tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15150987850681065902024-03-28T00:35:25.757-07:00thedawaring's blogAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-59251487977119462402018-10-25T08:33:00.000-07:002018-10-25T08:33:56.929-07:00Like the reflection of moon in water<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUeHIbTerbV7fL1xeeEex36qaPhkIP7e8sRQLh28OTNmVtfTqubkTNWUZ_6hm6esrxPRg3jC5xyRxzGX1VJ2ggiwL580PSKGEMTrb0OrYxNdkVVw3GANV0_dIwwKNeWpnK523tqvBl0wo/s1600/lil.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="514" data-original-width="638" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUeHIbTerbV7fL1xeeEex36qaPhkIP7e8sRQLh28OTNmVtfTqubkTNWUZ_6hm6esrxPRg3jC5xyRxzGX1VJ2ggiwL580PSKGEMTrb0OrYxNdkVVw3GANV0_dIwwKNeWpnK523tqvBl0wo/s400/lil.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">courtesy: https://www.saatchiart.com</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Every morning when you wake up,
the first feeling that appears in your mind is that strong sense of ‘I’. ‘I
should get up and get ready for work’. “I had an awful dream this night’. ‘I’
should dress well at work place and so on. ‘I’ is the center of our universe.
Little do we realize that this very sense of a <i>permanent, self-existing</i> <i>‘I’</i> is
the very source of all pains and sorrows in the world? The Buddha said it all
when he said, “You are your own savior and you are your own enemy. While committing
an unwholesome deed you are your own witness”. Let us set to examine this ‘I’
in some detail. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This ‘I’ is a mere label tagged to
a composite of matter-mind complex that we call a human being. If you search
this ‘I’ you will never find a solid, concrete, independent ‘I’ with all
characteristics such as color, shape, size, form etc. This body is not ‘I’. And body parts such as hands, legs, eyes, head are not 'I'. If body parts were 'I', there should be logically equal number of 'I' as that of body parts!! ‘I’
does not dwell in our head, heart, kidney, or bone marrow. The mind separately is
not ‘I’ either. Mind depends on the body and body supports the mental activity.
The body is in turn is composed of hundreds of thousands of cells, which in turn
are composed of proteins, which are made of amino acids, which are in turn
formed of carbon and nitrogen molecules. Carbon and nitrogen molecules
themselves are in turn formed of atoms and sub atomic particles. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So there is nothing of an ‘I’ that we seem to
feel very strongly as in when we say ‘My girlfriend is beautiful and I love
her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We therefore, falsely cling onto
a self (I) that does not exist independent of millions of factors as described
above. When we strongly grasp on that ‘I’, then such emotions as desire arises as in <i>“I want to buy a car!</i>’. Desire leads to jealousy and hatred! When you see
someone driving a sleek Toyota Prado, you feel that pang of not owning that
car! That is jealousy. At times, when you see people who possess things that
you don’t, you feel like they are showing off and you start to hate them! That’s
hatred. When you desire something for long and cannot obtain that object of
desire, you curse yourself and blame everyone around you. That’s anger!!! Then
you set out to do everything in your disposition to get your object of desire, on
the way, you become cold and ruthless. You start telling lies, you become too scheming,
and you hurt your friends. Some people even go to the extent of killing their
friends and parents so that they can get what they want!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Now, if you think in retrospect
and find out the root cause of the problem, the answer lies in that strong grasping
to an ‘I’ or ‘me’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>which does not exist
in true sense of independence. How about thinking like this: Since this very sense
of ‘I’ or ‘me’ is like an illusion (because it cannot be pinpointed on logical
analysis and the furthest and the closest we can get to that sense of ‘I’ is to an interdependent and composite phenomena), there is no point to desire something so strongly. If you do not
desire, you will be less angry, less jealous and less scheming, less hating. Yes! You
will be more loving, more compassionate, and more open. You will no longer
cherish the compliments or despise the criticism. You will realize the people
who ridicule you are in fact like priceless jewels who gave you an opportunity to think
about the impermanent nature of phenomena. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When you loosen that grip on ‘I’,
you will feel that you are no longer a single lonely soul in a cold world, but
you will feel like you are a part of every being and everything in this
universe. You will feel that even the faintest of a foul thought by you will
send ripples in the ocean of interdependence. You will feel that you are like a
reflection of a full moon in a pond of still water in the beautiful bamboo
grooves of eastern India! You can see the moon in the water in the pond but
then sadly and peacefully, that moon does not exist of its own in that pond! It
is a mere reflection of the moon thousands of light years away from that pond. And then you feel that you are the universe and the universe is you! How beautiful. How magical! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com249tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-70343700621485655882018-07-19T09:20:00.004-07:002018-07-19T09:20:46.509-07:00Lotus in the rain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxccQPIpr_1tA-B3EaCLCY00uvtnwFalawxDyMvVl8t6cKBuOBb8YkpbhqyGAAuhllhcx3G8EzHAqgqK7fmn2U7Ma3L-8jlnXWWUxHOmxBcL06R-FsHgN2KgshvBhyphenhyphenumOitX5Kg65D0WE/s1600/lotus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="443" data-original-width="800" height="353" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxccQPIpr_1tA-B3EaCLCY00uvtnwFalawxDyMvVl8t6cKBuOBb8YkpbhqyGAAuhllhcx3G8EzHAqgqK7fmn2U7Ma3L-8jlnXWWUxHOmxBcL06R-FsHgN2KgshvBhyphenhyphenumOitX5Kg65D0WE/s640/lotus.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>lotus in the rain</b></div>
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In
life, we cross our paths with a myriad of strangers. The meeting could be just
for a few minutes, but some of these strangers leave everlasting memories in
our life. This evening while visiting the <i>memorial chorten, </i>a very
remarkable incident took place. The incident reminded me of a beautiful story
about karma, grasping and letting go as told in Zen Buddhism.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Evening
of the 19<sup>th</sup> of July 2018: The residents of Thimphu were enjoying the
cool evening air after a sudden downpour of the monsoon rain. Many citizens had
flocked to the <i>Memorial Chorten</i> to relax their mind and body after a
tiring summer’s day. The temperature had risen by 5 degrees compared to the
same period last year. The rain this evening brought much respite to the
sweltering heat in the capital town, at least for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I
was walking towards the <i>Chorten.</i> The passage towards the relic built in 1974 in
memory of the late 3<sup>rd</sup> Druk Gyalpo was filled with rain water.
People were being extra careful not to soak their newly bought shoes and ends
of<i> kira</i> in the rain water. Just as I crossed the watery passage and
managed to reach the cemented area, I heard a monk talking to me. He said to me
in <i>Dzongkha</i>, ‘Sir can you help me out?’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I immediately said yes, sure. But at the back of my mind, I wondered if
he ran out of balance in his phone and wanted to make an urgent call from my
phone. His next sentence surprised me: He said, ‘Can you carry me through this
rain water as I am afraid I might wet my shoes?’ I said yes, sure. My response
came almost immediately. I then carried the monk on my back and dropped him on
the other side of the small pond formed due to the evening rain water. He said
thank you to me and disappeared from my sight, never to meet again. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I
made three customary rounds of the relic and found myself a seat by the far end
of the <i>chorten</i>. I sat down and pondered over the incident which had just taken
place. It occurred to me that perhaps a particular karmic seed that I planted
in one of my infinite past lives was waiting to be ripened. And the moment had
come this evening, the moment to ripen that karmic seed of mine, the moment to
repay the monk’s kindness towards me. Perhaps, that monk, in his past life,
carried me to the other side of a river and saved me from being drowned. As I
drove home, I could not help but marvel at the way karma functions. Our
thoughts and actions, however small they may be, bear karmic consequences. A
good deed done countless number of eons bears karmic fruit in this life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Life is beautiful when we pay attention to
small things. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-27983712628741969842018-05-25T10:11:00.001-07:002018-05-25T10:13:48.430-07:00An Evening in Samsara<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>An Evening in Samsara.</b></div>
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I proudly claim that I am a Buddhist. I never realized that I was pretty wrong on my claim until one fine evening. </div>
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April 21 2018 was a Saturday. As I entered the gates of Memorial Chorten to get a dose of mental peace, I passed by neatly dressed men and women. The last rays of the setting sun was falling on the upper part of the Chorten. Spring was already in the air. I could hear peaceful bells from the <i>Mani-Dungkhors.</i> Flowers: pink and red were in full bloom. An old <i>Gomchen</i> was burning dried juniper leaves in an old clay pot. The juniper smell filled the evening air. Drops of water was dripping down the vase off beautiful <i>dakini</i> statue. A flock of pigeons were going late to the nest that day as they were busy pecking the last grains scattered by some kindhearted humans that day.</div>
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I joined scores of fellow humans in going round and round the Chorten. Chanting of <i>mani</i> and prayers filled the evening air. After doing about 60 rounds, I took out my phone to check how many steps I had walked and how much calories I had burnt. As I put my phone back in my pocket and shifted my gaze, an old man was praying deeply standing at the entrance of the Chorten. This sight made me ponder upon my own actions: Why am I here? Why am I going round this Chorten? Why am I chanting prayers? In hope of finding some answers, I walked a few steps and sat on the wooden planks placed near the walls. I close my eyes, took a deep breathe of the fresh evening air and asked myself: What makes me a Buddhist?</div>
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As I analysed, it occurred to me that all that evening, I was merely wasting my time. I realized I was grossly distracted and my mind was purely following physical objects like a man addicted to opium. I realized that going to the Chorten and just merely going round to burn some calories does not add any points to me being a Buddhist. I realized that mindlessly chanting prayers does not serve any purpose than wasting extra energy. </div>
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The biggest realization came as a joyful feeling. I realized that I should be in fact thinking that all the defilement accumulated by my body throughout countless eons are purified by my act of circumnavigating the Chorten. Like wise, I should be mindful that by chanting prayers, all the sins accumulated through my speech are purified. I realized that we are planting karmic seeds every moment our life.And these seeds ought to be good ones if we want good karmic results. I now make a point to think in these lines every time I engage myself in <i>'Buddhist'</i> stuff.</div>
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It finally occurred to me that being Buddhist is much much more than daily rituals such as offering water and chanting prayers. Being Buddhist is being mindful of every move of ours. Being Buddhist is watching diligently every moment to the type of karmic seeds we are planting. And being Buddhist is to be compassionate not just to the powerful and the rich but also to the beggars and sick dogs. </div>
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Finally, when I offer water in the morning to the Buddha, I am planting a karmic seed to grow the fruit enlightenment for all sentient beings. When I offer prostrations, I am mindful that my ego be reduced. When I light a butter lamp, I am mindful that my ignorance be cleared away. If at all, I am a very crude Buddhist.<br />
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<i>A Saga-Dawa special edition. Written in Paro.</i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-47390758602429619522018-04-02T09:53:00.002-07:002018-04-02T09:55:00.352-07:00One Man and His Tomorrow.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQr_EuycV8KzW6AYwAamdiBkoX8cqWbC7Uszc3tFw8gxroNML6bnx3m9NnfZSnCKI-TheQ7h5csDiRe1aJ4smide72aJx8MXlecJ6pODwX4AzYkZG9fQ-1aTR2Ib2c8BFLZjs17AQUBic/s1600/IMG_6929.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQr_EuycV8KzW6AYwAamdiBkoX8cqWbC7Uszc3tFw8gxroNML6bnx3m9NnfZSnCKI-TheQ7h5csDiRe1aJ4smide72aJx8MXlecJ6pODwX4AzYkZG9fQ-1aTR2Ib2c8BFLZjs17AQUBic/s400/IMG_6929.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Cheri monastery</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>One Man and His Tomorrow.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b>I have a feeling as if I am
falling in love for the first time whenever I try to write after a gap of many
months! I have always cherished the significance of living in this moment, for
moments constitute life. We tend to forget this very moment while busy
wondering about a more prosperous tomorrow. In fact, today is the tomorrow that
we wanted to live yesterday. Today is the ‘future’ that we imagined many years
ago. Today is the dream that we dreamed of living years ago. Today is the
product of all our hard work and sweating that we have endured for many rainy
days. If we fail to enjoy today, then when are merely existing but not living. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Living in the moment translates
to being aware of one’s state of being at the moment and being grateful and
rejoicing over all the good things you have in life today. Every morning as I wake
up, I pull the purple window curtains to be greeted by a majestic view of the
hills of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Samazingkha</i> with the morning
sun shining with all its power and glory. I try to rejoice in the fact that I am
able to wake up to yet another beautiful day and see this beautiful world. I open
the windows and fresh morning air gushes in the room. The air is laden with
aroma of spring flowers from the mountain. I inhale a lungful of fresh air and
rejoice that my lungs are still functioning. How miraculous!! Had my lungs contacted
even simple disease, my morning could be completely different. As I walk to the
kitchen and bring a kettle full of water to boil, I rejoice in the sound of
water boiling. Had my ears contacted an infection, my morning could be completely
different. As I squeeze a half ripe lemon in warm water and take a sip of the
juice, I rejoice that my ability to taste is still intact! How wonderful!! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is no less than a divine grace
that our body functions normally! Imagine even a small cell in your lungs start
to grow abnormally and you have contacted cancer! I am at loss of words to
describe how Mother Nature has wonderfully calibrated this mortal being known
as human body! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If we break down our life, the smallest unit that we can
possibly arrive at is ‘moments’. This moment is all we have got. Next moment is
unknown and a mystery. Trying to live in the moments has immense benefit for one’s
mental health. One compares less with others and helps cultivate a sense of
value for small, negligible yet extremely necessary things in life. When trying
to live in the moment, one can appreciate one’s own mortality and extend a
feeling of compassion to all beings. When trying to live in the moment, one can
be a better partner, a better colleague at work place, a better human being.
