verb: to sleep. Phonetic: ni

“The number of lives that enter our own is incalculable.”

 

People here have incredibly intimate conversations in incredibly public places. It is out of necessity, not desire. There is nowhere else with internet. But it brings a whole new element to the conversation. The element of performance. She has her talking points down. She’s practiced this one. As she trudged up those hills, you just know she played it over and over in her mind. Is it going how she planned? Is the person on the other computer in America asking the right questions, making the right concerned noises? I can hear her homesickness and I recognize it. But if she could be slightly less of a typical loud-ass American, we would all appreciate it. At least she is dressed as a human. The westerners here are very confused. They believe they have entered a realm of constant Halloween celebrations. They dress accordingly. Like Diego. Diego is Spanish, but not in a cute way. I don’t know if his appearance and attitude are vestiges of a previous and long-standing condition, or if they just sprouted up upon his arrival here. It appears that he hasn’t showered since his country controlled most of central america. His clothes are a mis-mash of a modern hippy and an 18^th century hobo with a peg leg and downs syndrome. Alright, he has neither of those, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he sported a peg leg as some kind of statement. He is a dirtier version of jack sparrow, with a psuedo spiritual twist. I will tolerate your beliefs unless their foundation is drug use and self-righteousness. Arrogance is not a religion.

“I’m Feelin rough I’m Feelin raw I’m in the prime of my life.
Let’s make some music make some money find some models for wives.
I’ll move to Paris, shoot some heroin and fuck with the stars.”

 

Dharamsala is not as cold as it seems. But it does seem so very cold. This unfortunate deception is due to insulation, or the lack there of. The outside is the exact same temperature as the inside. When you are outside, walking and in the sun, it is not cold. When you are inside, hidden from the sun’s rays, not moving, you are freezing. One of my roommates is in a sleeping bag. She has on long underwear, pants, wool socks, slippers, a jacket, a scarf, and a beanie. My nose is running and my feet are cold. Some nights, if you are eating something hot, you can see your breath inside. We hung one of those foil-esque emergency blankets on the wall, in the small hopes that it will draw in sunlight and make it warmer. Our room looks like a space ship.

I live at the bottom of about 18 million stairs. Seriously. I plan my activities around going up them the least amount possible. Sometimes long haired goats or giant shit covered cows are blocking them and you have to climb around. My ankles threaten to roll on the steep parts. I give them a stern talking to and keep them in line.

“I’ll miss the playgrounds and the animals and digging up worms.
I’ll miss the comfort of my mother and the weight of the world.
I’ll miss my sister, miss my father, miss my dog and my home.
Yeah I’ll miss the boredom and the freedom and the time spent alone.”

 

Bekah told me to blog. I told her that all I have been doing is research, so unless she wanted me to blog about Gesar, the longest epic in the world…. she said she did. Be careful what you ask for, Dear.

Kinship in Tibet follows a complex and varied system. The marriage systems practiced among Tibetans combine monogamy (single partner marriage), polyandry (the marriage of one woman to two or more men), and polygyny (the marriage of one man to two or more women). This combination is rarely found elsewhere. The Tibetan marriage system is closely related to social structure and land tenure (Goldstein 1971:64). Members of certain social strata were tied to their land in the feudal land system of Tibet. Families with multiple sons risked dividing the land and labor force when those sons married. The general solution was fraternal polyandry (two or more brothers marrying one woman) (Goldstein 1971:68). Marriages with more than two brothers (tri- and quatri-fraternal polyandry) were not preferred, as it was believed that martial harmony would not be easily obtained. In the case of more than two brothers, one would often be sent either to a monastery or be given as a bridegroom to a family without a son (Goldstein 1971:69). Multi-generational polyandry also occurred. In this case, if a mother died the father and son(s) would marry one woman, again to avoid division of the land. The father would generally not take part in the marriage ceremony, but it would be agreed upon earlier that he would have sexual access to the bride. In this union, any resulting children would be considered the son’s (Goldstein 1971: 69). On rare occasions, if a family had multiple daughters and no sons, a polygynous matrilocal marriage (the male moving residences to the females’ home) would occur.

