Drukpa Kunley's Hill

(I will upload pictures to supplement this post as soon as I can!)

We left Thimphu on a clear morning. After a bit of determined wrangling, we were able to hire a shared taxi to take us over the first high pass into central Bhutan, the Dochu Lha and down into Lobesa, a descent of over 10,000 feet. As the taxi began the series of climbing switchbacks up to the pass, I craned my neck from side to side, trying to see the country we were finally going to penetrate into. The higher we climb, the foggier and colder the air. Soon, I find myself closing the window as the tangled Himalayan rainforest foliage gives way to predominantly pine forests. Local women line the road in places where it widens, bags of fresh apples ready for sale. The old lama in the front seat buys a large bag, immediately offering apples to us in the back. As we near the top of the pass the fog grows denser and wetter. Finally, we crest the top. Dimly visible through the shifting sheets of white fog is a hillock completely covered with small stupas. This pass is known as the pass of a hundred and eight stupas and there is an eerie silence to the place as the stupas slide in and out of view in the mist. We exit the car and walk into the wet silence. The stupas are simple, white, each one houses either Padmasambhava, Sakyamuni, or the Zhabdrung. Sadly, we have little time to gaze or sit high in the clouds. Our ride is waiting, the other passengers less interested in the view than we are. Back in the taxi, the descent goes down and down. Soon the sun is again shining and the heat from the wet jungle swiftly penetrates the inside of the taxi. 

Our taxi takes us to the Royal University of Bhutan’s College of Natural Resources. Due to an auspicious connection, Chris and I have been asked to spend a couple of nights here by the Vice Chancellor of RUB in order to teach basic meditation practice to the faculty and students. The Vice Chancellor is an extraordinary person, whose vision of creating an environment of “contemplative education” at RUB dovetails nicely with the overall Bhutanese vision of GNH (Gross National Happiness). Chris and I are happy to comply. We are met by the Director of the College of Natural Resources, who is himself a forestry expert. Given the amazing diversity of the forests I have seen in Bhutan so far, I can only imagine it is a fascinating field of study. The Director settles us into a room in the college guesthouse. It is a traditional Bhutanese building with high windows and ornate wooden carved décor. The building itself is nestled in a quiet pine forest. The air is more humid and warm than any we’ve yet experienced, but given that Lobesa is at about 3,500 feet, that is not surprising. After lunch in the tiny town of Lobesa with huge dump trucks rattling down the main street on their way either to or from the enormous hydro-electric project located some way down the Punakha Chuu River, the Director turns us over to one of his assistants, Tandin. Tandin’s job is to guide us out to the Chimi Lhakang, a place I have been longing to visit. The Chimi Lhakang is the primary locale for Drukpa Kunley in Bhutan. It is located at the top of a small hill in the middle of the wide Punakha Chuu valley. These days, couples or women who are trying to have children come here to be blessed by Drukpa Kunley’s bow and arrow, as well as by the huge wooden phallus he is said to have carved. I have heard mixed reports as to how well this blessing works! My friend Sonam in Thimphu came multiple times, both alone and with her husband, Yeshe, but to no avail. Eventually they adopted an adorable baby girl. Nonetheless, the Chimi Lhakang must somehow have earned its reputation.

Chris lingers behind as Tandin leads us along a narrow path through deep green rice paddies. Here and there, men and women are bent in the water working on the rice. The air is sultry in the mid-afternoon and we are soon sweating. Climbing the hill up to where I can see the Chimi Lhakang in a grove of Bodhi trees, I am struck by how wide this valley is compared to the Thimphu valley. Off to my right, the river meanders in wide slow turns across the valley floor. Hoopoe birds hop over the grassy trail. Tandin tells us that killing a hoopoe bird earns the killer rebirth in a Buddha realm. When we regard him with bewilderment (why would killing this bird result in what is normally thought of as a reward?), Tandin explains that the hoopoe eats more worms per day than any other bird, so many, in fact, that killing the bird is said to save the lives of countless other beings.