When trying to live in the moment, one does not have time to be occupied with
all these negative thoughts. Rather, one has all the time in the universe to
rejoice, contemplate, debug and fix our mental settings so that one can lead a
happy life. For happiness is nothing but a state of mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-4153233929873954822017-09-11T00:04:00.000-07:002017-09-11T00:04:49.228-07:00Chinese Tea and The Girl Who Played Bamboo Flute<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOhfvebpnSOJKBu8JUWZA1iZup-h7IJKeYKGCVmJj965-7SvDfh4z50LziOGQByPNHvN8haZQZ-Lmy2Y1hdf0l83-vOQP3n-UiURlm14YOPvbsvPbCjRYN6qhZAI8BKAaQtXKfA0QItsA/s1600/flute.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="620" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOhfvebpnSOJKBu8JUWZA1iZup-h7IJKeYKGCVmJj965-7SvDfh4z50LziOGQByPNHvN8haZQZ-Lmy2Y1hdf0l83-vOQP3n-UiURlm14YOPvbsvPbCjRYN6qhZAI8BKAaQtXKfA0QItsA/s400/flute.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Image courtesy: https://cdn.instructables.com</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It is a Sunday afternoon. A lazy
Sunday afternoon, in fact. I am reading a book by Haruki Murakami. '<b>South of the Sun West of The Border'</b>, is its title. He is a
Japanese writer whose central theme of writing is magical realism. Characters in his books are
quite often confused like me. Or am I confused like the characters in his
books. I am not sue. As I read, I am
also listening to Mozart Symphony number 40. A small cup decorated with Chinese
characters sits on my table. There is a flask of hot water too. In a yellow
plastic, I can see a strange root. I have never tasted it before. I recently got
it from an acquaintance in China. I carefully take out two small pieces of
roots from the yellow plastic, put in my cup and pour some hot water. The color
of water changes to sky blue. As I lift the cup with both of my hands, and
bring the cup nearer to my mouth, I can see a strange thing in my cup. There in
the cup, I see the girl who was playing flute, again!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Am I alive? Am I dead? I pinch
the skin on the back of my right hand. Yes I can feel the pinch. I am not dead.
I rush to the bathroom, dip my left leg in the shallow bucket of water. I try
to create an imprint of my foot on the dry tiles. I can see the imprint of my
foot. Confirmed. I am alive. But why do I feel like I am dead. Is it because of
the mysterious experience that I had one weird night in <b>Sangay Gang</b>, where I
woke up shivering? I am clueless. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
But the beautfiful girl, appearing
in my cup, in my sky blue root-tea seems to be calling me. I can see she is
beckoning me and smiling at me. I am compelled by a strange desire to follow
her. As she plays her flute and leads me through a very narrow, snake like path
that takes us to a hill on the mountain. Within minutes, we are on the
mountain. There are aromatic herbs of every kind from <i>balu, sulu, agaru to blue poppies. </i>For a moment, I open my arms and take a deep breath of fresh mountain
air. I am not dead, I remind myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The girl still keeps playing the
flute and shows me a flat stone. In four corners of the stone, I can see four
small wooden rods pushed deeply in earth. On the wooden rods are tied nylon
ropes. It appears like a suicide spot. The girl and I don’t talk at all. I just
follow her. Somehow I understand her thoughts. She tells me this is a cremation
ground, where dead bodies are fed to the vultures. She makes me lie down on the
flat stone slab. As soon as I lie down, I am surrounded by a sea of elegantly
dressed men and women. They are all holding bells of different size and shape.
The air is filled with the chiming sound of the bells. I don’t even bother to
wonder what is going around me for the experience is so out of the world!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
My mind is at ease. I am filled
with happiness. I am not in a zhingkham or something, I am sure. I am not on
earth either. But I am also aware that I am lying on a flat stone on a
mountain, where dead bodies are dumped. It seems like the best example of
confusion, but I feel no confusion at all. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Ting, Tong! I hear this sound. A
sms notification on my phone. I realized
that I was looking into my cup for about an hour. I was not on the mountain but
in my sitting room. I made myself a cup
of instant nestle’ coffee. This time I am afraid that my mind is hallucinating
me. So I drink my coffee and take out my guitar. I play an old Bhutanese song
and try to sing a few verses. As I sang, I realized all these experience where
revelations of the infinite possibilities our human mind can create. Mind can
create magic, hell and heavens. It depends upon the use! I also realized there
was no flute, no <b>dramngyen</b>, no beautiful girls but all were just my own
creation. This fact was refreshing and enlightening. The rest of the Sunday
went exceptionally peaceful!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-5005326425565619532017-09-09T07:52:00.001-07:002017-09-09T07:52:24.441-07:00Beet Root Juice On a Full Moon Night<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh71AYDeAcRNMeD6JIgKmpzDSCVH2cyfNkXKP6C5eOWv2gZC35rZ1sj_ZUfc4aHeu_LkFjXqZX5knN1WZHmyKU6lqTEkjMPB1WIGlHfJ7HIjI8NpSyRMImKYHUMCRjfepHm2uhjOS-wcno/s1600/Moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="852" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh71AYDeAcRNMeD6JIgKmpzDSCVH2cyfNkXKP6C5eOWv2gZC35rZ1sj_ZUfc4aHeu_LkFjXqZX5knN1WZHmyKU6lqTEkjMPB1WIGlHfJ7HIjI8NpSyRMImKYHUMCRjfepHm2uhjOS-wcno/s400/Moon.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Image Courtesy: Shutter-stock</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br />On a full moon night in early autumn,
I sit on a hill overlooking a strange yet breathtakingly beautiful town. There
are lights of different shades and hues decorating the town. A cool autumn air
is blowing gently. I am the only live soul inhabiting this place at this point
of time. It is almost 1 am in the morning. The full moon hangs low in the
western sky like a freshly churned out ball of butter. There are fewer starts
tonight. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I hear a faint soft sound of
somebody playing a bamboo flute. At first, the sound is merely recognizable. As
I listen with rasp attention, the melody from the flute intensifies. It pierces
the darkness and travels through the swishing trees at midnight. A feeling of ecstasy
runs through my veins. For a moment, a feel goosebumps all over my body. Is an
angel playing the flute at this point of night? Are the demons celebrating a
feast? I ask myself. But I am not afraid or things like that. I just feel I am
in a different plane of existence. Normally, I would be scared to death even to
step out of the room at night. But, tonight I am here, on a hill listening to
melody of flutes from the woods.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As I immerse myself with the
sound waves of the melody emanating from the flute, I can hear an additional music
instrument. It sounds like a Dramngyen. The rhythm sounds perfect. The tempo
and scale matches with that of the melody from the flute. I am not even
surprised hearing all these. Instead, I feel extremely happy, as if I am in my
dreamland. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Suddenly, a faint figure appears
before me. It looks like the figure of a woman; slender, tall, and soft. I see
her holding a long flute. Gradually, I
see she is walking closer to me. She has halos around her. Her face is glowing
with exceptional beauty: the type of beauty you see only on wall paintings on
Bhutanese temples of the goddess of the paradise. She gently takes the flute
with her right hand and places on her soft lips. She blows the flute and maneuverers
the holes of the flute with her soft slim fingers producing a soothing,
heavenly music.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As I get completely engrossed
with this, a group of beautiful young girls holding the Dramngyen joins the
girl with the flute. 25of them in total. They all play a soothing song and
gently dance. The dance, I have never seen before in my life. It is not a mask
dance or a hip-hop or salsa or samba or zuma. So you can only imagine what it
must have looked like. The group of girls come and hold my hand. They speak a
unique language but strangely, I can understand them all. It is more than
strange. I join the girls for the dance. I imitate them and they seem to like
how I dance too. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Amidst all these magical moments,
a girl from the group serves me what appears like a beet-root juice. It doesn’t
taste at all like beet root though. It has a sweet, almost alcoholic taste. It
is not the taste of wine, believe me. I take a sip of this liquid from a cup
shaped like a conch shell. All these takes place at the backdrop of other girls
playing flute, dramngyen and dancing. I love this liquid. It fills me with
happiness. I have never been happier before. In fact, I seem to live only in
the moment. I close my eyes and try to enjoy the experience. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
When I opened my eyes, I could
see no one. There was no flute and dramngyen. The moon was gone and the morning
sun was almost rising. As I rubbed my eyes and tried to figure out what had
really happened, I found myself shivering in Sangaygang (the place called BBS
Tower, in thimphu). I rush back to my home, wash my face and light a butter
lamp. I pray to the Buddha. I get hold of my Drambgyen and try to play a few
notes. I am amazed I can play the same song that was played a few moments ago
in my neither dream, nor real sort of night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p>It is strange. I am still
figuring out. May be I danced with <b><i>khandromas.</i></b> May be I danced with
demons. I can only confirm on my next blog post. <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-84118833658609292762017-09-09T06:44:00.003-07:002017-09-09T06:53:04.280-07:00The Carpenter and his Karma<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Story of a Carpenter and his Karma.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEB3OFM9uFKpyYrYfZW536r0CLZB4OBPWNxq2a6PFOeZIuqRIMA7dGkSHg2gEBLxdmfZauOWWKzX3PbfdOMH0NJpQUWsvsH4Svoh4tKySZw43Ny6IL4icGmix-AWj99l7OyXDN4C8F3-U/s1600/7-tips-from-a-buddhist-monk-on-living-a-fulfilled-life-640x480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEB3OFM9uFKpyYrYfZW536r0CLZB4OBPWNxq2a6PFOeZIuqRIMA7dGkSHg2gEBLxdmfZauOWWKzX3PbfdOMH0NJpQUWsvsH4Svoh4tKySZw43Ny6IL4icGmix-AWj99l7OyXDN4C8F3-U/s1600/7-tips-from-a-buddhist-monk-on-living-a-fulfilled-life-640x480.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Image courtesy: http://quotesnsmiles.com</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In Himalayan Buddhist regions,
people believe that there are many world forms. These worlds forms/universe are
ruled by a specific Buddha at a specific time. The current Buddha is Buddha
Shakya Muni. The future Buddha is believed to be Buddha Maitreya. This back
ground is necessary to appreciate the following story. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This story was told to me by my
father when he visited me for a few days from village in Far East of Bhutan,
Trashigang.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Part I<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> In an earlier universe, during the time of
Buddha Woe-sung, there lived a king who was a patron of Buddhism. When the
Buddha Woe-sung died, the king collected many precious relics like fragments of
bones and hairs etc. form the blessed remnants of the Buddha. The king kept the
relics by the side of his bed, on a beautiful altar for many years, making
offerings of scented water and aromatic herbs.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One fine day, the king thought it
was selfish of him to store the Buddha’s relics in his bed room and worship all alone.