However, in a separate social strata, where families were not tied to the land, and individuals were free to roam to find work where they pleased, monogamy was the preferred marriage choice. In his twenty month field research, Goldstein (1971) recorded various marriages coinciding with his theories on marriage:

 “Turning now to an actual example, I recorded 62 primary marriages among the 23 tre-ba families of the village of Chimdro in Gyantse district. Of these, 24 (39%) were characterized by the presence of only one male of mar-riageable age and, thus, could be classed as monogamous marriages. Thirty-two (51%) occurred in families with more than one son and were all poly- androus. Of these 32, 20 were cases where there were only 2 siblings, whose marriages were all of the bi-fraternal polyandrous type. In the 8 cases of 3 sons, 6 were tri-fraternal polyandrous marriages and 2 were bi-fraternal (with one brother going to his wife’s family as bridegroom). There were 4 cases of families with 4 sons. In one of these, quatri-fraternal polyandrous marriage took place; in 2, bi-fraternal polyandry occurred; and in one, there was a tri-fraternal polyandrous marriage. In no instance with multiple sons was a joint family established. In the remaining 6 cases (10%) there were only daughters present, and in all of these bridegrooms were brought in. In 5 of the families with only one daughter, the monomarital pattern was not relevant. But the sixth family had two daughters. Here a matrilocal sororal polygynous marriage alternative, with both daughters bringing in husbands, was avoided by making the younger daughter a celibate nun while she was a youth (70).”

The epic of Gesar, however, does not exactly follow these statistics. While all three methods (monogamy, polygyny, and polyandry) are shown in the epic, they are not found in the scale one would expect. Polygyny appears to be the ideal system, and polyandry appears minimally. Gesar himself takes multiple wives. This is, however, not without resulting problems. This can be seen in the relationships between Gesar’s wives (and other multiple wives throughout the epic). For example, King Singlen of Gling wishes to marry Gongmo, but does not in order to avoid his wife’s fury. The king’s wife supplies the reason that she has given him a son, so he has no reason to marry another woman (David-Neel 1987:70). Other marriage practices are also seen in the epic. In Tibet, children born out of wedlock do not present the problem that they do in other societies (Levine 1987:279). This is the reason that Gesar’s miraculous birth is accepted by the community as a whole (although not the individuals who saw the gods issue from Gongmo’s body); Gesar is assumed to be the illegitimate child of Gongmo’s master, King Singlen (David-Neel 1987:137). Also, after Gesar kills the first Hor King his wife returns to Gling, but is told by Gesar to go back to Hor and marry the deceased King’s brothers (there are two of them, thus implying fraternal polyandry), demonstrating marriage after death to family members (David-Neel 1987:199).

Marriage between cross cousins is another important aspect of the Tibetan marriage system. Desideri, an eighteenth century explorer in Tibet, described kinship beliefs relating to cross cousins. He noted that relatives were divided into two categories, those of the same bone (Rupa-cik) and those of the same blood (Scia-cik). Those of the same bone were considered decedents of a distant common ancestor, while those of the same blood were related through marriage and birth. There was an incest taboo placed on members of the same bone, but not on members of the same blood. The bone is passed through the father’s side, and the blood through the mother’s (Benedict 1942:328). Other studies show that cross cousins through the mother’s side are eligible (or even preferred) for marriage, while cross cousins on the father’s side are not (Benedict 1942:328). “Bone” is also used by members of the Sherpa ethnicity as the term for their twenty-one patrilineal clans (Paul 1989:20). The term also involves ancestors in this context, as the clans have descended from four proto-clans centuries ago (Paul 1989:20). In some Tibetan marriages, the mother’s brother’s permission is needed to give away a daughter in marriage. This relates to cross cousin marriage (as the daughter may be marrying the uncle’s son), and a variation is seen in the Gesar epic. When Padmasambhava requests the Nagi as a gift after curing the Nagas of their illness, the father of the girl agrees but the uncle objects, and must be convinced. The matter is complicated here as both the uncle and the father share a wife– another example of polyandry (David-Neel 1987:63).

