The Naked Monk

Archive for February, 2010

Tashi Delek—it’s Tibetan New Year! Today, everyone would normally put on brand new clothes, replace last year’s sun-bleached prayer flags with freshly printed ones, and eat and drink to their heart’s content for at least three days, though the festival usually lasts fifteen.

Alas, this year the Dalai Lama’s asked Tibetans worldwide not to celebrate, as a mark of solidarity with the Tibetans who still actually live in Tibet or, as the Chinese call it, China. They are now a racial minority in what had been their own country since the seventh-century reign of King Songtsän Gampo. The Red Army invaded (they say liberated) Tibet in 1950/51 and since then has ruthlessly suppressed Tibetan culture and religion in the name of ‘progress’—a term which the rest of the world is now beginning to view with mixed feelings. True, traditional Tibetan life was rife with superstition, poor hygiene and a questionable judicial/penal system; it was also managed by a theocratic superclass based not on merit but on monastic hierarchy, medieval intrigue and subterfuge. However, the prevalent belief system was Mahayana Buddhism, which values compassion above all, so it was far from completely dysfunctional; still, neither was it what we expect from a modern state. Even the Dalai Lama admitted that the Chinese did him a favour in ejecting him from the gilded cage of the Potala.

Does anyone really believe the Chinese government is modernizing Tibet from the goodness of its neighbourly heart? After all, it started back in those mad early days of the Cultural Revolution. Tibet is China’s lebensraum—growing space for an overflowing population. It’s also a strategic eagle’s nest and home to the largest lithium deposits in the world.

Although the Dalai Lama—to the dismay of many young Tibetans-in-exile—long ago abandoned any hope of Tibet independence and has announced that he’d settle for mere ’cultural autonomy,’ China still paints him as an unrepentant ‘splittist.’ Chinese official Zhang Qingli last year called him, “a devil with a human face but the heart of a beast.”

A what? The rest of the world is puzzled over this depiction, to say the least. His Holiness the Dalai Lama is a familiar, warm-hearted personality on the world stage, usually seen preaching universal kindness and peace. Now he’s preparing to meet the US president in Washington DC, and the Chinese have threatened a diplomatic storm—perhaps more. Why? What’s their problem? As their star rises you’d think their insecurities would take a back seat and they’d be trumpeting a strong, self-assured image. Why does this self-effacing man and his tiny diaspora raise such fury in this giant powerhouse of a nation? They’ve got their Tibetan real-estate; the Dalai Lama knows that’ll never change; even if every Tibetan on the planet took to the streets of Lhasa, they’d be crushed in mere days.

Barack Obama isn’t going to back down, and the Chinese will vilify the USA in their own press in order to keep their own people on board—but are they? This isn’t good for business. Isn’t that sufficient motivation? Perhaps the Chinese are threatened by the enormously disproportionate influence of the Tibetans as Buddhism grows in the West, not simply as a religion than but especially as a system of practices and perspectives that might restore balance to a world in danger of industrial destruction.

What do you think?

I used to be a very private person, some would say secretive. I rarely shared my feelings and kept my opinions largely to myself. My family would laugh at this self-assessment because I was pretty argumentative at home; but even then, the only stuff I let out was what was under too much pressure to keep in; the rest simmered beneath the surface. I spent my childhood and early adulthood in a state of suppressed rage. When I lived the withdrawn lifestyle of a monk, my buttons were pushed less often and I managed to portray an illusion of tranquility that, for a while, seemed real. Only after many years of psychotherapy and mindful reflection did I internalize some of that calm. There’s no quick way around mind training; it takes practice.

My quest for privacy ended nine years ago when I moved to small town Hudson, hung out my shingle and became part of the community. Here I wrote—and last year published—a pretty revealing memoir. Now, here I am blogging my heart out to the world at large. Nobody’s been more surprised than I to discover that I’m a naturally sociable person, even though I’m still hopeless at small-talk. I admit it: I’ve become a happier person.