So, he decided to build a stupa in the center of the city, so that all his
people can also pay respect and generate good merits. The king summoned two
carpenters to lead the task. The king had one condition for the carpenters.
They should build the stupa in an overnight. Hearing the king’s orders, the two
carpenters walked home with the relics.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That night, the four deities who
protects the four directions appeared in king’s vision and assured him of their
help.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The same night, the two
carpenters set out to build the stupa. The first carpenter was very faithful to
the king’s instruction and he was working very silently with joy. However, the
second carpenter was a disgruntled man. He complained that the king must be out
of his mind to instruct to build such a huge stupa in an overnight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The next morning, when the darkness
gave way to sunlight, both the carpenters were astonished to find that the
materials for stupa were all precious jewels donated by the deities of four
directions. Not even a single stone could be seen!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Seeing this, the disgruntled
carpenter repented heavily for the blames he uttered all night. He realized
that the stupa was a display of Buddha’s power of compassion. Thus, when the
king called them to his place to pay them their wages, the disgruntled
carpenter used the wage money to buy a bell and offered to be decorated on the
stupa. He heavily repented and begged for forgiveness from the Buddha. When he
died, he had only one prayer: To be born as a monk in his next life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Part II<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">During the time of Buddha
Shakyamuni, there was a very ugly monk that most people would throw up upon
seeing him. His skin was dark as soot, he was short as dwarf. But that monk
possessed a unique quality: his voice. His voice was so charming and tranquil
that when he sang, even caravan of horses passing by below his medication cave
would pause and listen to his songs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One day, a merchant went to the
Buddha and asked what made the monk look so ugly and why his voice could even
make a deer running for life, to pause and listen to the monk. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Buddha, using his immeasurable
wisdom, told the merchant that the monk was a carpenter in his previous life.
He was born short and ugly for blaming the king’s project and uttering foul
speech to the words of the Dharma. And
his voice was exceptionally good because he had donated a bell on the stupa in
his previous life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The essence of this story is
karma: the law of interdependence. Nothing, not even a single thought goes to
waste. It returns at some point later in our wanderings in samsara in the form
of a karmic result.</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-40996953684919321262017-09-04T03:59:00.005-07:002017-09-04T04:10:17.934-07:00When Pens & Laziness Go To War<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX6GNC3nJm2GLYOOd2gysYYuI4v6YUclQRxIm0ODjEzgmdImutWHpKd18ld2_Y5CmrJDWOnYs7HpZQqRapSXlCImFaDU8XRwowMQRTzb4UVxpctCp2G7sBNK7r9Xh7cZISKEhamqmmbOE/s1600/Pen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="615" data-original-width="615" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX6GNC3nJm2GLYOOd2gysYYuI4v6YUclQRxIm0ODjEzgmdImutWHpKd18ld2_Y5CmrJDWOnYs7HpZQqRapSXlCImFaDU8XRwowMQRTzb4UVxpctCp2G7sBNK7r9Xh7cZISKEhamqmmbOE/s1600/Pen.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's been over nine months that I did not write a blog piece. Logging into to blogger and writing these lines gives me a feeling of deja' vu. It feels like taking rebirth in the blogger's world. When we try to write after a gap of months, you notice that words don't flow easily from the creative parts of your heart. It is a sort of victory day today for me. Victory over procrastinating that I will write tomorrow. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In early spring of 2017, I was sitting outside a holiday resort in Paro, with my laptop open, my eyes scanning the picturesque Paro valley and surrounding mountains. It was the perfect place to write a poetic piece. The morning was afresh with thin mist of clouds hanging loosely in the opposite mountains, fresh pale green apple leaves growing on weather beaten, dry apple trees. First rays of the morning sun was kissing the otherwise dry paddy fields of Paro. Two huge old dogs from a nearby animal rescue shelter sat lazily near my table. Fresh vapors rising from the cup of black coffee held by pure white china clay saucer. I tried to write how be<span style="text-align: left;">autiful the morning was and why everyone loved Spring. But before I could even write two lines, I had shut down my computer and had gone for a walk. I never attempted to write again since then. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A lot has happened since that beautiful spring morning in Paro. I made time to read Dr. Karma Phuntsho's History of Bhutan, Nari Rustomji's Enchanted Frontiers and a couple of other popular fictions. I also learned to play new songs on the Dramngyen. I am of the believe that we should learn something new everyday, as Sakya Pandita, a renowned Tibetan Scholar once said that even if we are to die tomorrow, we should not stop learning a new thing today. sometimes I feel like I am the perfect fit for the popular "Jack of all, master of none". I tried my hand on the guitar,Dramngyen and just a few days ago I went to the Handicraft bazar and bought a pair of flutes. These instruments keep me occupied on my weekends and hampered my reading list.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I shall stop here for today. Evidence of my writing holiday is here to be seen in the form of a very highly disorganized blog post. But this makes me feel great. Overcoming procrastination is not at all easy! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-56888829840050334692016-12-16T02:13:00.001-08:002016-12-16T02:14:02.864-08:00Good Health: Supreme Blessing & Best Gift<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-L8N9dL-bwICHimavTVyqYmFg98qrZlET-XqONx4PPjHpo81EP9V2RaSu9aaGShs6AVBPL-UTVBPoy38ojeWcsV1SMtJYbgZsISyOatrp_r1CVeJjTBTdg9UH81ssH0op0ty74nu-ihg/s1600/a3141582644_10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-L8N9dL-bwICHimavTVyqYmFg98qrZlET-XqONx4PPjHpo81EP9V2RaSu9aaGShs6AVBPL-UTVBPoy38ojeWcsV1SMtJYbgZsISyOatrp_r1CVeJjTBTdg9UH81ssH0op0ty74nu-ihg/s400/a3141582644_10.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Supreme Blessing & Best Gift<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A life without a touch of illness would contradict the basic
law of nature. However, a life with
minimal illness is what we all desire. To this effect, I believe a life without
illness is the purest and supreme form of blessing. It is also, I think, the
best gift a human being can ever get in his/her life. But do we really value
our normal days: when we don’t even have
a mild headache, when our body feels ‘normal’, without any feeling of sickness?
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A normal day without sickness is a miracle in its full
display: a silent miracle, a precious miracle which all of us fail to notice. Imagine
you wake up one cold morning in December, when the brownish mountains are
covered with snow, when the air is freezing cold; you pull the window curtains
apart and make a move to get up and brew a steamy cup of coffee for yourself.