Social structure as mentioned in the Epic of Gesar also more or less coincides with what was found in Tibet, prior to 1950. Eastern Tibet (where, the general consensus states, Gesar originated) was home to pastoral nomads (Gelek 2002:2). While the epic does not describe in depth the subsistence patterns of characters, pastoralism is mentioned in the David-Neel version. Nomadism is not strictly mentioned, although abiding in tents is (however, it is also mentioned that Gesar builds a palace, and other kings have them as well). The political structure in Gling is described as multiple clans with chiefs, all united under a king. A system of two governors is also mentioned. David-Neel explains that this shows that this particular passage is of a recent addition, since the seventeenth century, when a law involving one religious and one secular governor was established (David-Neel 1987:230). This system was used up until very recent times among nomads in Eastern Tibet (Gelek 2002:12). The tribes of gLing are united under “phu-nu”. This concept was not translated into English or mentioned by David-Neel, but is described by Samten Karmay. Belonging to “phu-nu” is an indication of a certain social status, and gives one particular social claims. The literal meaning is “elder and younger brothers” (Karmay 1995:497). The term is, however, applied widely and indicates a relationship beyond actual brotherhood. The three paradigms of “phu-nu” are solidarity, commensality, and equality in status. It is a fraternal bond that is regulated through both moral and jural “social imperlatives” (Karmay 1995:497). The term appears similar to “tsha-shan”, a term that in an historical work is shown to mean “brother-in-law or son-in-law” but in the writings of Milarepa indicates a “spiritual brotherhood” (Benedict 1942:322). In fact, one of the bonding factors of “phu-nu” is the shared “bone” of the father (Karmay 1995:497). This implies not simply a blood relation, but a relation tracing back to a common ancestor, as mentioned previously. Factors in “phu-nu” are loyalty and honor, but it also can be married into (Karmay 1995:499). “Phu-nu” creates an alliance that has to do with more than consanguinity. In the David- Neel version, characters refer to each other as “uncle” and “nephew” where no relationship is present. David-Neel explains that these terms are used where no actual relationships exist, but are used to show respect. The epic demonstrates complex kinship structures, hinting at those found within Tibetan society.

Well…. there you go.

To become (non-volitional): verb. Phonetic: Chok

Varanasi (Benares)

“An old woman with an umbrella was sitting very still on one of the park benches. She has the kind of stillness that draw attention to itself.”

 

“There’s a dead body on top of that car. There’s a dead body on top of that car. There’s a dead body on top of that car.”

She keeps repeating it, I don’t know why she keeps repeating it. Here it appears to be a game. A dangerous combination of leap frog and chicken. Pass as many cars as you can. My hair is wild, my skin buffeted by the wind, but I keep the window completely down. I want to feel it all. The smoky air stings my eyes and I can feel each and every one of my eyelashes press against my eyelids with the force of the air pushing against them, but I refuse to roll up the window, not even an inch. We are all buffeted and blown about by the sounds and the colors and the people and the presence and the pressure of it all. And then we aren’t. We are quietly floating away from waving children, clinging to the shore, demanding pens that we don’t even possess to give them. We recede from the bank like a wave, not present here. We aren’t present here. We float by flickering candles, perched precariously on the water. It appears haunted, this place. A dim cemetery world, where water dampens sound and feeling. But not the kind of haunting that occurs in movies, all secret and frightening. This haunting is comfortable, it is acknowledged. It is accepted for what it is. I am in Varanasi, the city of the dead. Only those lucky enough to have made it here to die with in it are allowed to be cremated on the shores. I am drifting on the Holy river Ganga, the last resting spot of those lucky bodies. The air is smoke and citrus. My mind is smoke and citrus.

We are on a roof top, doing yoga and passing around a bottle of rum from Mustang, or Kathmandu. Some place that has no footing here. I hate rum.  I acknowledge this city’s ghosts and greet them, along with the living, who are much more troubling. It is Halloween in Varanasi and I am glad to be here.