There’s a price to pay for my public life, however; not all attention is welcome. Don’t get me wrong, I love a critical debate. What makes me sigh despairingly is being accused of impurity. I get this from people who identify themselves as ‘Buddhists’ or ‘spiritual’ in some sense or another. Let me make it clear—as if it wasn’t already obvious from my websites, blog and biography—I really don’t care for purity, don’t believe in it, and consider the very notion of it inimical to mindful reflection.

For example, a couple of months ago, while comenting on a journalist’s site, I was assailed by a third party called ‘GnosticMind.’ He was interested in The Novice, but horrified that I was trying to sell it, as if there’s something unBuddhist about making a living. He then discovered that I charge a fee for my mindful reflection workshops and hit the roof, quoting vinaya (community rules) at me and threatening me with aeons of horrible rebirths. When I pointed out that Buddhist ethics are designed for self-reflection and not for judging others, his response was an endless, accusing rant.

And then just yesterday I received a webmail message via schettini.com advising me to “leave endless debate to younger souls” and entreating me to devote my “remaining hours, days and months to the proven accomplishments of the great masters of our lineage.” I politely pointed out that I was not a member of any lineage and suggested he must have mistaken me for someone else.

And people ask me why I no longer call myself a Buddhist! Please understand, some of my best friends are Buddhists; I have the greatest respect for them and wouldn’t dream of trying to talk them out of it. I also go to the Buddha with my toughest questions. What saddens me, after having fled the hypocrisy by which I was surrounded at birth, is to see the same sanctimony couched in the guise of good Buddhism. It brings to mind the Church Lady character of vintage Saturday Night Live comedy.

Nevertheless, the word ‘purity’ comes up time and again in the Buddhist scriptures. With perhaps a little too much freedom of interpretation for most believers, I take it to mean “doing one’s best,” or having achieved something to the extent that it’s achievable—but no more.

The Buddha himself built an inescapable caveat into the very structure of his teachings with the insistence that the dharma, the path and even awakening itself are not absolute in any way, shape or form, and that clinging to them, just as much as clinging to chocolate, fame or a loved one, binds you most certainly and unceremoniously to the vicious cycle of samsara. Yes, you have to be good, but you also have to be balanced. In my case, that means making a living from what I do in order to maintain my independence from the institutes and chattering classes of the Buddhist establishment, and I’m fine with that. Yes, I can sleep at night and yes, I am fiendishly compelled to challenge commonly held truths. I always tired my elders by insisting that nothing should be beyond question.

Chandrakīrti, the foremost student of Nāgārjuna (aka the Second Buddha) made the following observation about Buddhism’s key concept:
“Emptiness is not a property, or universal mark, of entities … it is a mere medicine, a means of escape from all fixed convictions.” (Prasannapadā 12)

One commonly accepted take on this thought (not just my opinion) is that the path (i.e the Buddha’s Eightfold Noble Path) is just a means to an end (awakening) that, once completed should be discarded. There are times in life when it’s fitting to take a new direction and turn your back on old ways, even though they may have served you well. This is a question of personal discernment—a decision no one can make for you. Those who presume in all piety to do just that should be resisted at all costs.

And once again I turn to the Buddha on this one: “Wander forth, O monks. Let no two go the same way.”

“Can you believe this Stephen? I’m moving in space. It’s mind-blowing.”

No, this isn’t a memory from some long-ago acid trip; it’s Caroline last night appreciating the fact that she can stand up and look around without falling over. For ten days she lay completely still in a dark bedroom while her world spun crazily around her. Finally, after refusing it for seventeen years, she agreed to a two-week megadose of prednisone. Her body’s beginning to work again—at the cost of some intense side-effects; still, she’s not complaining.

Over the years she’s also avoided the various cocktails put together by pharmaceutical companies. They may be approved for human consumption, but they’re barely more than experimental shots in the dark. Their effectiveness is measured in arcane statistics that spin meagre facts: they may help in some cases for some people—if the side effects don’t get you first. Researchers, pharma companies, patients and their loved ones have one thing in common—all they have to grasp at is straws. Welcome to the MS community.

