practice offers systematic tools for anyone to work out their own salvation. Here, the Buddha said, you’ve got your mind, the source of all your problems, but also the source of your liberation. Use it. Look at your life. Figure it out.
The teachings on compassion are particularly important to daily practice. Compassion grows out of the recognition that all sentient beings—friends, enemies, complete strangers—want the same thing. We all want to be happy, and yet again and again, we act in ways which bring suffering to ourselves, and to others, and through others back to ourselves. Seeing through the superficial differences to this core of sameness is the great equalizer, stripping away the mask of unique personal identity and revealing us one and all as simple, wanting, fearful, hopeful, bewildered beings. It is an enormous daily mental challenge to see Mr. Matthew not as my enemy but simply as my neighbor, wanting exactly what I want, and being mistaken, just like me, about how to get it.
According to Buddhism, if someone insults or hurts you, you should see their behavior as an opportunity to learn about the nature of your pride and attachment. Buddhism demands that you not only love your enemy, but see him or her as your greatest teacher. Instead of despising Mr. Matthew, I could be using each encounter with him to examine my ego and break down my own arrogance.
Buddhism requires that I take on the terrifying responsibility for myself; I am the author of my own suffering, and my own deliverance. And yet it also requires very little—only that I open my eyes right here, where I am standing, that I simply pay attention.
I ask Amala how one becomes a Buddhist, is there a ceremony, what are the requirements. She tells me to go to a lama. I feel almost ready.
Tshewang returns One Hundred Years of Solitude through a friend, with “thanks” scribbled on a scrap of paper inside. We have not spoken since the dance. I think this is his way of telling me he realizes that we have to