You suddenly realize you no longer can move your legs. How will you feel? What
will be your first reactions before you adjust with your new fate? Perplexing
rite? No words to describe a situation like this one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But at this very moment, when our health is in its best
form, when our hormones and cells and tissues are seamlessly at harmonious
cooperation, performing its god-designed function; we drink whisky, we boast
about smoking Cuban cigar, we merrily chew <i>doma
</i>staining our teeth red and so on. And one fine day, like the cold December morning
we just visualized above, we discover to our utter horror that we have
contacted cancer or ulcer etc. That is the moment we will value ‘our normal
days’ when we had no sickness or disease in our body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">You may drink gallons of green tea and still get angry at
the slightest provocation. It is okay but tea is godlier than whisky. Don’t you
feel so?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">To decorate my shanty writing, here is a quote from the 14<sup>th</sup>
Dalai Lama:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: 0.15pt; line-height: 115%;">“Man. Because he
sacrifices his health in order to make money. Then he sacrifices money to
recuperate his health. And then he is so anxious about the future that he does
not enjoy the present; the result being that he does not live in the present or
the future; he lives as if he is never going to die, and then dies having never
really lived.”</span><span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; letter-spacing: 0.15pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Every day, every moment of our existence is a miracle. We
must realize this and tell to our self this at least once a day, so that we may
rejoice in simple yet beautiful things in life.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial narrow" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I got these thoughts while visiting a neck cancer patient
in a hospital some months ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-27514722592863429132016-12-12T00:05:00.000-08:002016-12-12T00:24:35.048-08:00Reflections on the 109th National day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Ujb4yA65CrSkyB2r6qlDCJhuZCIK9wUFG5Rcu5vtGqGIogFjimMKll_9kr3NawGUKzvo4nG2s0gXbiZvBFEm-gu9TapnLvVW-tvXXxYSDfBxadrax7wiH9A2w032Us8fNIMzwPPulp0/s1600/BhutanFlag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Ujb4yA65CrSkyB2r6qlDCJhuZCIK9wUFG5Rcu5vtGqGIogFjimMKll_9kr3NawGUKzvo4nG2s0gXbiZvBFEm-gu9TapnLvVW-tvXXxYSDfBxadrax7wiH9A2w032Us8fNIMzwPPulp0/s640/BhutanFlag.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
I just completed Dr.Karma Phuntsho’s <i>History of Bhutan </i>last Sunday. It is an auspicious moment by my reckoning,
for we are left with just five days before we celebrate the 109<sup>th</sup>
National day of Bhutan. Reading the book provided me a broader perspective of
our nation building. It gave me a deeper understanding of our origins, the hard
works and sacrifices of our forefathers, the countless internal conflicts, the
numerous negotiations and mediation by Je Khenpos between rival factions and so
on.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Nation building is a tiring process, especially if you view
it from a scholarly point of view, by reading a well researched book on our
history. It has taken centuries before we arrived at a point where our journey
started with perpetual peace and happiness. Thanks to our wise elders, they
made Sir Ugyen Wangchuck the first hereditary monarch of Bhutan on 17<sup>th</sup>
December 1907 in Punakha. This historic day would set the wheel of peace and
harmony running in the Southern Land of Medicinal Herbs. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Before Gongsa Ugyen Wangchuck ascended to the Golden Throne,
our country was in sheer disorder. Our people were heavily taxed by local chieftains
with vested personal interest. Our nation was divided into numerous tiny
factions. Peace and happiness were rare to be enjoyed as each warring factions
made the people to fight every now and then. People were exhausted to death
because of this disharmony.</div>
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Thanks to Sir Ugyen Wangchuk’s diplomatic skills, when he
returned from Lhasa in 1905 after successfully mediating between the British
Mission headed by Colonel Young Husband and the Ganden Phodrang of Dalai Lama,
he won all admirations and accolades from people both within and without the
country. Thanks to Raja Ugyen Dorji, who worked as a link between Bhutanese and
the British for proposing Gongsar Ugyen Wangchuk as the first King of
Bhutan. Less than a year after his
proposal, Gongsa Ugyen Wangchuck was enthroned as the first Dragon King. </div>
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It is the blessing of our forefathers and successive
monarchs, who are compassion personified, that our country enjoys happiness and
peace to this day. It is our responsibility to pass this gift of happiness and
peace to the next generation. </div>
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<br /></div>
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On this national day, let us remember our roots. Let us look
back to the sacrifices of our forefathers. Let us reminiscence about the
thoughts of wise man like Sir Ugyen Wangchuk who shaped the destiny of our
country. And let us too, not forget that we have a huge responsibility on our
shoulder to serve as a critical link bridging the 21<sup>st</sup> century with
future and sailing in the murky waters of 21<sup>st</sup> century globalized
world.</div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Palden Druk Pa Gyalo!!! </span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-81689664935592792622016-05-16T21:14:00.003-07:002016-05-16T21:24:02.608-07:00A prayer in late Spring<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_aKLy-FpGAue5IIgzivXFEhWiVQlbOQb4Fq3jWHWYGTiHbaJTAXhPpO2tPx1vMehprBKqjGw8IOiSMcXIxWdb01KaNIFyIXnS3Q7U5JT-BdUkYX_JPuLmYEo7rw6qzOcHSlbCYiPEpkY/s1600/13242322_584081171759752_1525996980_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_aKLy-FpGAue5IIgzivXFEhWiVQlbOQb4Fq3jWHWYGTiHbaJTAXhPpO2tPx1vMehprBKqjGw8IOiSMcXIxWdb01KaNIFyIXnS3Q7U5JT-BdUkYX_JPuLmYEo7rw6qzOcHSlbCYiPEpkY/s400/13242322_584081171759752_1525996980_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">17 May 2016. 9.11am </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
I<span style="font-weight: normal;">t is a gloomy morning in late Spring in the Himalayan Kingdom of Bhutan. As I walked to my office, it was raining gently. I had to avoid vehicles from splashing muddy water on my gho by walking very carefully. Life is back in full force. Beautiful flowers are turning into tiny, delicate fruits. The brownish hue of hills and mountains surrounding Thimphu valley is getting back to its glorious green. Lots of tourists from India and China can be seen taking pictures around the memorial Chorten.</span></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />As this month is a holy one for followers of Tibetan Buddhism, a lenthy Monlam is being organized at the memorial Chorten. The stupa built in late 90's is clad in colorful ceremonial scarfs. Surrounding it, elaborate offerings of flowers, scented water, sweet cakes and aromatic herbs are made. Melody of Buddhist musical instruments enhance the beauty of on a gloomy morning. </span></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />Many people have come here, on their way to office, like me, to make a prayer before they start their day. Old men and women are pouring in from different parts of Thimphu to sit near the Chorten and pray the whole day. Young ladies and gentlemen are wearing beautifully designed traditional dress as they walk smiling round the Chorten. Some of them are in deep introspection. A few elderly women are seen prostrating to the Buddha.</span></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />A flock of grey birds sit on the entrance to the Chorten compound. An old man, his back slightly bent forward with age, is scattering rice on the ground for the birds to feed on. Young girls and boys with name tag on their dress offer the visitors tea and breakfast. </span></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />As I mix myself among hundreds of people walking round the chorten, I tell myself 'this country is beautiful beyond words'. I rejoice in the merits of all fellow citizens who have come here to pray. I pray that their prayers be ever more powerful so that it can dispel the ignorance in all of us and lead us to ultimate freedom. I rejoice in the deeds of people who come here to make offering of tea and breakfast. I pray that by virtue of my prayers, may my defilement be cleansed and may I become enlightened soon so that I can help countless sentient being to enlightenment.</span></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />Life is simple in Thimphu. Everyday I get to walk 30 minutes to my office. I get to pray near the Chorten. I get to breath fresh air in the mornings. I get to rejoice in the good deed of others. I get to remind myself how lucky and fortunate I am to be born in Bhutan. </span></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />As I write these lines, gentle rays of sun shines through thick cloud. A faint sound of monks chanting prayers could be heard. (my work place is near the Chorten). In the back of my mind, sweet memories linger of a beautiful morning in spring. A wonderful start to a beautiful day! Live on.</span></h3>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-82351540033211261992016-04-12T04:34:00.002-07:002016-04-12T04:34:35.889-07:00Rice Farmer & Happiness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0fgaGwDSugu-apjhZ8mgCy4KSGyuUstN_2CTz6kzun-1mqrIQV6kFW2Hu4v3eRz9_2UkI4W9l5epQB1Rv1NNSJ8VAKHU3bvFiHKoL8hp4RLjNtVSQj3ULF_q4BQuwLnVC0us6mRETA3w/s1600/lombok-rural.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0fgaGwDSugu-apjhZ8mgCy4KSGyuUstN_2CTz6kzun-1mqrIQV6kFW2Hu4v3eRz9_2UkI4W9l5epQB1Rv1NNSJ8VAKHU3bvFiHKoL8hp4RLjNtVSQj3ULF_q4BQuwLnVC0us6mRETA3w/s400/lombok-rural.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify;">
<b>Rice Farmer and Happiness</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify;">
Beautiful songs in praise of Lord Krishna playing from the
old speaker hanging high near the village temple pervade every corner of this
little beautiful town. The evening air is filled with aroma of incense sticks
being offered nearby in the village temple. People are returning from their
paddy fields. A group of children are playing happily in under the coconut
trees. The sun is setting. It appears as if it is sinking in the vast plains.
The sky towards west is a mesmerizing mix of orange and yellow color. A bright
yellowish reflection of the last rays of the sun decorates the nearby river. </div>
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<br /></div>
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As the soulful religious song changes to a more slow and
heart-stirring one, the sky becomes darker. One by one, the brightest stars begin
to appear. Happy families are cooking delicious meal. The gentle evening wind
brings with it mouthwatering smell of vegetables being cooked in little huts
made of bamboo. Sound of conch shell, chirping of evening insects, music from
the village temple, dazzling stars, buffaloes mooing…the beauty of all these
drenches my heart and soaks it with peace and joy. How simple life is in this
small, sleepy village. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify;">
It is getting colder. It is dark black soot. We don’t have
electric power in our village of <i>Jamvudipa.</i>
The temple has stopped playing songs. Insects are no more rattling. There is
silence everywhere surrounding me. I could almost hear my own heart beat. I am
slowly walking back to my own little bamboo house. I am a rice farmer. I live
alone in this village with my fellow farmers. Everyone is so happy here. We
treat each one as if they are our own brothers and sisters. Since everyone is
so full of love and co passion, I don’t feel the need of a family. Everyone
here is my family.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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I do fishing in the nearby river during the day. That is
how I make a living. I catch enough fish to just fill my belly for one day. I
think I am not greedy. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Tonight, I have boiled a bowl of wild potatoes. I also have
fish soup that I cooked. My bamboo hut is lit by a dim light emerging from
burning dried cow dung. I enjoy my simple dinner and proceed to sleep.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify;">
As I put my head on the pillow, I could see the bright full
moon has appeared. It makes me smile. I have a special connection with the moon,
since it is on a full moon day, I was born.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify;">
I close my eyes and think I am the luckiest and richest
farmer in the world. I have nothing of my own but I take rejoice in everything I
have. Due to this I am satisfied and happy. I pray for a beautiful morning and
sleep. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify;">
In my dream, the melodious song in praise for lord Krishna
continues to play. </div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify;">
When I wake up, it is a beautiful silenct morning in a
remote corner of Indonesia.</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-68256670291228734432015-12-30T23:35:00.003-08:002015-12-30T23:37:12.644-08:00Retrospectiva 2015<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSMuUuGaiO9Id5mWxCo-LFzVXeypyrl9K9hVfrxGOboDsRQRxbofw0h49jYM3qG4qh0m5wzWBtWlL8L423glWzdjeZwpUW67yUqN798M3R2NDVhEs0aNi-O1J5qaxYoQoIjDMUPWMWW6M/s1600/IMG_20150711_181334833_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSMuUuGaiO9Id5mWxCo-LFzVXeypyrl9K9hVfrxGOboDsRQRxbofw0h49jYM3qG4qh0m5wzWBtWlL8L423glWzdjeZwpUW67yUqN798M3R2NDVhEs0aNi-O1J5qaxYoQoIjDMUPWMWW6M/s400/IMG_20150711_181334833_HDR.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
#Retrospectiva2015 is a twitter
hash tag that is currently trending on the popular micro-blogging site. People
all round the world are looking back at the year that is just coming to an end.
