Kopan Monastery — High Above it All.

This is a challenging blog to write because basically it is about silence.

 I wish you could have joined me to sit high above the fray. In Kathmandu, below this hill, the festival day of Laxmi was  erupting. Lights, music, gaiety, with people going door to door performing. I missed it all by leaving Eco-Organics Farm for this five day retreat.

Why did I choose Kopan, a Tibetan Buddhist Monastery? 

Well, I think it chose me. My hotel manager, Prakesh, had felt very guilty about stranding me at the airport upon my arrival to Kathmandu. No driver as promised. No answer on the phone. No Nepali money to pay a taxi driver. No functioning ATM to get Nepali money … So, he helped me by finding Eco-Organics Farm and now this Kopan Monastery. His kind aid more than compensated for my initial confusion and fear!

It felt good to sit here, high above it all. The chaos, farm difficulties, Nepali woes ... far below.

What did I gain from this retreat? In order of pleasure: a sit down toilet! A room to myself with no rats leaving droppings or goats being birthed or precarious paths to a hole in the floor toilet in the middle of the night. A shower!!!  Reliably filtered water! And most of all protein! Yay tofu!!!

I know it sounds like I’m grumpy about the farm living situations which I indeed chose. Sorry, but the contrast was lovely and proved how, even though I’m a great camper and farm girl, I am addicted to certain Western cleanliness standards. I’m a relative wimp, I confess.

But the 5 days wasn’t really about Kathy feeling clean. It was about working with my reactions with filth or anything else objectionable in life. The title of the retreat was “Transforming Problems into Happiness” by Geshe Losang Sherab. That’s promising a lot!

I won’t subject you to Tibetan Buddhist philosophy, much of which was dense, intellectual and challenging. An easier read, but still potent, is Pema Chodren’s book, “Start Where You Are.” Basically the teaching is about using whatever hits you in life or disgruntles, disgusts, or confuses you as the path for awakening. Awakening to what? To what all spiritual teachings point to —the “two wings of the bird” — wisdom and compassion. So, stop griping, Kathy. Use your difficulties. Say “thank you” to them and to the difficult people who are your “teachers.”

Easier said than done, of course. But rather than being theoretical, the teachings were practical, doable and effective. Again, Pema Chodren translates the Seven Point Mind Training and the “tonglen” practice well for us Westerners.

What else did I love about this retreat, other than the room, protein and guidance? The people. 

We gathered from around the world. Kopan is a famous draw and people fly in from everywhere.  I received so much support from Americans, Canadians, Germans, Indians … and I just have to recall their sincere faces to remember the practices. Here is my small discussion group.

Our larger group:

I think you would love the sight of these  monks playing soccer, their robes hiked up for better running. And the little ones helping each other with laundry chores, arms around each other like brothers, or chanting in unison. When we asked our monk teacher how they come to arrive at the monastery, he said they were allowed to stay only after great consideration. If it wasn’t a good fit they were sent home to their families. If they wanted to leave at any time, no problem. But for a boy from a poor village, it was a great chance for a good education in a loving and healthy environment.

The monks always seemed to be cheerful, helpful and studious.

Some of the customs might seem odd. 

When a Rinpoche died the search was on for his reincarnation. And here this little boy is, loved and guided. (And free to leave, as one did years ago, to become a film director in Spain.)

 Living one’s whole life in a monastery or nunnery did seem restrictive to me, the Westerner who loves her freedom. But how free is the mind, attached to wanting stuff, her identity, her small circle of friends? 

One morning practice really made me think. A nun had been doing it for two hours each morning for 20 years and I joined her. In the Lama’s quarters we meditatively emptied several hundred small glass bowls of water— sending prayers down the sewer— carefully dried them, filled them with clean water, and replaced them in meticulous order — in front of flowers, statues, and holy paintings. Silently, reverently, relating to the most essential element of life as sacred. Focused yet liberating…

Kopan reminded me of practices I did know but wasn’t doing. 

