Radio Shangri-La_ What I Learned in Bhutan, the Happiest Kingdom on Earth - Lisa Napoli [31]
Culturally, Bhutan-style Buddhism is ubiquitous, embedded in daily life. There is absolutely no separation of church and state in Bhutan; the lower half of the country’s flag is orange to represent the religion. The government funds many of the monasteries, and each district’s administrative seat, the dzong, also houses monks.
Virtually every home features an altar, housed in a room of its own if space allows. A step at the bottom of every doorway trips up unwelcome spirits. Old men and women walk the streets spinning handheld prayer wheels, lost in the murmur of their chants. Even television programming is infused with the religion; every morning at 6:00 a.m., the Bhutan Broadcasting Service kicks off its day with prayers chanted against a backdrop of scenic video clips of the country’s spectacular landscape.
New construction—schools, residences, a government-sponsored park—isn’t inhabited or put to use until it is consecrated by monks. Religious holidays, such as the First Sermon of Lord Buddha or the Birth of Guru Rinpoche, dot the official calendar. Specially trained monastic astrologers are consulted about virtually every aspect of life—illness, marriage, trouble that befalls a family, major decisions.
Draped across the landscape of Bhutan are endless ribbons of color, bright prayer flags hoisted as protection against certain gods, to coax others forward, and to repel bad spirits. These fluttering squares, in various states of fade and tatter, are almost as plentiful as the trees the king has enacted laws to protect. They’re hung in places that seem impossible for a human to reach; it’s believed that the closer they’re raised to the heavens, the more effective they will be. The flags fly until they disintegrate, which can take years. Their tattered remnants are lingering reminders of the human call to a higher power—and of how this religion pervades the very air.
To the uninitiated, the rules and rituals associated with Buddhism as practiced in Bhutan might seem absurd—elaborate and colorful and rife with inexplicable superstition. Circle a religious structure three times clockwise to accumulate merit. Circle on this auspicious day, and your merit will be doubled. If your family’s monk or astrologer advises against travel, but there’s no way around making the trip, you pack your suitcase early and leave it outside the door to trick the spirits. You might also carry printed prayers in your pocket or your purse, for extra protection. Animals cannot be slaughtered during certain holy months, but it’s acceptable to purchase and stockpile meat in advance to consume during that time. If meat is consumed, it is preferable to choose cow over chicken, for chickens feed fewer people, and the bad karma from killing is lessened when more people benefit.
Most compelling to me were the underlying principles of the religion: Compassion for all beings, and the interconnectedness of everyone. The ideals of wisdom and knowledge. Self-reliance. Acceptance and forgiveness. What you possessed and achieved wasn’t what was important. These were the principles I’d learned in happiness class, writ large. Most religions espoused similar values, but there was something about the Buddhist approach to delivering the message that spoke to me, a decidedly lapsed Catholic.
The holy men and women roaming the streets of Bhutan’s capital city reinforce the messages of the faith. They wear burgundy robes and sport close-cropped hair; they