In places like Goa, electronic dance music festivals are being organized to
ring in the New Year. It is time to reflect on the failures and achievements,
fun and sadness that took place in the year 2015.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This pampering afternoon-sunlight
pouring in through the dusty window panes and the melodious chime of a Buddhist
prayer being played in the room next door and a faint aroma of Bio-Bhutan Lemon
grass air spray accompanied by the noise of trucks and cars speeding on the
highway below … this is how the last day of 2015 is gradually dragging to an
end in Thimphu, Bhutan.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Globally, 2015 was a nothing
short of a roller coaster ride. From terrorist attack on the Charlie Hebdo
magazine to devastating earthquake in Nepal, from ISIS terror attack in the
French Capital to migrant crisis in Europe, from human trafficking cases in
Thailand to crowning the wrong Miss Universe and United Nations COP21 meeting
etc… 2015 was a year that cannot be easily forgotten. Also we saw Hilary
Clinton announce her candidacy to the 2016 US presidential election, Zayne
Malik of the popular One Direction opting out of the Band, the demise of Ben
E-King who popularized ‘Stand by Me’ and so on.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
On a personal front, 2015 has
been the most memorable year so far. From landing a dream job to learning to
play some songs on the guitar, from learning to drive a car to making new
friends…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The bygone year was a blessing. Post
cards of New York City from New York, A beautiful book from Singapore and
quality guitar strings from Hongkong. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As we say farewell to 2K15 and
welcome 2K16 with open arms, I hope the coming year will have lots of surprises
and fun. I hope to read some more books, learn to play some more songs and live
a healthy life. I also look forward to learn from mistakes made this year. I
hope I don’t have to say good bye to people. That is one thing I don’t fancy saying
and doing. I hope, instead, the world becomes a better place and freedom
prevails in all the nook and corners of this beautiful planet of ours. I also
hope the New Year bring wisdom to all of us to make better decisions in life to
live happier days. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">To all the people around the
world and to people who, by chance, read this blog I wish a very happy new year
2016.</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-1927224145538388042015-11-16T02:35:00.001-08:002015-11-16T02:38:10.607-08:00Shambala Here and Now.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcXtUNVhz8Go1T3lnk4LueHiUVxe3KIVbwguywKjNOVW_dRIB_IvtBco_p3e2SieN_E74MVzD8IjGdsxUX5II21sw-8hfKfqRC0eRMTF6NxuLvZblAQVPBTul88HZ9iGzcrHyx9SHnaqs/s1600/photo-102846545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcXtUNVhz8Go1T3lnk4LueHiUVxe3KIVbwguywKjNOVW_dRIB_IvtBco_p3e2SieN_E74MVzD8IjGdsxUX5II21sw-8hfKfqRC0eRMTF6NxuLvZblAQVPBTul88HZ9iGzcrHyx9SHnaqs/s400/photo-102846545.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Shambala is a mythical Buddhist heaven known for peace and joy and long life.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Seemingly useless and small thoughts and actions that we are carrying out now is for ever recorded in our memories. We do not realize the beauty and value of things as it happens. But when we look back few years afterwards, the same memories bring tears of joy and sorrow to our heart. So what is the secret behind this phenomenon? Why things like this happen to humans? Well, i don't have an answer either.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> For instance, we do not bother to live each and every moment as it comes and happens. Sitting by the sea and watching a Fisherman take a nap in his small fishing boat, the boat gently made to dance by the gentle waves... it never was a sweet thing back then as it happened a few summers ago in the beautiful place of Goa, But now, as the day ends, as the sun begins to set and as a melancholic cry of birds squeeze by my office window, those old memories are far more sweeter than the present.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The smell of different fish at the fish market was so pathetic. Yet, even memory of a busy fish market in Goa can trigger a flood of other memories. Like that of local Goan Women carrying basket of fresh prawns at the market, the magnificence paintings of Mario Miranda on the walls of the vegetable market, the sound of sea water heating the shore as i walked in the garden, the memory of talking to a poor yet lovable boy from Uttar Pradesh who made his ends meet by selling pani-puri.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Some years down the line, I am sure, I will miss sitting by the side of open windows in my office and writing this blog piece with mind in peace, with heart soaked in the joy of thinking and reflecting on the causes and conditions and impermanence of things. I will miss the green little orange sapling on my table. I will miss the smell of fish being fried in the hut bellow the window. But for now, see, i have to try hard to live in these small yet beautiful moments.</span> </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Note: Mario Miranda was a world famous Goan cartoonist.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-41214161437124353842015-11-11T20:44:00.001-08:002015-11-11T20:48:07.150-08:00Song Number 13 in Nirvana<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2_otBDOvS7cEPs778-XNjOzwiBbSeMrBJD_MKsj9sq7lhhiJ-T0pEk7OQ95iXqiXUquLnu6JG8Lwuou0L44a4mCdk5sBeTkFDB8LzN-0qfXHppHMlinKSMHZsehF0t0MtlmQR0WpxRQE/s1600/P9250013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2_otBDOvS7cEPs778-XNjOzwiBbSeMrBJD_MKsj9sq7lhhiJ-T0pEk7OQ95iXqiXUquLnu6JG8Lwuou0L44a4mCdk5sBeTkFDB8LzN-0qfXHppHMlinKSMHZsehF0t0MtlmQR0WpxRQE/s400/P9250013.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A slice of Nirvana in September</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">One Friday evening in early
November, I return from office as usual. Reaching home, after taking a warm bath, I
open the fridge. There is no milk. I sip a glass of water and switch on the TV.
Nothing of interest shows up even when I swipe channels one through seventy. I
open the door and go on the veranda. Resting my elbows on the cold concrete
structures, I gaze at the express-way below my apartment. Vehicles ply up and
down. Everything seems to be going on normally usual. Nothing is extraordinary.
The evening air is cold. A pair of blue Jockey
inner wear hangs on the clothesline. The
cold air is helping it dry. As time passes by, I feel it is a drag to be at
home alone. I walk inside my room and call up my friend and ask if he is coming
for a drink in the town. He agrees without hesitation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I put on a pair of faded blue
jeans, vertical-stripped-white Tommy Hilfiger shirt from college days and a black jacket.
I cover my neck with a light green muffler and put on the spectacles. I open my
drawer of the knock-down and pick the wallet and check if I need to take out
any cash from the Automatic Teller Machine. I lock the door and put on my old but neat grey converse. I wait for five minutes by the road side, baking in
cold air to catch a cab. After five more minutes I get out in front of <i>Ama’s</i>
Restaurant in the main street. My friend is already there, waiting for me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">We walk inside. The restaurant is
busy. There is an empty dining table with four chairs. We sit there and ask for
the menu from the waitress. He studies the menu with zeal. Ten minutes exactly.
He orders a boring dish. <i>Mushroom datsi</i>
and fried rice. I land up ordering an even more boring dish. Corn soup and
mixed vegetable fried rice and fish curry. We eat in silence. We empty the
dishes without leaving a single morsel on the plate. I pay the bill at the
counter. I see some poor fish struggling in the aquarium as we head to the
Karoake in next room.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">We enter the Karoake room. I smell
a mix of vodka, beer, cheap red wine and <i>Rajnighandh</i>a and <i>doma</i>.
We take our place at a corner where the speakers are buzzing. Men and girls and
boys and women are seated at random tables. The room is lit in blue and red.
Two flat LCD screen displays the lyrics of current song. A tall and frail guy with a
curly hair wearing a Gandhi-style glasses is giving his best to sound like <i>Atif
Aslam</i>. I am not impressed. I order a can
of not-chilled beer. Any brand will do I say. My friend orders a cheap red
wine. We drink and crack silly jokes. I call for the song catalogue and select
a Tibetan pop song. <i>Song number 13</i>. I drink my beer and wait for my turn to
come. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I go on stage and check the sound
system. The track plays and I sing my song. A drunken guy sitting in the front
row whistles. But then I don’t give him a shit. Sober girls don’t me a damn. I come back to my sit and drink another can of
beer. This time a chilled can of Fosters.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">At 11 pm, we walk back home in
the cold night. We pass by dogs and men and cars. Everyone is in their own
world. We reach my apartment. I open the door and switch on the TV. My friend
watches a soccer game. I jump on my bed with a book: <i>Norwegian Woods</i> by Murakami.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I wake up the next day. And think
I need to become a monk in the <i>Sakya </i>order
of Tibetan Buddhism. This is crazy and weird, a part of me says. And another
part of me says: Everyone is weird. So chill and live your life your own way.