I stand on the same roof top the next morning and watch the 20 monkeys on the next roof over as they clean each other. Muslim prayers resonate grainily from loud speakers. Boats glide through the haze, as thick as the water. It is the morning of November first. In DC it is Halloween night. Friends are in costumes, drinking at parties. I can feel the bass of the music. I can sense the sudden fear, the tightening of drunken tendons, the beating of blood suddenly doubling in veins, when a knuckle comes down against the door. UPD? No, just another reveler. Fears dissipate in laughter. Come in, grab a cup. It is a situation and feeling I know so well and right now I am so far removed from it.

Sarnath

“Lisboa is a city which has a relationship with the visible world like no other city. It plays a game. Its squares and streets are paved with patterns of white and colored stones, as if, instead of being roads, they were ceilings.”

We take jeeps to Sarnath. I turn the iPod up to match the physical volume of the driving. I like to go fast, I like this game today. Gypsy punk roars into my ears as I watch women in Saris, side-saddle on motorcycles, passing rickshaws. Sarnath feels dusty. It is not that it necessarily is dusty, but it feels that way. Like the sunlight is filtered.

Today I walked around the Deer Park, where the Buddha gave his first sermon after reaching enlightenment. The crumbling stupas were decorated with marigold garlands and rose petals. Smelled so good, I wanted to drink the air. There were actually deer in the deer park. Go figure.

At night, we follow our Tibetan teachers and watch a Burmese parade, trying Betel nut. It is like chewing tobacco, but a nut. It is mixed with coconut, and paste, and tons of other stuff, and wrapped in a leaf. It turns your mouth red and causes you to spit every ten seconds. Everywhere in India, liquid red lines score walls from spitters of Betel nut. Julie puts the wadded leaf in her mouth and bites down. Her face contorts, immediately showing her feelings. She can’t hide anything, this girl. Now we are laughing, and she is laughing while still making faces, chewing in slow motion. In another 3 minutes she announces that she loves it, the sounds she makes are something resembling words, as her mouth is still full, and now slightly numb.

Bodhgaya

“When she wept, she tried to turn away from me.  This may have been to spare me, but it was also because her tears took her back to other times, before I had been thought of.  While she was crying, I waited, like you wait for a long train to pass at a level crossing.”

I am in Bihar, the poorest state in India. Ingoglia told me not to come here. It was uncharacteristic, him giving me travel advice, so it stuck in my mind. But here I am. For where else would the Buddha have obtained enlightenment, than under a tree in the poorest part of India? Alex spilled her tea all over me. I laughed so hard I almost cried. Too hard, too close to tears. We were never given a chance to cry. Not this time though. No, that would be too much. I was my pants off and climb back in the back of the car. I am on the edge, in the back, so my body sinks towards the middle. I have to balance on one ass cheek to avoid laying on the person in the middle. After four or six hours, my side aches from this maneuver.

Back in the cars. Music reminds me of books that remind me of life. I like that. I live in these realms of memories, of things I haven’t experienced, but know anyway. You can see how enlightenment could be attained here. It must have been lovely, once. It still is, in the park. But it is full of so many poor people, who follow us, won’t leave us alone, some how know where we are staying. The tree though. It is a great-great-great-great-etc grand daughter of that Buddha’s tree, and it exudes peaceful contemplation. Such a lovely, peaceful tree, surrounded by such poor, desperate people, who follow us for streets, clinging to our ankles in a disturbed crab crawl that does not belong to the human form, involving missing limbs and contorted features. Please, just stop talking to me, crawling towards me, sending me such destitution.

Rajgeer

“This is not a city, my boy, which fucks itself up.  That’s why I’m here.”

