So much happens here in the course of a day or two, even though I have so few of what I might ordinarily consider to be responsibilities! I thought I'd capture some of the highlights from the last two days before tomorrow morning, when His Holiness is scheduled to give a teaching that I plan to attend. He teaches in Tibetan, so if you're an English speaker, you bring an FM radio and tune it to a particular channel to hear a simultaneous translation. New friend C just loaned me a tiny radio, which I'll bring with me early tomorrow. Right now, the narrow streets of Mcleodganj are clogged by taxis and other vehicles, which must be bringing in other people who want to attend the teaching.

This morning, following a suggestion from my friend K, I walked out to the nearby village of Bhagsu and then continued to a waterfall that streams down a narrow gorge up above the village. The path from the village leads past stone bathing pools where families were relaxing and swimming, then up along the side of the gorge towards the waterfall. Rhododendrons are now blooming, creating blood-red splotches of blooms on the hillsides. Walking further up the path, I saw below me a group of village women doing their laundry in the river. Farther up, a group of monks were doing their own washing and relaxing in the sunshine on the boulders by the water. At the falls, I sat on a bench at a drinks stand and watched a group of young Indian men having fun posing and taking photos of each other with the falls in the background. Two asked to have their photos taken with me--a very common request. My photo must now be in hundreds of albums all over India. I'm not sure why people so often want my photo. Perhaps because I'm strikingly taller than most Indian women, or because I'm wearing a traditional salwar kameez rather than Western dress. I encounter many mysteries in India...

On the way back, a family of musicians were performing at the side of the road, with a donation bowl in front of them. Their music sounded very like Rajasthani music I'd heard at Ranthambore and Jaisalmer weeks ago--perhaps they are Rajasthani. I offered them some money. The young son began to playfully dance to the music. Inspired by the beauty of the music, the place, and the spring flowers, I joined him, and we danced together for a few minutes--each with one hand on hip, the other held up to the sky--before I continued back to town.

This afternoon and yesterday, I've been sitting in on the Intermediate English class that I'll begin teaching at the beginning of the month. I've been so glad of the chance to get a sense of the students' English proficiency and to compare notes with the teacher I'll replace. I can tell that teaching the class will be an enjoyable challenge.

Both yesterday and today, I joined in on the daily afternoon Conversation Cafe, which remains a highlight of my time here. Yesterday I talked with two Tibetan exiles and a Ladakhi (a native of India's Ladakh region, which borders Tibet). Though all three are ethnically Tibetan, their lives are quite different. The cheerful young Ladakhi, whose English is very proficient, works as a trekking guide and is a citizen of India by birth. The Tibetans, who are studying English now, are classified as refugees, and therefore hold ID cards rather than passports. They explained that for them and for Tibetan exiles generally, it's hard to find good employment here in India--Indian citizens have a big advantage generally, and without passports, exiles can't hold government jobs. Yet they can't return to Tibet, at least as matters now stand, since they left illegally. I asked whether they are in contact with family and friends, and learned that they can talk by phone and also exchange email. We talked about Tibet's future, and I asked about relations between ordinary ethnic Chinese and Tibetan people in Tibet. One of the exiles reported that ordinary people get along quite well, and that many Tibetans are learning Mandarin Chinese in order to better communicate with their Chinese neighbors. For him, the future of Tibet lies in Chinese and Tibetan people getting to know one another and becoming friends, despite government policies, and he feels that this is what's indeed happening on the ground in Tibet now. A heartening point of view to hear!

During today's Conversation Cafe, I talked with S, who is one of my soon-to-be students, and a Tibetan geshe, i.e., a distinguished teacher of Buddhist philosophy, who is from a monastery in South India. Both also are Tibetan exiles who had walked here (which seems to be how everyone arrives here from Tibet). The teacher had been asked by the Dalai Lama to spend a year here studying English, and he's now working his way through the beginning courses. With the help of S's interpreting now and then, I learned that the teacher has already taught in a few Asian countries including Singapore, Hong Kong, and Taiwan, where he taught in Chinese at monasteries in those countries. I thanked him for taking the trouble to learn English in order to bring the teachings to the West, and I learned that he enjoys teaching in different countries and looks forward to eventually teaching Westerners. Perhaps he'll teach in Seattle one day!

Each morning these days, like millions of people around the world, I've been reading the latest troubling news from Japan. Yesterday, the Times of India carried a story from the New York Times newswire about the 50 (or so) people who have chosen to remain at the damaged nuclear facilities to try to control the emergency. How sobering to think of them and the dangers they are facing, as well as the people who love them and must be terrified for their safety right now.

Saddened by this news story, I walked down the hill to the temple complex where the Dalai Lama resides. Inside on the ground floor, I watched monks debate points of philosophy, driving home their arguments with theatrical flourishes and foot stomps. Upstairs I found a particularly peaceful area--more in keeping with my somber mood--where many monks meditate and chant while others circumambulate the inner temple area. I remained there, sitting on a step, watching the meditators and walkers, who also included pilgrims and tourists.

A row of very young monks were sitting on cushions trying to meditate. But like the young monks at Bodhgaya chasing the leaves falling from the Bodhi Tree, they were greatly challenged by their task. Suddenly, a small water pistol skittered out from under the skirt of one of them. It came to rest by the foot of one of their teachers, who kicked it away dismissively, and then addressed a few stern words to the hapless little monks, who instantly recovered their meditation postures.

As I sat, my mind and spirits gradually calmed, and I reflected on where I was in that moment. As the ancient story goes, Avalokiteshwara, one of the Buddha's own students, became the Bodhisattva of Compassion: a being who, though having become enlightened, chooses to defer entry to nirvana in order to help other beings. Many bodhisattvas are seen to exist, but Avalokiteshwara (in other traditions, Kannon in Japan and Guanyin in China) is especially associated with compassion. The Dalai Lama is thought by many to be his current incarnation (though he does not claim to be).

So perhaps I was sitting in the very home of Avalokiteshwara, I thought, and probably only a few yards away. Considering that, and with my mind and heart eased by the calm of the temple (perhaps excepting the restless little monks), it was the natural thing to offer a metta prayer to the workers at the reactor site, as the Buddha had taught so long ago:

May you be safe and protected.
May you be healthy and strong.
May you be peaceful and joyful.

May you have ease and well-being...