As we arrive at the Chimi Lhakang I immediately note the large numbers of village people sitting outside on the ground around the lhakang. Some are picnicking, but most are counting their mantras and/or reading texts. A huge Bodhi tree rustles in the breeze with that particular song the wind plays in a Bodhi tree’s leaves. Inside, the small courtyard is packed with people. Tandin explains that we have arrived on a particularly auspicious day, when a Chenrezigs puja is being performed. Chenrezigs is the Bodhisattva of compassion whose Sanskrit name is Avalokiteshvara. He is often depicted as having one thousand arms and some of the most beautiful Buddhist art I have seen features these amazing statues. As we remove our shoes and enter the main lhakang, a large group of women seated to the right of the main shrine gaze up at us in wonder. Chattering erupts, and laughter. All of the women sit to shrine right, while the men fill the left hand side of the room. All eyes are on us as we prostrate first to the lama who is leading the puja and second to the shrine where a huge statue of Drukpa Kunley peers out from beneath ropes of flowers and colored cloth. Around him is an array of weaponry, everything from the traditional bow and arrows to a large musket that cannot be less than five feet long—surely not a weapon that Drukpa Kunley, who lived in fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, ever saw. After prostrating and handing over the tsok or bag of offerings consisting of biscuits, snacks and a couple bottle of liquor to the monk who is serving the shrine, we sit on the floor and practice with the village people. While I can’t understand exactly what is being said at any given time, I have participated in enough Buddhist ritual practices to know the basic structure. When everyone begins a long mandala offering (a practice where one imagines everything of value to oneself and in the world in order to offer it away, thereby helping to cut through one’s attachment to possessions and wealth), I too put my hands in the traditional mandala offering mudra. A murmur goes through the room and I notice that everyone is staring at me in amazement—how does the chillip know the appropriate mudra? After some time, everyone finally returns their attention to their own practice. Sitting on the old wooden floor wore smooth as silk by hundred of years of people sitting, standing, prostrating, and walking on it, listening to the rise and fall of the monks’ chants, smelling the fragrant and sharp smell of burning juniper from the tsang (purification) offering, I again feel a sense of peace. It would be nice to sit here and practice with everyone for the rest of the day. However, the fact that the time for the meditation class that we have to teach is approaching galvanizes us. As we rise to leave the lhakang, the shrine-serving monk comes forward holding Drukpa Kunley’s wooden phallus and bow and arrows. We bow our heads and he bonks us on the top of the head with both simultaneously. Who knows? Perhaps something will come of such of a blessing! Walking back down the green hill in the later afternoon, the river slides slowly by in the distance and clouds gathered over the peaks of the surrounding mountains are silver and gray in the soft, humid air. It’s a slow and peaceful place and I can well imagine how Drukpa Kunley delighted in it enough to build his lhakang here. To this day, the lhakang is supposedly cared for by one of Drukpa Kunley’s descendants. While we did not have time to meet this person and hear his stories, I plan to return to spend more time there as soon as I can.

Arriving back at the guest house, we have time for a quick shower and review of what I will teach that evening. At 6:30, we enter the large, carpeted room set aside for the meditation teaching. Since today was a holiday and most students and faculty had the day off, I am not sure what to expect. Will anyone come? But to my surprise, the room is packed. There are easily about 45 people who have come to hear our presentation and to learn to practice basic meditation. The Director introduces us and I give a short talk on the view of mindfulness practice, after which I give a long guided meditation. At the end of this, we open up the floor for questions. Although we’ve been told that Bhutanese are often quite shy about asking questions, there is no shyness in this crowd and we are inundated with many questions about posture, thoughts, working with emotions, holding the mind to the object of meditation, etc. Certain elements are clearly demarcated. For instance, Bhutanese, who have grown up in and participated in a traditional Himalayan Buddhist cultural world, are in no way confused about our status as teachers of mindfulness practice. They know, and we know, that we are not “realized” lamas or gurus in the traditional sense. Since this is clear, it makes it easy to distinguish between “real” meditation, such as that which is done in the monasteries and nunneries, and mindfulness practice as a tool for working with and coming to know one’s own mind in such a way that one might be able to be of benefit in the world. It is fantastic to see such interest and enthusiasm in this crowd. Finally, we have an another sitting period and close the session. As we sit, everyone following their breath (or trying to), I have a moment of surreality. Here I am, in Bhutan, teaching mindfulness practice to Bhutanese people. It’s both wonderful and very odd given how much I myself have to learn from this culture and its people.