Up to this point Nepal had been both rewarding and difficult for me. Yet I was just living, experiencing, even suffering but not doing any spiritual practices consistently! It’s natural to try to control things. It’s easy to forget that everything in this physical and emotional plane changes. Nothing lasts. Not the difficulties or the joy. Here I was reminded that when it’s hard, send yourself compassion and then extend it to all who suffer in the same way. It makes you part of a greater whole. When it’s easy, instead of holding that positive experience close to your chest, send that bounty and happiness to all. Get out of way of your small self-absorbed self — connect with the largeness of the earth, all that lives, your own potential. Be grateful for each day and vow to use it well.

Kopan’s reminders were many.

Of beauty.

 Memories of meditating with friends.

Simple Buddhist vows, over 2400 years old:

Wisdom through the years:

And a living teacher:

Reminders to pray:

And memories of the deep voice of our teacher, who performed these vocals for us:

                                                                               http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CA5qRSu55i0

Reminded and fortified I was ready to reenter the world. No matter how clean the environment, could I remember to appreciate water as sacred? Would I encounter difficulties in life with which to practice? (Duh!) 

Would there be a few minutes each morning at this next farm to meditate? To start each day in a quiet way, to be silent, like my friend here?

Even though I have vowed not to carry books around the world,  I am bringing this one out of the monastery bookstore — “Transforming Problems into Happiness” by Lama Zopa Rinpoche, that is until I’ve mastered the practices (Ha!). 

And as a bookmark a postcard of a gaggle of giggling little monks reminding me— “If you can solve the problem then what is the need of worrying? If you cannot solve it, then what is the need of worrying?”

Remembering the view, high above it all, I’m so grateful for this time apart!

So, rested, renewed and reminded —down the hill, back down into the world, to Everything Organic Farm, and a home-stay with the farm manager Shyam...

What a Ride!

What a ride! 

That’s all I can say. The day was dragging at Eco Organics with trying to check out flights to Bali with a terrible wifi, barely good only if you stood in the bushes outside the office window. And news of the volcano in Bali. And trying to figure out if I could get a visa to Bhutan. (Not— needed a bank transfer which I could only do in Florida in person.)

What to do? I had to get some hair dye, so go for a ride! My bowels were happy so I could chance a trip on the scooter, I thought.  Sangham was in his beige suit and I in my best capris and purple top, because we had to “dress to impress”— his motto when being out on the town. I had to insist on a helmet, he resisted because it was dirty, I insisted and won. The mission? He had several items to check off on his shopping trip. I just needed henna for my hair. And to get away from wifi frustration.

I  didn’t think that one through very well. Without a go-pro on my chest I couldn’t have captured the chaos, bumps, smells and gasps for you. To my credit I didn’t scream. I just decided to trust because actually I had no choice. I was on the ride wherever it took me, kind of like this year’s trip. Except I believe that my Higher Self is guiding this year’s trip, not a Nepali in a business suit.

First stop? To buy me a surgical face mask. It helped with the dust a little. Of course the sequence of face mask, sunglasses and helmet had to be followed at each stop. 

Then to a mechanic’s store front where a man was wiping grease off his hands and in whose pocket Sangam placed folded cash. For the parts for his tractor.

Then, to an alley somewhere. We waited and an professional looking man appeared with a repaired lap top. “I can’t hold that thing,”  I insisted. It was all I could do to hold myself on the swerving, bumping carnival ride!. Sangham tucked it under his knees up front.Then to TAAM, the organization in which he helps to regulate tourism and trekking and being fair to the porters. He did his politicing, I sat and read a newspaper, then we went on the rooftop for a snack— fried mung beans, flattened rice and curry… and bathroom.

Then upward and onward to the real reason for the trip, I believe. 

To the store of the Buddha Citta beads. This friend of Sangham’s owns a plantation of this shrub-like tree which produces these brown beads.

 I bought an 108 length one, and two bracelets to give away and then twenty spare beads to give away or plant. Wouldn’t that be cool? Buddha Citta  beads grown in Grant, FL?