I write this to help you see why a brand new take on MS has stirred up some pretty intense feelings. Dr. Paolo Zamboni from Ferrara, Italy, has associated multiple sclerosis with CCSVI (chronic cerebrospinal venous insufficiency)—a narrowing of veins in the neck. He says that simple angioplasty has significantly relieved the symptoms of sixty-five MS patients (abstract here). From a medical researcher’s point of view, that’s not a statistically convincing number; to make matters worse, Dr Zamboni is no neurologist—he’s a vascular surgeon.

Multiple sclerosis patients and their families are aching to believe in this, and the press has already trumpeted it as a cure. That’s a loaded word that didn’t come from Zamboni, but it has drawn considerable scorn on him. All he’s suggesting is that a routine, drug-free procedure might bring some relief to an incurable disease that affects millions. Neurologists around the world are advising caution. Fair enough, scepticism’s in the job description. However, when Dr Zamboni suggested in Ontario this week that there’d be no harm in patients finding out whether they’d even be candidates for surgery, Canadian doctors accused him of being “irresponsible.” Sounds pompous to me, but then I have issues with establishments.

Who ever thought there might be such a thing as the politics of hope? Some say you must have hope, but Caroline and I have learned from bitter experience that hope isn’t a free gift. The disappointment of misplaced hope more than negates its temporary advantages; the return to hopelessness is devastating. And yet, how do we not have hope?

A second study in Buffalo NY has sort of corroborated some of Zamboni’s findings, though not as convincingly. The story continues to unfold, both up there in the medical establishment and down here in millions of MS-afflicted homes. I think if we’re going to call on anyone for restraint, it should be the press. Get the facts, stick to them and please, have a bit of respect and leave out the hype.

Meanwhile, we’ll just have to wait and see—and hope.

Back in the 1970s hundreds of backpackers turned up in Dharamsala, North-West India to be near the Dalai Lama and to sit in on Geshe Ngawang Dhargyey’s daily Dharma classes at the Library of Tibetan Works & Archives. A couple of years ago one of the long-term residents, Gavin Kilty, had the bright idea of starting a ning social networking site for those of us who spent time there over the years. We’re now spread across the globe, from New Zealand to Mongolia to Europe to the Americas, and the lines of connection are multiplying like a neural network. On the surface, it’s just chat and photos, mostly of our crazy young selves and the strangely respectable middle-aged lot we’ve turned into. Under the surface, however, something new is emerging. It has to do with all those people whose time there didn’t intersect with mine, but with whom I’m now friends! You see, technology isn’t so bad after all. In fact, today’s rising generations are using technology to connect. Back in the day, one of my big concerns was privacy, which was hard to find in India, and especially in monastic life.

Old Dharamsala Wallahs, as it’s called, is a private  network, and yet it’s breaking down old walls of privacy as people share their lives in surprisingly unabashed ways. By the way, ‘Wallah’ is a Hindi word  for tradesman, as in chai wallah, who sells hot tea, or rickshaw wallah, who pulls you around on a cycle-carriage. Gavin’s now initiated an actual reunion, and the Dalai Lama’s agreed to set aside two afternoons for us. It’ll be all warm and cosy and just like the old days, except that most of us will probably stay in the comfortable new hotels that have sprung up since we all left, not in the familiar old cowsheds and tumbledown huts. And, of course His Holiness, as most of the old wallahs like to call him, is now an international celebrity. Might be fun. It’ll certainly be interesting.

When I visited my mother in 2006, just after she’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease, she was sufficiently aware to see the oncoming, narrowing corridors of consciousness. Here’s what I wrote as I sat and watched her doze: 

Dying to be somewhere else
How can I separate
Holding fast to old, new love
Thank God it’s not too late

Your longing eyes are reaching out
Grasping at the rope
With certainties that haunt us all
Wrapped up in death’s warm hope

And I embrace your clarity
Your pain and your despair
I seek them in the wholeness
Of all the years you bear

So if the facts are muddied
And fear constricts your throat
It suggests to us all at last
To end this dance with hope

And therein lies my vanity
While knowing all’s in vain
I work deep in my even keel
And dream my dreams of fame

I shall invent your legacy
Frame emptiness with care
Go hang it on my newest wall
And hope to make it fair