The <i>real</i> <i>me</i> is confused and falls back to a sweet morning slumber. And song
number 13 plays in my dream over and over again. And I give my visitor's card to the Dalai Lama. In my dream of course. </span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-45521568402390420552015-09-29T03:10:00.000-07:002015-09-29T03:23:05.807-07:00Ruskin Bond and Autumn Sky<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFyMO5ICr6Mb1-ct8NBsZmN8NKNvW246-RnFPAf-4JGJQ5PnGiNK5e9hLWCzQ3nr4Zlw_LpxUfkRfY-g-xFIjbwnSlBNe2vQl6SdHdeLF_wv0HKVLF4_oq1C4deXW0F7GaczKSBCWthkU/s1600/P9250090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFyMO5ICr6Mb1-ct8NBsZmN8NKNvW246-RnFPAf-4JGJQ5PnGiNK5e9hLWCzQ3nr4Zlw_LpxUfkRfY-g-xFIjbwnSlBNe2vQl6SdHdeLF_wv0HKVLF4_oq1C4deXW0F7GaczKSBCWthkU/s320/P9250090.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">September 2015</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif";"><b>Ruskin
Bond and Autumn Sky</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif";">Ruskin
Bond? Yes, the great Indian children’s writer who wrote scores of beautiful countryside
tales and short stories like <i>The Cherry
Tree & Garland of Memories etc</i>. This afternoon, while walking in the autumn
sun, I just thought of Ruskin Bond out of nowhere. He had great love and
appreciation for the Himalayas and hill stations like Shimla. Reading his short
stories would make one immerse into a blissful display of imagery words. In short he loved simple things in nature and
found beauty even in a dried, crumbled leaf!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif";">Wearing
the immortal literary eyes of Ruskin Bond, I went to a solitary walk last week
end. With a camera in hand and keeping the senses open to enjoy every bit and
piece of small yet beautiful things and events occurring in the nature. As I walked by the river side, the feel of
grass on my grey converse was different. The river had become less noisy and
more peaceful. It no longer was dragging logs and boulders like it did a few
months ago. In the air around, a faint smell of lemon grass from ‘round the
hills mixed with aroma of pine leaves being carried by the fateful wind came to
the delight of my senses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial Narrow, sans-serif;">Crossing
the wooden bridge and following the deserted road when the sun was almost
saying <i>sayonara</i> for the day, I came across hosts of cosmos flowers, white and
pink, lined up by the road side. Adjusting the settings of my camera for a
perfect picture, I captured a lucky group of the flower among hundreds of it
to be saved into posterity. Later when I grow into a funky old man, I would
like to see the pictures, read my own writings, recollect the bygone days and
rejoice for a life well lived enjoying small things nature has offered me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif";">Reaching
the hill on which a tall Buddha is constructed of metals, sand & cement
mixed with love and compassion & hard work, I looked to my country’s
capital town that we proudly call a city. The rushing cars on the expressway
reminded me of my mama’s words when I first ventured out of my little beautiful
hamlet of <i>Yue Pemachen</i> in search of a
confusion called life. “<i>In Thimphu, be
careful on the roads. Cars may crush you to death</i>”, she had said. Looking
back, it brought me a smile a genuine smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif";">Taking
few more pictures, saying a silent prayer, breathing a lungful of fresh cool
air of my motherland Drukyul, I walked back home. The dusk air was fused with
rattles of autumn insects and chirps of birds heading home. Listening to George
Strait’s “<i>Chill of an early Fall</i>” by
my ear phones, hands in the pockets I walked by the river. My heart beating
happily and the song played by: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">“<i>There's a storm coming on, <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><i>it won't be too long till the snow falls. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><i>Oh I'll be sobersome,<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><i> But when
October comes and goes and no time at all<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><i> I'll begin to
feel the chill of an early fall.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><i> Oh how quick
they slip away, here today and gone tomorrow.</i></span>”<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-29866867328459782162015-08-10T22:02:00.001-07:002015-08-10T22:17:22.695-07:00September Coming<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwl6BcLaw3OPQr-La7MGU-TClHhSRuNSEFUwFmsY8PIUbDSO5nlSwl1pw84zDshVVvE7u340RJ5PdaGIKxS-FqDNSqqX-nepuHsqyLD_CpRGA5Dv5xH7tssFa9Vfd8NCttdI3tEo9qmDg/s1600/11880296_10152928077596954_835745074_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwl6BcLaw3OPQr-La7MGU-TClHhSRuNSEFUwFmsY8PIUbDSO5nlSwl1pw84zDshVVvE7u340RJ5PdaGIKxS-FqDNSqqX-nepuHsqyLD_CpRGA5Dv5xH7tssFa9Vfd8NCttdI3tEo9qmDg/s400/11880296_10152928077596954_835745074_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>One night in August, Thimphu, Bhutan</b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Walking
home from work yesterday evening, I came across trucks and trucks of military
men passing by. A cool August wind laden with aroma of lemon grass was blowing,
brushing my curly brown hair. School children were going home too. A drunken
man lay asleep beside the road. To perfectly soak in the moment, I plugged in
my earphones and listened to the good old Scorpions song: Winds of change.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Change,
then I thought, is a part of life. The most romantic month of the year, August,
is slowly giving way to September. For someone who takes great joy in the
beauty of nature, the coming of September is a huge treat. In September you get
to see clear dark skies at night, filled with a billion twinkling stars. In September,
you get to behold green leaves on the trees turning into colors of yellow and
red. In September, you get to enjoy the peaceful & joyous Bhutanese
festivals. And in September, we welcome our first Bhutanese Losar: <b><i>Thrue
Bab</i></b> (Blessed rainy Day). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">After a
long cloudy & rainy summer season, September brings you the gift of joy and
tranquility. For farmers in remote hamlets of Bhutan, it is time to collect
bountiful harvest after waiting for months nurturing their plants. For Highlanders,
it is time to migrate to warmer places with their animals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">And for me:
It is time to become a silent poet. It is time to borrow a piece of William
Wordsworth’s poetic soul. I look forward to be living in the moments throughout
September. Sitting on a red plastic chair on verandah, watching the sun set
behind mountains surrounding Thimphu, letting the soft & gentle September wind
kiss my face, drinking pure water,
munching a September apple, playing an old Bhutanese <b><i>rigsar</i></b> song from the
nineties on the guitar, watching the magic in nature: when the stars appear one
after another in evening sky, when a crescent moon makes its entry in the eastern
horizons, when the western horizons become a hue of orange & yellow, I will
sing songs of joy and thank God for bringing back the beautiful September once
again for me to enjoy!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Then, when September
ends, someone should wake me up from the intoxication I will get by over-
enjoying September. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-88875571087696335122015-07-30T19:56:00.000-07:002015-07-30T20:02:37.021-07:00People we meet in life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2rd5aOGBpwMfvolGUNasHAVYzbxJeT8F6pVBJuccWyfr9Ki0rKcy4hJBSUgnV211jzgRIBRJuQt16dhDLPr4eZ0yd6x8ReLAPYn98ikVYEoh7BG_WvoZ4DdNg1gM2WD0WnkyF5qpcS8s/s1600/DSCN0402.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2rd5aOGBpwMfvolGUNasHAVYzbxJeT8F6pVBJuccWyfr9Ki0rKcy4hJBSUgnV211jzgRIBRJuQt16dhDLPr4eZ0yd6x8ReLAPYn98ikVYEoh7BG_WvoZ4DdNg1gM2WD0WnkyF5qpcS8s/s400/DSCN0402.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A friend tries to take off </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">People we meet in
life<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As we travel along a mysterious journey we call life, we
come across many fellow travelers. Each and everyone out there has a lesson to
teach, a painting to give you, a story
to share, a song to sing and a reason to smile. And believe me; each one of
them leaves an eternal imprint on our soul. They subtly shape the way we
perceive the world. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Back in college days in Goa, I had a catholic friend named
D’souza. She gave me a copy of The New
Testament. Later she also gave me a copy of the Bible. I would read it in the
evenings when the singing birds would return to nest on the giant jack fruit
trees near my hostel. The central learning from my reading the two holy books
was our purpose to love. God created us to love without boundaries. God sent
his own son to show how much he loves each and every one of us. We love because
we need to love. Love is an act of
faith. Not an exchange of emotions. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Then, during my college vacations, I often traveled to Mysore,
a place popular for studying Buddhism, in train. I met and made friend with a
simple monk from Lhasa, Tibet. His name was Kusho Lobsang Tenpa. As we would
take a walk around the monastery towards the evening, I would ask him questions
on love and compassion. What I learned from him was that from Mahayana Buddhist
point of view, love and compassion forms the cornerstone of Buddhist practice.
To love freely without attachment, to exude un-prejudiced love to all sentient
beings is the main purpose in </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">life. It is only through pure love and compassion
that we free ourselves from the chain of sufferings.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When it was almost time to graduate, I got a painting from
an Artist classmate of mine. She painted a beautiful mountain, rivers flowing
gently and suddenly cascading into beautiful waterfalls. The piece of art is
still with me, in my bedroom. The picture exactly reminded me of the thought to
write a blog post on ‘people we meet in life’. It also reminded me, how much
love she must have put while applying every stroke of the paint on the paper. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">On a sunny November afternoon, I met Yuri, a Czech student
interning in Goa, while I was pampering myself in the warm sand. He shared me a
Czhech folk song. Though I didn’t understand the lines, he helped me enjoy the
song by explaining the lyrics. The song, I remember, started like 'hey Hori
Hori…’ The singer was longing to return to good old days when all people worked
in fields, when everyone had the joy of living in every beat of their heart. At
night, back in our room, we shared a bottle of cheap red wine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Everywhere we go, we meet people. On way to office in the
morning, the sight of people circulating the Memorial Chorten reminds us to
rejoice in their act and love all beings. Walking back to home, the sight of
taxi drivers playing cards, reminds us of the need to enjoy every second of
life even if you are very busy. Walking in the street in the evening, seeing
countless people walking up and down, reminds us of the blessings of our
fathers for building a safe and happy nation. And while sitting in a coffee
shop, alone, reading a book, the sweet delicious mug of Cappuccino reminds you
of the amount of love the coffee maker has invested to make you enjoy the
coffee after a tiring days work. All people we meet are good people. If you met
someone bad, it is just because your mind ‘tricks’ you into thinking he is a
bad guy.</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-65704281068934241162015-06-29T21:26:00.000-07:002015-06-29T21:33:08.785-07:00Finding happiness towards late June<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRVYnBSFPr6SGmVj7RK1KKlCipmJf87gQJbEEejPfwmnjOxpA22cRZ1K_wxkjXZXe6NJUpRqYbbxMTuhwYKOj9SVGxJayYMljjOvnw6DEgsldwlTRqhFOgc65OWgm7Pg7sfWkyJ6oTJs/s1600/thimphu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRVYnBSFPr6SGmVj7RK1KKlCipmJf87gQJbEEejPfwmnjOxpA22cRZ1K_wxkjXZXe6NJUpRqYbbxMTuhwYKOj9SVGxJayYMljjOvnw6DEgsldwlTRqhFOgc65OWgm7Pg7sfWkyJ6oTJs/s400/thimphu.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mid Summer in Thimphu, Bhutan.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Finding happiness towards late June</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is not often that you wake up one morning feeling
perfectly happy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
One Sunday morning in
late June, I wake up feeling a complete new sense of bliss. I jump out of the
bed and head towards the veranda. A fresh, soft and cool morning air blows
gently past my face. I pull out a red polythene chair and sit to watch a
mesmerizing morning magic unfold itself before me. I play the song <i>SubhanAllah</i> from the 2013 Bollywood film
‘Yeh Jawani hai yeh Deewani’on my old fashioned cell phone and listen to the
melody fuse itself with the beauty of the morning. After
two days of clouds and rain, a bright sunny morning was opening up. The owner
of my apartment was burning pine leaves, perhaps praying for a good day ahead. The
smoke wafted across the space riding on the gentle morning wind. The river
below my house was swollen. Debris of logs and leaves were being carried away
by the murky water. In the orchard nearby, fresh green apples were soaked in
the morning dew. Peach blossoms of the bygone spring had transformed into ripe
delicious-looking peaches. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Shifting my gaze up on the mountains surrounding Thimphu
valley, I could see lush green forest and meadows everywhere. Just a few months
ago, the mountains wore a dry and dusty look. But nature had done its magic in
a matter of few days to paint the hills & mountains fresh and green. Thin white
clouds hang around the mountains like loose pure white cotton floating in the
air. A flock of birds were strengthening their wings flying east and west. Far away, towards <i>Phajoding </i>monastery, smoke was circling in the air above. Perhaps
the monks there were burning juniper again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
A Sunday as it was, there were fewer cars and few people on
the highway. The morning was not noisy as usual. A blanket of tranquil
sensation had descended upon the residents of Thimphu, or so did it appear to
me. As I was enjoying every moment of the magical morning, the words <i>Subhanallah</i> from the song being played
struck my mind. Perhaps, it was time for me to say Glory to the gods and thank
the Heavens for putting up a beautiful show in the nature that morning. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I logged into twitter and saw many people posting pictures
of the amazing morning and saying how wonderful the day was gonna be. It occurred
to me that perhaps when many people are happy, their collective happiness influences
the way our natural world functions. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The rest of my Sunday, I spent it by reading “<b><i>Not
for Happiness</i></b>” by Jamyang
Khentse, the noted Buddhist Teacher and filmmaker from Bhutan. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-50750011760024753702015-05-08T02:18:00.001-07:002015-05-08T02:18:42.270-07:00Sunset through the Window<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6vjFW2YetJtnfG1EQpzxu9e1QejIFTqrDA5titu9_FKtDD91OW-ITN3t0o9_9gJoSFMMhpXnEFUvghtQmwgk7cXsmUtBYinXNqhyjjTYJo0LpxDCNLB6vtN1cBMUpDxL6gVLgeVkqK3s/s1600/IMG_20141122_225304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6vjFW2YetJtnfG1EQpzxu9e1QejIFTqrDA5titu9_FKtDD91OW-ITN3t0o9_9gJoSFMMhpXnEFUvghtQmwgk7cXsmUtBYinXNqhyjjTYJo0LpxDCNLB6vtN1cBMUpDxL6gVLgeVkqK3s/s400/IMG_20141122_225304.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>December,2014, Trashigang</i><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Sunset through the Window<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When I opened
the old wooden windows of our house, a cool & gentle December wind was
blowing. Pieces of colorful flags danced in harmony to the tune of roosters signaling
the end of the day. The western sky presented itself to me as a magical
formation of shades of yellow and orange. A sweet natural melody erupted from
the wind blowing into empty bottles lying around in the dry grasses. Flakes of
white clouds turned grey above the horizons as the sun began to set faraway
behind the towering mountains. A sense of blissful air slowly covered the whole
hamlet. From above the monastery, the aroma of <i><b>juniper</b></i> being burnt spread throughout the whole village. A full
moon day as it was, monks playing the soulful <i><b>jaling</b>
</i>could be heard. With every passing second, the golden sun dipped itself
deeper behind the shadows of the mountains. Then and there, I was once again,
as always, struck by the eternal beauty of seeing the sun setting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Soaked in
that joyful feeling, charged by that blissful emotion, I gently set to walk outside. As I opened the wooden door, it did not Screech as usually did.
