Divine Feminine Tour Part One

(The next series of posts will concern a Buddhist tour that I was fortunate enough to be part of at the end of April, beginning of May 2012)

The morning of the Divine Feminine tour dawns gray and cloudy. Mists draped over the foothills of the Paro valley obscure the small window through which the Druk Air pilots must angle their planes in order to land safely at the Paro Airport. Standing in the airport parking lot, our small group of tour guides and friends wonders aloud when (and indeed, if) the flights bringing in the tour participants will be able to land. The first flight, due in from Bangkok, can occasionally be heard circling high overhead, but after a moment or two, the sound of the airplane’s jet engines fades, and we know the plane has returned to Bagdogra to await the lifting of the morning’s mist. After a few cups of tea, we too return to wait at the guesthouse.

Morning Fog

Happily, some hours later, I find myself bouncing along the winding road that snakes above the Paro valley with a small group of tired, but very delighted travelers, including Chris’s best friend Eric, who has come in from Seattle. Our small group is off to visit a small monastery known as “little Taktsang,” or more officially as Dzongdrakha Goemba, while the other guides await the arrival of the rest of the group whose flights continue to be delayed as a result of the morning’s fog. Our small group consists of Suzanne and Judy, both Buddhists from Massachusetts and both students of my dear friend Willa Miller; Christina, an artist from Shanghai; Eric from Seattle; and Linda from California. Since it would be impossible to describe everyone’s experiences—I only have access to my own—I will just relate this trip from my own perspective and hope that others from the trip will fill in the blanks of their own experiences.

Paro Valley 

Dzongdrakha Goemba, consisting of four chapels and a Nepali-style large white chorten, is built into the side of a cliff overlooking a small side valley off the main Paro valley. In the late afternoon sun, its white washed wall gleam enticingly. According the Buddhist lore, this site is one of many important sites where Guru Rinpoche subdued local demons, thereby converting the valley and its inhabitants to Buddhism.

Dzongdrakha Goemba

Reverse View from Goemba

Our hike isn’t very long, but for the group, a number of whom have come from sea level and most of whom have had almost no sleep for a couple of days, the walk is a bit taxing. We stop briefly at a local farmhouse where an elderly woman lives alone caring for her young grandson. She fends off her insanely barking dog, who, fortunately for us, is chained, as we pass. It is easy to imagine how quiet and peaceful her home must be most of the time as the valley drops down through green paddy fields and apple orchards to the distant Paro Chuu river. A twenty-minute walk later we arrive under the eaves of the cliffs and make our way along the narrow, stone steps that gradually ascend to the lhakang. As we walk, we suddenly note a flurry of activity overhead. Looking up, I meet the eyes of a white-faced, black-eyed languar monkey. As we both freeze, I note his size—he’s nearly a large as a small child. Swiftly, I note the presence of other languars above him on the cliffs. They appear to have taken over a small chapel perched on the cliff side. The only downside to this is that we will have to walk beneath them to continue on to the goemba.

Gray Languar Monkey

Sangay, our very capable guide, is concerned that the monkeys will throw things at us as we pass. But eventually we just go on, since there isn’t much choice other than turning back and arrive at the large Nepali-style chorten without incident. An elderly caretaker opens the main lhakang for us and we all sit silently on the wooden floor worn smooth as glass by thousands of pilgrims’ feet beneath the huge darkly golden statue of Guru Rinpoche. As we rise to leave, the caretaker pulls out his huge pathang (sword—the Bhutanese terms means “warrior’s sign”) to show us. He’s clearly proud of his sword and his job and we all share a laugh. But the shadows are growing long over the valley and we must get back to join up with the other half of the group, who have hopefully arrived.

Erik Hanisch Looking Down Over Paro Valley

I run ahead of the group back to the old woman’s farmhouse to retrieve Linda, who has decided to rest there rather than continue on up to the lhakang. I arrive to find her sitting with the owner, the two of them having forged a bond of affection and shared perception in spite of language barriers. I manage a bit of rough translation for Linda as she thanks the old woman and we continue down the trail. We are both feeling quite emotional for some reason and find ourselves talking about our mothers as we walk through the wind and golden evening light back to the waiting bus.

Cliffs at Dzongdrakha Goemba

Back at the hotel the entire group comes together for the first time to discuss the next day’s plan. I am delighted to see Willa and Mike, dear friends from Boston. Although we had originally planned to go to Taktsang the next day, it becomes clear that this plan will need to be changed. For most everyone, a hike to Taktsang on the very first day of the pilgrimage after little sleep and no time to adjust to the altitude is simply not going to work. So we decide instead to visit the Paro Dzong and the museum in the Taa Dzong above it. Lying awake later in my quiet guesthouse room, I wonder why I am so worked up. I realize that much of my wakefulness has to do with a feeling of responsibility. I want to make sure this group of people is well-taken care of so that they can best experience the sacredness of this place I have somehow come to call home. For Buddhists, Bhutan remains one of the last unspoiled, living sources of active Himalayan Buddhist practice. At the same time, so many great masters and mistresses have lived, practiced, and died in Bhutan, such that almost any spot emits a feeling of longevity, of purity, and peacefulness, not unlike the feeling the one gets when traveling through the old abbeys and cathedrals of Great Britain. As a Buddhist, it is not possible to visit Bhutan and not feel oneself tugged at by tendrils of possibility—that great space and relaxation of the mind freed from its habits and concerns, outstretched and all-pervasive like a dark blue canopy of sky. Lying awake in the darkness of the Paro valley, I reflect that my experience so far of living in Bhutan has been a kind of ongoing pilgrimage—outer, inner, and secret—in which I have come face-to-face with so many of the expectations and ideas that unconsciously form a foundation for my sense of security. With so many of these stripped away by living in a foreign country, not to mention basically camping in the wilderness in central Bhutan, so much has been let go of. It is only now, after nearly ten months of living here that I realize how much space has been created for new things to come in, and especially how much the pure brilliance of the energy that permeates Bhutanese soil and inspires Bhutanese people has changed my own sense of myself and others. Falling asleep, I feel overwhelmed with gratitude for my good fortune in having ended up here.