We talked about the Buddhist meaning of boddhicitta— awakened heart—and he gave me a present, a bracelet for myself. Sangham was happy and told me to get them consecrated by the Lama at the Kopan Monastery.

Then the most ridiculous segment of the whole crazy trip.  No photos folks!

There was no way I could know which alley to take, or short cuts, or any symmetry to the road system. I just knew it was all pot holes, ruts, dust, jutting rocks, and in Thamel, the destination, it was people. Hordes of people! Cars couldn’t move. Motor scooters barely could, and the procession of hungry shoppers wove in amongst us. It was like Christmas on steroids! I couldn’t take pictures because I was clinging to Sangham’s middle, and when there was a really big bump, I had to clench his thighs with mine, the way you would a horse.  All I knew is that I could not get unseated or I would be dead meat! Why the crowds? Tahir festival! Today is the day of honoring the crow. Really! How?

Well, the first sound I had heard this morning was a, “Caw, caw, caw.” Turns out the harvest of rice the day yesterday had attracted the crows for the gleaning. And boy are people getting ready for this festival! Fruits, vegetables, nuts, pigments of powdered paint. The market place that had been navigable my first wandering in Kathmandu was packed and impossible. Finally Sangham motioned for one rider to push a box of fruit aside, weave foreward,  and for me to hold  back traffic so Sangham could finally move. Yay! And why were we dong this? We went around the circle to end up almost where we started. Why? All this impassable chaos for… mung beans. Six bags worth! But I thought he went shopping yesterday! I had hoped for some festival goodies! But no, they are Buddhist, not Hindu, so all he bought were mung beans.

I madly wanted to get home. 

The dust and crowds and impossible traffic was almost over the top! But nope. On the way home he pulled up to a beauty shop. Closed, of course. The little boy ran out back for us and summoned the owner who happily showed me a box of hair dye. Golden blonde. Of course. From my natural brown to the slightly red in Bulgaria to this. Why not! Turns out that she is Sangham’s “sister” but with a different mother, which simply means she is related but not really a sister. Interesting that the shop was about 10 min walk and I didn’t really neeed to take a scotter.

“This is a cultural experience,” I kept telling Sangham while I chanted Tibetan Buddhist mantras, under my clenched teeth.  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world Just another chance to let go.”  But… he could have just taken me to the beauty shop on on his way. Or pointed me to the place. But no, we had to weave and dodge and count our blessings for 2 hours to get to there And then blond was the only color she had other than black!

“What shall we call us,”  

I asked him, exhausted and wondering about this strange journey as we neared home.  “The old lady and the farmer,”  he laughed. 

Some of my friends are calling me courageous. Sometimes I call myself foolish. Mostly I’m ignorant of what I’m myself getting into, despite the best possible planning, because it’s outside of my control.

On this short segment of the journey the best I can say is, I hung on!

 

Yay Rice!

I spent the morning at Eco-Organic Farm harvesting rice. 

It was satisfying to see the patterns. The green stalks and yellowing rice as waves of grain on concentric  terraces. The cut clumps lying rhythmically in bundles. The shorn root stumps as perfectly spaced mounds on brown cracked earth. 

All of this backed by slopes bordering the terraces of purple native ageratum and orange marigold.

And satisfying to work. 

Cutting each clump of about 8 stalks with a sharpened sickle. Thwack. 

Laying 4 clumps parallel on a bundle. Seeing the full terrace of stalks shrink to brown earth and spaced green bundles. And feeling the scratchy stalks, the drooping rice heads, the sweat.

Working together, more people joining, having to be a little careful not too get too close to someone else’s sickle and lose a finger. Sangham sang us a harvest song.

https://youtu.be/nPGhx3z9T2I

Because it is a celebration! The rain was good. There was no hail! 150 grains of rice per stalk! Even-though the skies are grey right now there is no rain. Yay rice! We will eat this year! 