Okay, who slipped me the pills? This place is a mother fucking trip. It is known for its use of horse carts and its non-use of cars. These are not modern, somehow cool, horse carts. These are pieces of plywood held together with what appears to be betel nut juice and the anachronistic dreams of tourists. They dip and creak when you step on them. Much like the hotel beds. It is quite obvious that the sheets have never been washed. And either some murders or tantric blood letting rituals have gone down in the rooms. Nate swears the shit stain on the wall moved when he was asleep. Power surges cause our one florescent light to turn itself on and flicker through the night, as well as making the fan go into hyperspeed, threatening to fly off the ceiling. The mosquitos appear to have ingested some uranium that has made them giant and loud and super human. They buzz around our heads, making sleep impossible. The one road is lined with solar lights. Sounds cool. Wrong, my friend. This is the height of the acid-tacular experience. The lights line both sides and the middle of the mile and a half long road, surrounded on both sides with jungle, and absoultey no other lights. The lights are red. Bright red. They blink about every .5 seconds. Imagine that the only thing you can see is a mile and a half of blinking red lights. With the occasion horse cart coming out of fucking nowhere. After wandering in a daze through this psychedelic maze, we come to a tea shop where a man speaks to us in what he assumes in English. It most assuredly is not. We smile and nod, and suddenly salty boiled eggs are placed before us. No thanks. Then raisins. Sure, i’ll have a raisin. “Maggot in the raisins! Maggot in the raisins!” Ok, no more raisins. The waiter walks us all the way back to our hotel, speaking god knows what. He thinks he is coming in with us. How to ditch someone who doesn’t speak the same language? Conundrum. We get it across. He pees on the lawn and shakes our hands. Immediately. His hands are wet. Great. Let me go wash it in the bath room without a light, with the toilet without a flushing mechanism, in the mosquito swamp, next to the empty betel-nut stained elevator shaft. I turn on the tap in the morning and am surprised that blood doesn’t flow from it.

Kushinagar

“There is a man holding a megaphone, so he must have been the voice of God. Bystanders claimed they saw angels flying up and down the park. They must have been attached to wires, I saw one laying on the lawn with a broken arm. So I called 911. Well, that’s one less founded opinion, one more cause for a dispute, so the street filled like a basin up with cameras and their crews, and they washed away the rumors leaving just the concrete truth. It was a spectacle… no, I… I mean a miracle.”

We are on a train. Or we are in a zoo. We are the main attractions. In Nepal they look, in India they stare. There are 40 people crowded around us, staring blankly and taking pictures. We get a police escort. We are at the spot of the Parinirvana. Thai pilgrims tilt their heads while prostrating, making sure the camera gets their good side. They are lead in mass, by a monk with a megaphone. So much merit, so little time.  I have no right to judge them.  But I do anyway. 

Lumbini

“You said you’d let your hair down, you got enough to go around, said you’d let your hair down, but you’ve been telling me that since the day we met. She’s laughing like a choir girl, she’s laughing like a choir girl, when she doubles over, sounds like halleluiah.”

I ride on top of the bus, shaking out my hair, freeing it to the force of the wind. Do with me what you will. Every time we pass another buss with passengers on top, we all mutually, spontaneously scream. It is an ecstatic recognition of shared knowledge. We know the feeling of the wind in our hair, and bugs hitting our faces at high speeds. We share the knowledge of deep bruises on our asses and lower backs where the metal rods dig in. We know to duck when a low tree branch approaches. We know the songs of birds and the setting of the sun as no one else does. All this we scream to each other, reaching out our arms, although we know we will never touch.

We almost weren’t let back into Nepal. I was almost attacked by dogs in a hotel stupa. This is how it goes.

Kathmandu

“Sally was a 15 year old girl from Nebraska.  Gypsies were passing through her little town.  They dropped something on the road, she picked up.  Cultural revolution right away began.”

My host family didn’t know I was leaving. Somehow they conjured a present out of nowhere. Ama-la again tells me that it is good that my hair is past my shoulders. Her daughter, Tsechok, she is always cutting her hair. No good. Hair must be past your shoulders. This is the first time my hair has been past my shoulders in seven years. She tells me she feels like I am her daughter. So how can I not agree when they ask me to take some incense to America for her sister? Sure, just a little package of incense, no problem. Except it is like 80 packages of incense. And shoes. All wrapped carefully and sewn in to a bag. They tell me to put it into my suitcase and then give me a lock for it. I really hope I have not just been made a drug smuggler for a Tibetan family.

I am in Delhi, waiting for the night bus to Dharamsala. I love you all.

OM MANI PADME HUM