Perhaps when the natural environment is beautiful, even inanimate objects such
as doors go into a state of peace!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As I stood
outside on the veranda, a gentle wind hissing softly passed my face. The magnificent
sun had set. The sky seemed to be mourning the setting sun by shedding tears in
the form of a light drizzle. At the back of my mind, I was thinking, heaven
need not be so mysterious and faraway. It lies within the reach of even the
commonest of men. All we need is to open our senses. We need to stop thinking of
day to day business for a while. And to infuse our thoughts into the vastness
of space and time. Then only, we begin to get a touch of intimacy with natural
beauty. Only then, we realize that Heaven is around us all the time. But we
forget to realize the heaven around us ‘cuz we are so carried away searching
for an external happiness that is non-existent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">While I was
done thinking those pensive thoughts, the sun was gone. Then my heart was
filled with joy which to describe, I don’t see potent enough words in human
language. I' am in Love with Sunset!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-21321888880082702322015-04-29T22:15:00.005-07:002015-04-29T22:15:57.174-07:00National Reading year: An essay<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Switch off
the TV and start reading<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN-07LxYxRbW2KEP_RSxRa9a9YVDLSNDhHaUIBLQpxPZS5vC6Tg91XqkFCFUQXce6Cm_h3Yrt8ZSF4HwTulkFRBocCY_dHKiq-VY61PsaHTQixLIimH-q2APiH3CCtjBIu5rV7gn-86Xs/s1600/untitled.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN-07LxYxRbW2KEP_RSxRa9a9YVDLSNDhHaUIBLQpxPZS5vC6Tg91XqkFCFUQXce6Cm_h3Yrt8ZSF4HwTulkFRBocCY_dHKiq-VY61PsaHTQixLIimH-q2APiH3CCtjBIu5rV7gn-86Xs/s1600/untitled.png" height="400" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">All
the great men and great leaders are great readers as well. Television has
completely changed the way we think and work. New lifestyles are adopted from
popular reality shows broadcasted on the TV. Ancient culture and heritage are
replaced by modern popular western culture. Children are glued to the idiot box
for most of their free time. Families get rare opportunity for quiet and
peaceful time after a tiresome day. Everyone is busy in their own world
watching different shows on the TV. On the other hand, the culture of reading
books is diminishing at drastic rate. Children and young people find it more
and more monotonous to pick up a good book and enjoy the read. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Supporters
of the mainstream TV culture maintain that watching TV is more effective for learning
than reading. They also say that what you see in live pictures and footages
remain more vividly in the memory. They assert that scientific knowledge can be
assimilated more easily by the use of audiovisual media compared to reading it
in textbooks<i>. However</i>, in a recent
study at the Emory University, </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Neuroscientists have discovered that reading a novel can
improve brain function on a variety of levels. The study titled, “Short- and
Long-Term Effects of a Novel on Connectivity in the Brain," was recently
published in the journal ‘<em>Brain
Connectivity’</em>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The researchers found that
becoming engrossed in a novel enhances connectivity in the brain and improves
brain function. Interestingly, reading fiction was found to improve the
reader's ability to put themselves in another person’s shoes and flex the
imagination in a way that is similar to the </span><a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/basics/fantasies" title="Psychology Today looks at visualization"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">visualization</span></a><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
of a muscle </span><a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/basics/memory" title="Psychology Today looks at memory"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">memory</span></a><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">
in sports. This is simple scientific evidence that reading is far more
beneficial for learning than watching TV.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Those
who are fans of TV shows argue that they get more fun and happiness watching
Television shows than reading books. They cite examples of some people who
cannot stay a minute without keeping their TV on. Believers of this idea put
forward that it gives them immense joy to watch beautiful natural scenarios of
faraway land on the TV. On the other hand, </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt;">a new study by sociologists at the University of
Maryland concludes that unhappy people watch more TV, while people who describe
themselves as very happy spend more time reading and socializing. The study
appears in the December issue of the journal ‘<i>Social Indicators Research</i>’’.
Analyzing 30-years worth of national data from time-use studies and a
continuing series of social attitude surveys, the Maryland researchers report
that spending time watching television may contribute to viewers' happiness in
the moment, with less positive effects in the long run. Based on data from time
use surveys, researcher’s project that TV viewing might increase significantly
as the economy worsens in the next few months and years. Therefore, the
unsubstantiated claims of TV addicts that watching TV keeps them happy are
scientifically invalid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In
this era, people watch TV till the time they go to bed. People believe that TV
is a good time killer. They think it saves them from getting bored. They argue
that if not for a nice TV show, what could they be doing all the time on a
boring Friday evening? These classes of people also assert that watching TV
helps them get a sound sleep and a good physical rest. <i>Contradictorily</i>, a survey undertaken by University of Liverpool
shows that </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: ArialMT;">regular readers for pleasure reported fewer
feelings of stress and depression than non-readers, and stronger feelings of
relaxation from reading than from watching television, engaging with social
media, or reading other leisure material (for example, celebrity, beauty or
style magazines). Reading creates a parallel world in which personal anxieties
can recede, while also helping people to realize that the problems they
experience are not theirs alone. A fifth of respondents said reading helped
them to feel less lonely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">It's no secret that
reading is good for you. Just six minutes of reading is enough to </span><a href="http://www.kumon.co.uk/blog/reading-reduces-stress-levels/"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">reduce stress by 68%</span></a><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">, and numerous studies
have shown that reading keeps your brain </span><a href="http://www.neurology.org/content/early/2013/07/03/WNL.0b013e31829c5e8a"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">functioning effectively</span></a><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;"> as you age. One
study even found that elderly individuals who read regularly are </span><a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Health/story?id=117588&page=1#.UbIVc2RAR7t"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">2.5 times less likely</span></a><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;"> to develop
Alzheimer's than their peers.</span> <span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">Regular reading also increases </span><a href="http://www.plosone.org/article/info:doi/10.1371/journal.pone.0055341#s4"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">empathy</span></a><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">. Watching Television, on
the other hand promotes stress, anxiety, boredom and hatred etc. Therefore it
is high time, if you want to be fit and happy, that you switch off your TV and
start reading.</span><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-44598046684129376202015-04-26T20:46:00.002-07:002015-04-26T20:48:25.367-07:00Sharing the Pain of Nepal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig_atyUSz5oNglG_GmlfvQdGNmUSB2q0HZzfqJbfMGhrGIjO5sqzoUB_kduxJgs9tB8q4Gl7JoKfTR5YLOgZajFOVFCSwPUqpsGXrqiZydF9j211QMBSLP3CCFUjWBkajfc3kGLRr7p6I/s1600/Bodhnat+Stupa+Spire+Kathmandu+Nepal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig_atyUSz5oNglG_GmlfvQdGNmUSB2q0HZzfqJbfMGhrGIjO5sqzoUB_kduxJgs9tB8q4Gl7JoKfTR5YLOgZajFOVFCSwPUqpsGXrqiZydF9j211QMBSLP3CCFUjWBkajfc3kGLRr7p6I/s1600/Bodhnat+Stupa+Spire+Kathmandu+Nepal.jpg" height="250" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Boudnath stupa, Nepa</i></b><i>l</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sharing the pain of Nepal.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In ancient India, there lived a
beautiful nun who was known for her exotic beautiful eyes. Around the same
time, there lived a man who was deeply attracted & attached to the nun. The
man made desperate attempts to meet the beautiful nun but to his dismay he
could never arrange an agreed meeting. One fine morning, when the sun was
rising, the nun was going for her routine alms begging when she chanced to bump
into the man. The poor man was so surprised and happy that he could finally let
the nun know that her eyes were beauty beyond descriptions. So he told her, ‘my
dear <i>bhikshuni</i>, your eyes are the
most beautiful thing I can ever imagine of in this world. I am attracted, out
of control, for your divine beauty.’ Hearing this, the learned nun thought it was
time for the ignorant man to learn a lesson. She pulled out both her eyes and
gave it to the man. The man was shocked to see how she looked without her eyes.
She looked like a corpse. He then realized all compounded things are impermanent
and that beauty is just an illusion. After this, he became a monk for the rest
of his life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In this age of extensive information
sharing, we hardly have time to ponder upon such beautiful wisdom laden tales.
We are deeply afflicted with the illness of attachment to sensual pleasures.