And what is this descending the narrow path? 

An ancient tool, a mechanical thresher. Sangham laughed that this model was used in the US in the 1700’s and now still in Nepal. Of course I don’t hardly see how a larger machine thresher could work these terraces, even if anyone could pool the money to afford one. This way no ground is compressed by heavy metal ! It takes a little while to level it off with a pole and string. Then pump it vigorously with the foot. Then take a bundle and hold it against the rotating whopper and grains fly off. 

Sangham demonstrated but was pushed aside by a more shorter, older more vigorous worker. He pumped harder, rotated the bundle better and produced a greater pile of white gold. (For two days!)

https://youtu.be/c4mktfG0PCQ

I got dehydrated even after a liter of water and after having learned all I could of the process and having absolutely no need to outwork the grandmother, retired up the hill to shower and wash the dusty clothes. Yes, I was a little jealous to observe the crowd below laughing and eating lunch, but not enough to descend the slippery slope to join them. I searched the kitchen for lunch and found two boiled potatoes— the rest were served to the  workers as well as rewarding alcohol.

What did I learn? Yay rice! The harvest was good! 

The  coming together to gather and thresh was bonding. And wow will that fragrant bowl of home-grown rice contain more than just the carbohydrates that some of us try to avoid!

Look and listen, feel and taste— green, gold, brown, song, sweat, thwack, stack, carry, thresh, scatter, save. 

Yay rice!

Yay Rice!

I spent the morning at Eco-Organic Farm harvesting rice. 

It was satisfying to see the patterns. The green stalks and yellowing rice as waves of grain on concentric  terraces. The cut clumps lying rhythmically in bundles. The shorn root stumps as perfectly spaced mounds on brown cracked earth. 

All of this backed by slopes bordering the terraces of purple native ageratum and orange marigold.

And satisfying to work. 

Cutting each clump of about 8 stalks with a sharpened sickle. Thwack. 

Laying 4 clumps parallel on a bundle. Seeing the full terrace of stalks shrink to brown earth and spaced green bundles. And feeling the scratchy stalks, the drooping rice heads, the sweat.

Working together, more people joining, having to be a little careful not too get too close to someone else’s sickle and lose a finger. Sangham sang us a harvest song.

https://youtu.be/nPGhx3z9T2I

Because it is a celebration! The rain was good. There was no hail! 150 grains of rice per stalk! Even-though the skies are grey right now there is no rain. Yay rice! We will eat this year! 

And what is this descending the narrow path? 

An ancient tool, a mechanical thresher. Sangham laughed that this model was used in the US in the 1700’s and now still in Nepal. Of course I don’t hardly see how a larger machine thresher could work these terraces, even if anyone could pool the money to afford one. This way no ground is compressed by heavy metal ! It takes a little while to level it off with a pole and string. Then pump it vigorously with the foot. Then take a bundle and hold it against the rotating whopper and grains fly off. 

Sangham demonstrated but was pushed aside by a more shorter, older more vigorous worker. He pumped harder, rotated the bundle better and produced a greater pile of white gold. (For two days!)

https://youtu.be/c4mktfG0PCQ

I got dehydrated even after a liter of water and after having learned all I could of the process and having absolutely no need to outwork the grandmother, retired up the hill to shower and wash the dusty clothes. Yes, I was a little jealous to observe the crowd below laughing and eating lunch, but not enough to descend the slippery slope to join them. I searched the kitchen for lunch and found two boiled potatoes— the rest were served to the  workers as well as rewarding alcohol.

What did I learn? Yay rice! The harvest was good! 

The  coming together to gather and thresh was bonding. And wow will that fragrant bowl of home-grown rice contain more than just the carbohydrates that some of us try to avoid!

Look and listen, feel and taste— green, gold, brown, song, sweat, thwack, stack, carry, thresh, scatter, save. 

Yay rice!

Organic Magic

Well, folks I’m at my second farm experience in Nepal. You can call this “total immersion”.

