It was six weeks ago today. I am still not sure what led the
ten of us to a private audience with His Holiness the Karmapa. It certainly was
a total surprise, arranged by our guide Kunsang in Dharamsala. And it certainly
was a gift.
We found out about it the evening before we were to fly
north to this mountain town. After having returned to Delhi
just that afternoon from Gujarat for an
overnight regrouping and repacking, I checked my email. We were all taken aback
and somewhat stunned by this amazing email news. I mean, what an honor! That night, I sent out a blog entry called “Great
News!”, so that our friends, family and followers back home could be with us in
their hearts and spirit as we met with him.
After the Kingfisher propeller plane landed on that cool,
grey, almost misty afternoon at the small rural, lowkey airport in the
foothills of the Himalayas, we found out that
the Dalai Lama had just landed two hours before us on that same quiet airstrip.
Earlier that week, when we arrived at Barefoot College
in Rajasthan, we were told that the Dalai Lama had just visited there two days
before us (all the welcome signs and special decorations were still up) and he
had been in Jaipur just two days before we arrived there as well. We were
unknowingly following in the path he was traveling, all the way through
Rajasthan, across the north of India,
and then up the twenty-mile-long, narrow, twisty mountain road that ascends from
the airport to Dharamsala. The Chonor House (the Tibetan Guest House where we
were staying) was a stone’s throw away from his residence and his Namgyal Temple.
I couldn’t help but wonder if the Dalai Lama ever went out
for a walk. Maybe I would see him out my window…
After we settled into our gorgeous rooms with views out to the
mountains and down to the surrounding valley, we met Kunsang for the first time
to talk through how we were to spend our time together in Dharamsala. He
welcomed each of us with a white scarf—aTibetan tradition. Since the first thing on
the next morning’s schedule was our audience with the Karmapa, we dove right
into what it would be like and what we should do and what to expect. We had so
many questions—after all, none of us had ever met a Karmapa before! What would we
wear? Who talks first? Not wanting to make a faux pas in any way, we tried to
get the concept and Kunsang patiently answered all our questions. We then got a
lesson in how to prostrate ourselves (what Tibetans and Buddhists traditionally
do). It looked so fluid when Kunsang did it. And so respectful. And so Tibetan.
I remembered a scene in the beautiful film Himalaya
(which I have seen about six times and highly, highly recommend) in which the
Tibetan nomads—while on their breathtaking and life-threatening annual trek
with their yaks through the mountains to gather salt—cross paths with a group
of Buddhist pilgrims who were also crossing the mountains on foot—prostrating
every eight steps or so as part of their spiritual practice (I have read that
the act of prostration reminds the Buddhist that she is not the most significant
being in all of reality).
We all kind of surreptitiously glanced around, each of us sizing
up who we thought would be physically able to do that at this stage in our
lives. Having not grown up Tibetan, and no longer being 25 like Kunsang was
(except for our extended family’s 15 year old and 23 year old traveling with us),
my assessment was that even if we could make it down to the floor, none of our
muscles were going to be quick and agile like they should be for a proper
prostration!!! After we voiced this concern, Kunsang mulled it over and then
said that he thought it would probably be fine if we just did the series of hand
movements that preceded getting down on the floor on our stomachs…..His
Holiness would probably be OK with that.
Phew. Lucky thing. I sure didn’t want the ability or lack
thereof to fluidly move from an upright position to flat on your stomach on the
floor and quickly back up again in five seconds to make or break the
opportunity for this special audience…..
Over our first traditional Tibetan dinner (so different than
Indian food) at a great local restaurant --complete with our first momo’s--we
learned more. Kunsang had bought us the necessary ten special quality white
scarves (each one of us would offer a scarf to the Karmapa upon entering the
room, after whatever version of the hand movements or full floor dip we could
manage). He thought there would likely be a translator. We were coached that
one never turn’s one back on the Karmapa, so when we left the room we were to
back out, with an honoring bow. By that time, we had all figured out what we
were going to wear, and all that was left was to get a good night’s sleep.
That didn’t happen for me. I was awake and asleep, awake and
asleep all night. It felt appropriate to me, and to all of us, that as the
founder and artistic director, I would be the one to speak and introduce Libana’s
music and deeper mission. Even though it resulted in a restless night, it was a
deep and illuminating inner process for me up there in the Himalayan mountains
that night. The challenge of how I would succinctly verbalize to the third
highest Lama in Tibetan Buddhism just what it is that Libana tries to offer the
world was an opportunity worth losing sleep over.
Morning came, and it was absolutely stunningly brilliant outside.
The mist from the day before had cleared and it was as if the sun was shining extra
light for us on this auspicious day. After driving in two vehicles for quite
some time, we pulled off the main road into the Gyuto Ramoche
Tantric University—temporary
home to the Karmapa. Our breath was taken away by the beauty of the Temple building against
the snow-covered mountain peaks—everything was sparkling in that clear light. I
stepped out of the vehicle into this illuminated, rarified air. The vast,
silent, sacred presence of those mountains was broken only by the sound of some
young monks chanting above on a second floor balcony. After several moments
taking in this sensory, spiritual energetic experience, several of us
immediately climbed up the many steps to the Temple entrance. We had just been told that
the monks had gathered to hold a special chanting meditation to disperse the
negative energy that had built up due to the recent controversies and misreporting
about the Karmapa.