From the break of dawn till dusk, we are constantly chasing after physical and
sensual pleasures not realizing that real bliss lies within our own heart. All
things, including the very thoughts you are thinking right now, are product of
countless causes and conditions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The recent earthquake in Nepal which
caused tremendous devastation and havoc in the lives of millions is just an apt
example. The concrete roads, the thousand year old UNISCO heritage site, the
revered Boudhanath Stupa etc that we grossly think to be sp permanent. Even
these things are deemed to ruin one day and the time just came by.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So in such turbulent times, it is more
than good to think about how impermanent and vulnerable our existence is. And
generate some compassion. Rejoice in the good deeds of others even if someone
is pulling a rosary and chanting some ‘<i>mani’.</i>
For it is only when you appreciate little things like this in life that you
begin to get a sense of happiness and a sense of meaning for your life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I take heartfelt rejoice in whatever
good deeds and prayers taking place, in the name of Nepal, around the world. I
join enlightened masters and skilled prayers in their prayer for the thousands
of lives lost. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I dedicate even a second of compassionate thoughts of billions
of people and myself for swift rebirth of the victims into human forms. I pray,
whatever terror that may torment them in the <i>bardo</i> (till 49 days after death), the deceased realize that it is
just a manifestation of their own nature of mind and nothing more. Since those who
died were my own mothers in some previous lifetimes of my continuous wondering
in the <i>samsara</i>, I generate a feeling
of loss as if my own parents had died. Om Mani Pe Me Hung. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-63592443999864842402015-03-10T02:52:00.002-07:002015-03-10T02:52:50.359-07:00A curious case: Rebirth after thousand years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A curious case: Rebirth after thousand years<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; display: inline !important; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0JMKLLq5nIsPbvk1GIqypW5tM_IloHKRUTJVrMJ1yjXmBL23OTjn2mNerNObM3TVNp9Mx3Dr6ulbExXZhBSeNZDbdD1tOqdPLOrRhMtl6Ov8YR_TXYOpxQxPNz5cpB4InnZpW8-v-0RE/s1600/Image95%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0JMKLLq5nIsPbvk1GIqypW5tM_IloHKRUTJVrMJ1yjXmBL23OTjn2mNerNObM3TVNp9Mx3Dr6ulbExXZhBSeNZDbdD1tOqdPLOrRhMtl6Ov8YR_TXYOpxQxPNz5cpB4InnZpW8-v-0RE/s1600/Image95%5B1%5D.jpg" height="320" width="237" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">An elderly man from Norfolk in England
called Arthur Flowerdew, who from the age of twelve experienced inexplicable
but vivid mental pictures of what seemed like some great city surrounded by
desert. One of the images that came most frequently to his mind was of a temple
apparently carved out of a cliff. These strange images kept coming back to him,
especially when he played with the pink and orange pebbles on the seashore near
his home. As he grew older, the details of the city in his vision grew clearer,
and he saw more buildings, the layout of the streets, soldiers, and the
approach to the city itself through a narrow canyon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Arthur Flowerdew much later in his
life, quite by chance, saw a television documentary film on the ancient city of
Petra in Jordan. He was astounded to see, for the very first time, the place he
had carried around for so many years in those pictures in his mind. He claimed
afterward that he had never even seen a book about Petra. However, his visions
became well known, and an appearance in a BBC television program brought him to
the attention of the Jordanian government, who proposed to fly him to Jordan
along with a BBC producer to film his reactions to Petra. His only previous
trip abroad had been a brief visit to the French coast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Before the expedition left, Arthur
Flowerdew was introduced to a world authority on Petra and author of a book on the
ancient city, who questioned him in detail, but was baffled by the precision of
his knowledge, some of which he said could only have been known by an
archaeologist specializing in this area. The BBC recorded Arthur Flowerdew's
pre-visit description of Petra, so as to compare it with what would be seen in
Jordan. Flowerdew singled out three places in his vision of Petra: a curious
volcano-shaped rock on the outskirts of the city, a small temple where he believed
he had been killed in the first century B.C., and an unusual structure in the city
that was well known to archaeologists, but for which they could find no function.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Petra expert could recall no such
rock and doubted that it was there. When he showed Arthur Flowerdew a
photograph of the part of the city where the temple had stood, he astounded him
by pointing to almost the exact site. Then the elderly man calmly explained the
purpose of the structure, one that had not been considered before, as the guard
room in which he had served as a soldier two thousand years before. A
significant number of his predictions proved accurate. On the expedition's
approach to Petra, Arthur Flowerdew pointed out the mysterious rock; and once
in the city he went straight to the guard room, without a glance at the map,
and demonstrated how its peculiar check-in system for guards was used.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Finally he went to the spot where he
said he had been killed by an enemy spear in the first century B.C. He also
indicated the location and purpose of other unexcavated structures on the site.The
expert and archaeologist of Petra who accompanied Arthur Flowerdew could not
explain this very ordinary Englishman's uncanny knowledge of the city. He said:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He's filled in details and a lot of it
is very consistent with known<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">archaeological and historical facts and
it would require a mind very<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">different from his to be able to
sustain a fabric of deception on the<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">scale of his memories</span></i><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">—<i>at
least those which he's reported to me. I</i></span></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<i><o:p></o:p></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">don't think he's a fraud. I don't think
he has the capacity to be a<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">fraud on this scale.4<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What else could explain Arthur
Flowerdew's extraordinary knowledge except rebirth? You could say that he might
have read books about Petra, or that he might have even received his knowledge
by telepathy yet the fact remains that some of the information he was able to
give was unknown even to the experts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-63020736495350835722015-03-04T22:18:00.001-08:002015-03-04T22:19:49.973-08:00The arrival of Spring<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1iwOBk0SqJkKO3x0O5oTnaWF3Z37bb_L9dd6MRuGXrBfZOytQw9PZBz9EZNXvvk7KT8dhqLTqY4Hgoo3XghCdva2ld-TeBuUo79Y9N0XAnd8VmUncc875OtEmv6Q3YbnynqVebLvsKXU/s1600/rhododendron-annapurna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1iwOBk0SqJkKO3x0O5oTnaWF3Z37bb_L9dd6MRuGXrBfZOytQw9PZBz9EZNXvvk7KT8dhqLTqY4Hgoo3XghCdva2ld-TeBuUo79Y9N0XAnd8VmUncc875OtEmv6Q3YbnynqVebLvsKXU/s1600/rhododendron-annapurna.jpg" height="143" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
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<b>The arrival of spring
<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Before indulging in the nectar of words that I get to taste
while writing, let me first rejoice that I am writing this blog after a real
long time. Spring is always a beautiful time of the year to get poetic and for
many people; it’s also the perfect time to get romantic. After a dry &
dusty winter, signs of the coming of spring can be seen everywhere. From fresh pale green innocent buds on withered
willow trees to tender grasses sprouting by the roadsides, from the sight of
gardens being prepared for plantations to the smell of fresh earth after a
slight drizzle, from the melody of spring birds arriving in Bhutan to the wordless
humming of happy songs by happy farmers, here we are once again at the most crucial
point in the life of everything natural!
</div>
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<br /></div>
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On a beautiful Saturday morning, I am woken up by the sound
of singing doves. I pull apart the curtains of my window to be greeted by the
magical view of Thimphu valley. As the morning sun tries hard to shine through
gentle clouds hovering amidst bluish-grey sky and as the cloud gradually clears
away, a magnificent view of Lord Buddha statue appears from above the hills of
Kuensel Phodrang. On a hill, at a distance, sights of blessed souls making
offerings to the gods in the monastery remind me of how lucky to be dwelling in
a beautiful place as this. On the old wooden bridge over the river bellow my
house, tens of hundreds of prayer flags in colors of red, green, blue and yellow
flutter in the morning breeze brought by the gently flowing river. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Light pink peach blossoms on the peach trees exude perfumes
of tranquility near the open window. A score of bees busy themselves with their
spring ritual of sucking nectar from every possible flower. An almost fading rainbow connects two sides of
Thimphu valley! White water birds swim merrily
on the swift flowing river <i>Wangchu. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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As I sit by the window, sipping a cup of hot water, trying
to read Paulo Coelho’s “<i>Like the Flowing
River”</i>, memories of past springs flood my mind. In the good old days back
at our little hamlet, spring season was a time to celebrate. Everyone from the
village would walk up to a mountain above to spend a day singing and dancing
and praying. Once on top of the mountain, kids would be in their own world
playing amidst lush green meadows, plucking sweet berries from <i>Shugu Shing </i>and singing songs till the
sound echoed from rocky hills far away. As the time for lunch arrives, kids
would be sent to a nearby brook to fetch clean and pure mountain water. Seeing
countless beautiful flowers along bank of the brook, we would be tempted to
break the flowers and show it to elders on the hill. We would not return with
water until an elder came to fetch us! </div>
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<br /></div>
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Now looking back, I sometimes think my love for nature and
my love for writing about nature has something to do with those good old days in
the beautiful mountains of east Bhutan. For we know, what we see and hear as a
kid remains imprinted in the mind for the rest of our lives. And perhaps these old
beautiful memories translate into happiness the whole life. For they say old is
gold!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1515098785068106590.post-63943061555388548282014-12-21T04:57:00.000-08:002014-12-21T04:57:47.070-08:00I'm a pilgrim on the pilgrimage called Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzHwBzTL8wlPFEiHUXDFUbZMfMz61Ts5sh-NKMx07jIGoHjTlmY3Ao0y9oc3kU5W61XFuIjiZv65NmgVa9R6a0J1POP4NLQE5hGoQvTtkpXg4Prkl2OvXOh-mZl2UwJiflH7kCcZM4Mt4/s1600/DSC8185.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzHwBzTL8wlPFEiHUXDFUbZMfMz61Ts5sh-NKMx07jIGoHjTlmY3Ao0y9oc3kU5W61XFuIjiZv65NmgVa9R6a0J1POP4NLQE5hGoQvTtkpXg4Prkl2OvXOh-mZl2UwJiflH7kCcZM4Mt4/s1600/DSC8185.jpg" height="223" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Merak village, East Bhutan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I am a pilgrim on the pilgrimage called Life. Life is a
journey both in real sense and in metaphor-sense. Those people who can travel
and see the world are, I think, truly blessed and lucky souls. Travelling is
like recharging your otherwise monotonous life. It fills us with beautifully
fresh memories. It adds vibrant colors to a boring, scheduled, mundane life. It
also opens the gates of our souls to a sea of new feelings and emotions. Needless
to mention, travelling fosters new friendship and experiences. Though, I have
travelled a very less portion of this giant world, it’s my dream to go see some
beautiful destinations someday. When it comes to travelling, I feel I’m like a
curious infant ever ready to take every opportunity to learn new things. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Even when travelling through Bhutan, I always am mesmerized
by the beauty of my country. The freshly frozen snows on the tall mountains,
the intricate matrix of endless mountain ranges, the richly colored trees and
flowers along the highways, the gently flowing brooks in whispering forests,
the smell of delicious foods being cooked when you pass by small hamlets, the
beauty of the sky filled with countless stars on chilly winter nights, the
poetic scenario of sun rising from behind the hills, the fresh dew drops
shining on soft blades of grasses and the sights of farmers living in peace and
joy! All these make me feel divinely insane, an experience crudely resembling
like that of having a good ‘kick’ after puffing a pinch of the mysterious drug
Heroin. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Well I consider myself the lucky one amongst the unlucky lot.
In the last five years, I got see, live and experience the joy of life in
beautiful places like Goa, Mysore, Bangalore, Bodhigaya, Varanasi, Patna and
Tibetan settlement camps in southern India. From all these places are unique
memories inked into my consciousness that I shall never forget. And in times to
come, I wish to see many places in many nations, make many friends in many
towns and cities and share with them the happiness from a happiness loving
country called Bhutan! For they say sharing is love and sharing is joy!</span></div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04570869336038017016noreply@blogger.com3