Eco-organic Farm in the Kapan district of Kathmandu is the complex enterprise of Sangham Sherpa and his family. (The “Sherpas” are a Buddhist tribe/caste in Northern Nepal that we associate with trekking porters.) 

I’m not quite sure how to describe this far-reaching undertaking. It’s an organic farm, the produce of which we package each morning for sale in upscale markets. We sort mong bean sprouts. Measure out kim chi.

It’s an organic restaurant for those ambitious enough to ride up the pot-holed lanes. 

Combined with the Himalayan trekking company he and his wife lead. Here they are dressed in their Sherpa finery with a Belgian tour group after the Anna Purna Base Camp trek with their two daughters.

And they have plans for supplying organic food to trekkers, maybe an organic garden at Kopan Monastery, etc …. 

He is an ambitious man! Always on the phone, planning, influencing, helping...

But that’s what it takes to rise from what we could call poverty in a small village, to organizing better conditions for trekking porters, to having connections in the Agriculture Department and lobbying for more organics in Nepal.

His Mother is a case in point. She didn’t seem to be a happy woman, always yelling shrill instructions. But at night when she enjoyed the local brew, we could get her to reminisce.

 I asked the 12 year old to ask her grandmother what it was like growing up. The jist of it was:

No schooling, reading or writing. Her father would walk 7 days each way barefoot to fetch bags of salt. At age 9 woke up at 4 AM to haul fodder for the animals. Age 12 married. Husband left the country for work and she raised her son Sangham by herself, being a porter, growing food, etc... Husband came home and died. She worked hard and survived. She taught her son ambition.” Wow!!!

I had hoped to get more instruction in organic growing here but what I got again was an education in living. 

My rendition will seem a little hodge-podge but that’s is how it evolved, or assaulted me, each day.

Here is the Earthquake House where I slept.

There are many such structures in Nepal. Because there were many aftershocks after the initial destruction in 2015 and because the family home often needed reconstruction, families lived for months in these tarp or zinc roofed, bamboo framed and dirt or tarp floors. (And for those poor enough not to have the resources to rebuild the house, they still live in their Earthquake Houses. My driver from the hotel, Deepak, says that’s all his Mother will ever have.)

At first I recoiled to the label of Earthquake House. Do these people want to be reminded of that death and destruction? One daughter remembered sounds like many buffalo stomping, water shaking and then houses collapsing. But after hearing stories of this neighborhood, I feel privileged to sleep here. I am told that neighbors without houses slept on the grass here and in these organic gardens. They played volley ball here in community solidarity. Who cares if there are rat droppings on the floor! 

This is a place of safety, a place of refuge, where a family slept together and celebrated survival.

You could call this organic living! 

Picking green beans and bok choi for dinner. Walking past odiferous cowsheds and scurrying chickens on the way to the outdoor toilet. Trying not to slide off the 1 foot wide path in the middle of the night. Washing clothes and food in the same unfiltered not-fit-for-drinking outside spigot.

And organic magic! The first night I was awakened by grunting squealing behind us. The next morning? Placenta still trailing,  the mother and wobbly gaited babies. Each morning they greeted me, each day fresh new life.

And here two are of the workers in the green tarped dining room  as we listen to the ultrasound heart beat of my tiny fetus granddaughter! Sent by wifi!

And although I had missed the Dashain goat-sacrifice festival, I did partake of three days of the Tihar Festival.  

Five days of celebrating different life forms. The first, crow (takes prayers to heaven?) 

The second, dog — see these street dogs enjoying the attention of adornment and extra food. (Honored for protecting the home.) 

And the third, cow (prosperity.) . Wow! What a big to do! Necklaces, foot anointing, tail and forehead painting, incense ... (And I wasn’t around for the next two days…)

https://youtu.be/er-1nq7NACA

I wish this family well. I hope organics succeeds in Nepal. I’m so glad girls can go to school. Here the are the children on their school-bus.

And I’m grateful to have slept in an Earthquake house next to baby goats. Organic magic.