Inside the Temple photo: Allison Coleman
We sat outside the open Temple entrance that had a green cloth sash
across it, indicating that we should not enter. It was just us, except for a Tibetan
woman offering her respect and reverence in the form of ongoing prostrations—up
and down in front of the entranceway. Emanating from the Temple were the chants and drumming of the
monks inside which we could glimpse only through a narrow space under the green
sash.
I was transfixed. I felt so honored to be sitting there. I
could have sat there for the rest of time.
But Kunsang had quietly come up the steps to gather us to go
register for our audience. So down the steps we went, wrapped in the energy of
what we had just experienced, and around to a side entrance where we entered a
reception room filled with a mix of visiting Buddhist crimson-robed monks, a
few Westerners, and the bustle of officials gathering passports, xeroxes of
Indian visas, and our signatures on documents. Trays of Masala Tea and treats
were brought in for everyone while we waited for the registration process to be
completed. It was very convivial and friendly, and everyone was filled with a
sense of anticipation. We were then asked to go outside and get into a security
line. Once through, we climbed up four or five flights of stairs to a top floor
outdoor balcony, where everyone stood in line waiting for their moment with the
Karmapa.
The line was moving pretty quickly, and most people were
only spending a minute in the Karmapa’s special room—being ushered in and out
by the attending monks. It seemed that we still had a ways to go when all of a
sudden Kunsang and his ten American companions were summoned into the room. Again, we were taken by surprise. It felt a little
like we were cutting in line, but we were being asked to go, so in we went—with
me at the head of the line.
I expected that he would be seated, but instead he walked
towards me with an air of seriousness and depth, and yet welcoming. My hands
moved as they had been taught, palms pressed together with thumbs tucked in,
from my crown chakra to my third eye to my throat chakra and then to my heart
center. He smiled and gave a subtle gesture communicating that it was totally unnecessary
to end up on the floor. I offered him my white scarf which he ritualistically
took and then placed it back around my neck. I moved on into the room, and turned
to witness everyone else’s moment of blessing with the Karmapa. It was all so
spacious and kind. Cheryl and Alan’s son Jared had brought some prayer beads,
hoping that the Karmapa would bless them—which he graciously did. Eventually we
were all seated, graced with a blessed white scarf around our necks.
We had talked about it earlier, and we knew that we wanted
to offer him a song after I spoke. Which song to sing would be spontaneously
chosen by me, as I assessed the energy of the moment. The Karmapa never spoke.
His presence was strong and clear and focused and kind, and after a moment of
shared silence, I spoke to him about Libana.
The translator never needed to speak a word. The Karmapa
seemed to understand all levels of what I was saying. When I was done, I said
that we would like to sing him a song, and asked if that would be welcomed. He gave
a nod, and in that peaceful room with my singing sisters and extended families,
in the presence of such a being, surrounded by the still power of those
mountains illuminated by the full strength of the sun, the only song that felt
appropriate to sing was Deep Peace—a
beautiful setting by Boulder, CO composer Bill Douglas of an ancient Gaelic
blessing. A song we have ended many a concert with over the years.
Deep peace of the
running wave to you,
Deep peace of the
flowing air to you,
Deep peace of the
quiet earth to you,
Deep peace of the
shining stars to you,
Deep peace of the
gentle night to you,
Moon and stars pour
their healing light on you,
Deep peace to you.
As we sang, we all felt him receive it increasingly deeply; his
eyes were closed and his breathing was deep, centered, and peaceful. In that
moment, we were singing it for him, for our community of Libana, for the Earth,
for our world, for our shared humanity. This song we have offered to so many in
concerts across the United States
was now vibrating out into the Himalayas and
beyond, as we offered it in the enlightened spiritual presence of the Karmapa.
In the silence that followed, it was clear that there was
nothing more that needed to be said or done. He eventually stood up, and we
followed suit. We were pulling our personal bags together, when one of us
remembered that you could request a photo be taken, so we gathered with him in
the front of the room for our memorable photo opportunity.
Then, as we began walking towards the door, we all
simultaneously remembered Kunsang’s coaching—never turn your back towards the Karmapa. Of course Kunsang glided
gracefully backwards with all the practiced finesse of his ancestors within
him. But the rest of us spun around in an abrupt, awkward 180 degree turn and
started backing up across the room towards the door, the ten of us attempting
to funnel into one small doorway—all juggling our bags and bowing and glancing
over our shoulders and bumbling and bumping into each other. It was very
comical, and he clearly thought so too. The smiling and nearly chuckling Karmapa
motioned for this group of Americans to dispense with the formality and just be
on our way.
After our audience with the Karmapa photo: Jared Weber Mattes
I am still not sure why it all happened. But it lives within
me every day.
Sue
