I may be the only person you know who got the news of Osama Bin Laden's death from Tibetan monks. I was in the daily Conversation Class here in which all are invited to come chat in English for an hour. (Many monks come here from monasteries elsewhere specifically to learn English, because--thanks to the large numbers of Westerners here--there are lots of willing volunteer tutors, teachers, and classes here.)

Though I'm not that far geographically from the location of the killing in nearby Pakistan (I'm roughly 200 miles away), I got the news many hours after most of the rest of the world. Only a few minutes before, I'd glanced through today's Times of India, in which the lead story was a NATO attack on the Gaddafi family compound in Libya. So when my conversation partners asked what I thought about what the American Air Force had done, I thought they meant Libya. Äctually, it was a NATO attack," I insisted. We talked at cross purposes until they were finally able to straighten me out.

The monks asked again for my opinion about the killing. I said that what first came to mind was Mahatma Gandhi's comment that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. I said that any death was an occasion for regret, not celebration. I also said that President Obama would not have had any real choice in ordering the attack, given the political constraints on him. We all essentially seemed relieved to discover that we saw the situation about the same way, and soon moved on to other topics. Eventually, we gave ourselves a break from the deeply serious issues of the day to address the question of whether, if invited, we would have attended the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton. We were unanimous in agreeing that we would, and one monk added that he would have wanted to offer special Tibetan prayers to ensure that they would have a harmonious family life.

Afterwards, being both hungry and reflective--I had not had lunch--I walked over to the Kungra Restaurant for a meal on their terrace. On the way, I met a Swedish friend in a similarly reflective mood. She was with a Frenchman who did his best to entrap me in an argument over whether President Obama is a lying politician, but I was having none of it, and was a bit curt about it. I got a gently sympathetic look from my Swedish friend.

I found a table to myself, and sat looking out over the landscape, which was serene in the evening sunlight, despite the violence that had happened so close to us and so recently. Swallows dipped and soared above and around us. I remembered an evening long ago when I'd sat on the shore of the Sea of Galilee watching swallows flying over the undulating water. The water surface had looked so firm and elastic that it had been easy to imagine Jesus walking out onto it. I thought of him, his life and words, and a comment he'd made that is a favorite of mine: "The Kingdom of Heaven is all around us, only men do not see it."

I take his comment to mean that the divine is much closer to us than we know, and that we should do our best to find our way towards it, and away from the confusion, anger, and pain that so often seems an inevitable part of the human condition.

Later, my Swedish friend and I agreed to take tea on Tushita's deck after the morning meditation session tomorrow. And then I walked off through the darkening streets, past the prayer flags flying above us all.