What did I Learn at Hasera?

One goal of this trip around the world is to learn 

organic gardening techniques in different countries.

Another is to keep my mind curious and aware by writing a blog. Of course the grandest aim of all is probably an unconscious process related to personal transformation, and certainly won’t be understood until the trip is over!

But I am an annoyingly curious gardener and incessantly bugged all who could speak English about the growing practices here. What I did learn is that this is not an efficient process. If I could just sit someone down for one hour I could get the questions answered! But that’s not how it works. 

I did learn by observation of how vegetables are grown on terraces, and in fact how terraces are hacked out of hills. How trees and bushes are planted on their edges to minimize landslides during rainy season. 

How soil is “grown” with sheet mulching and composting — and how often the mound is covered with soil and directly planted into. 

How Kali’s cow urine is drained from the stall into tanks.

Then when bitter, astringent, aromatic and spicy leaves are added, and the whole thing well fermented, voila! Instant pest repellent on the vegetables! 

How some vegetables are sown in the ground in the tarp-roofed “nursery” and transplanted. How some seeds are directly sown in beds. How companion planting of different species confuses the pests and covers the ground against most weeds. 

How mulching isn’t done much because of lack of resources. How composting with cow manure is done because of immediate resources.

I learned how rice is winnowed by hand.

And easy places to dry clothes.

So, I guess I learned a lot! But at the end Govinda and his wife did apologize that they didn’t have time to answer my questions … I wish I had told them that this is also what I did learn:

I did learn to appreciate the horns below. 

I had to walk the highway to buy more toilet paper (not part of a home-stay in Asia). Hair-raising! Several blind curves on the road. Sheer drop-off on one side with some concrete barriers. Motorcycles, buses, and cars, honking before they passed on the wrong side around the curve. The horns were saving their butts! If they didn’t honk they would die and maybe take us off the cliff with them!

I did learn what a happy Nepali family is like. 

Caring for each other and extended family and friends. When one family visited we did a round-table — each person getting a chance to talk uninterrupted about their life. The young people were passionate about their service and teaching projects. And then with genuine interest they asked me about my journey.

They did care for me too. When some bug lodged in my gut and I took up lodging next to the pit toilet, the farm manager/chief cook Bishnu brought me electrolyte solution and a hot water bottle. 

This family is committed to service and education.

They provide the land and provide lunch for the women for this project. Started by a Taiwanese woman, these women make cotton washable sanitary napkins that are sold world wide and help support their families. 

They also are involved in Menstruation Education Programs. Evidently in the past, some women were locked into sheds during their periods, and several died each year in Nepal.

Here is one day of a children’s summer program where they are given English books to read.

Mitta and other village women have a women’s group — they pool small amounts of money to lend for other women to start small businesses. They will even visit a couple in trouble, for example with alcohol or abuse or communication, and help prevent divorce. For free!

Like many Nepali families they are devoted to educating their two sons at the University, one in agriculture. They are committed to educating the Nepali farmer about organic practices (many of which are their historic normal practices) and not listening to the agriculture school’s teachings about pesticides and fertilizers. 

And definitely not ending up like the southern Indian farmers who are committing suicide in alarming numbers because their soil is depleted and they can’t afford fertilizers! Actually a visiting woman told me of the Indian Government’s commitment to organic because of this disaster. And it is so ironic, because in 1968 I was there, in India, as the Green Revolution with tractors and fertilizers was being proclaimed as the end of hunger!

And I loved this sign at the entrance to Hasera! 

About getting guestions answered? Or about cultivating the questions relevant to our own situation? Relevant to this trip around the world?

At the foundation of all this family does is Hindu spirituality. A small shrine is anointed in the kitchen. 

And at the end of a lovely week, I was thanked for my “postive attitude and enthusiasm.” And I was annointed.

With oil and pigment. With a draped scarf. With a sweet goodbye. Realizing what I did learn. More than gardening facts — values and inspiration.

Thank you Hasera!