another lhasa

came across some marvelous old documentary footage shot in lhasa in the 40s.

as described by the BFI national film archive, which owns the clips, and posted them on youtube, the first clip shows the parents and siblings of his holiness the dalai lama in its opening scenes, "and a procession of high-ranking men and women. this is followed by a clip of a procession with the dalai lama in a golden palanquin, his presence indicated by the peacock feather umbrella being carried alongside. The final scenes, in contrast, show ordinary children dancing and ice-skating in lhasa." the others do a nice job of capturing some of the texture of lhasa in that truly lost era.





check out the dart scene in this following clip.

debate at sakya

during our day at sakya, we stumbled across a relatively modest group of monks debating in the courtyard outside one of the main halls.

given the size of the monastery and its monastic community, the numbers seemed thin to me, but there they were, working to deepen their understanding of the material they were studying and opening their views to challenge by others, drawing on this centuries-old dialogic form of tibetan debate. i spoke with several of them and learned that all the debate classes were present at the same time. of course, this monastery begin sakya the commentarial sources differed from those more familiar to me from sera and other gelug monasteries, the major topics were the same... and so was the rough and tumble mix of playfulness and serious intellectual inquiry i knew well from other corners of tibetan culture.

the wild west

no, this is not the american southwest. it is tibet's far west, as we approach the seats of what is now most often called the kingdom of guge.

we spent about a week in this terrain, located two days of rugged driving in our six land cruisers from mount kailash heading further west.

out in this wild west we passed a few days in the town of tholing as we explored that site and neighboring tsaparang, followed by two nights in the valley that houses the two cave complexes of dungkar and phiyang. several of the shots from the campsites in the next blog entry are of that valley.

and then three more days to drive back

but perhaps i can just let these images speak for themselves...

sleeping under the stars

several of the sites we visited were too remote to have facilities for overnight stays. as a result, our trip included many nights of camping. quite a few of our evening lectures took place in the food tent, flaps shut against the bite of the wind. in all, nearly a third of our time in tibet was spent under the stars. we camped on the banks of lake manasarovar within view of mount kailash, we camped in pastureland and in clusters of forest. often windy, more often cold, but always in magnificent locales and in great company. here are some photos capturing some of those sites.
the image with the long view down a valley shows our campsite from the caves of phiyang in the other end of the valley; the tiny specks of color in the distant field of green are our tents.

painting a place for us

All that remains of the splendor that Drathang once clearly had been is the skeleton of a single building. The surrounding complex is gone, the upper two floors of the lone surviving building lie in ruins, and the ground floor itself is far from intact. Its walls bear the painful scars of attacks made under the communist regime. In the places where a magnificent Buddha statue and eight bodhisattvas once stood today one finds bare patches of plaster, a series of halos marking the sanctity of heads that have long been gone, and bits of gilded throne protruding from the wall high overhead.

But what does survive stuns the viewer not only with its beauty but with the clarity of its vision. Between the long slashes of damage are among the most staggering murals we will see on our month-long tour of Tibet’s best preserved artistic treasures.

Viewing art in religious buildings is fundamentally unlike viewing it in museums or secular establishments. Looking at such art in situ, viewers are necessarily placed in the position adopted by the centuries of pilgrims and religious practitioners who had interacted with the art, gazing at it with awe and delight, making offerings to it with admiration or supplication, or simply opening themselves to the blessings and power of its presence.

To the degree that the artist expressly conceived the work with an audience in mind, the art will consciously heighten these responses. Exploiting features of perspective, lighting, composition or simply scale, the art itself anticipates and shapes the way viewers will relate to what they perceive.

Drathang’s wall paintings seem singularly designed to address its viewers. Here the art works on its audience not by the size of its scale but by the composition of a gathering of disciples around the Buddha. The painters clearly envisioned a highly diverse assembly gathering around the Buddha as he taught. An improbable range of ethnic types and colors crowd together around the Buddha, with yellow, red, green, blue and white monks, bodhisattvas, lay followers visually marked as Tibetan, central Asian, Indian, Chinese … Figures are positioned almost huddling together as if trying to draw as close to the Buddha, and the vibrancy of this gathering is palpable. Unlike some depictions of the Buddha as he teaches, not all figures face the Buddha, and not all sit in calm and attentive repose. Instead, the panel is teeming with energy and individuality, with some members of the assembly exchanging smiles of delight, some with eyes wide in amazement and others with their gaze focused intently on the Buddha. A few even appear with their hands in teaching position, apparently commenting to one another on what they are hearing. Even the snow lions below the throne seem caught up in the excitement of the moment, as the artist has pictured them scratching themselves.

Standing before this centuries-old vision of the Buddha and his audience, I suddenly notice that several of the figures in this audience are staring straight out at me, the viewer. In this instant, the artist’s work has reached out to include me in the assembly. Just as some monks in the gathering around the Buddha were exchanging looks, here these bodhisattvas are now exchanging looks with those of us who have joined the assembly in the temple all these centuries later. In this instant, I as viewer am given a place in the assembly. The range of diversity that the Buddhists of that era in Tibet envisioned as part of their community expands just a bit, to include an American nun who is among those smiling as she gazes at the Buddha and exchanges glances with the bodhisattvas also part of the assembly.

Most of these exquisite photos were taken by my wonderful traveling companions Wen-Shing Chou and Christian Luczanits.All

lhasa, tibetan and chinese

Arriving in Lhasa after an absence of nearly ten years, two major changes stand out immediately. One is the degree to which Lhasa has been turned into a Chinese town. The other is how many monks and nuns were in evidence.

With the exception of the old Tibetan area surrounding the Jokhang, Lhasa seems more Chinese than Tibetan. Passing through its streets, one sees larger Chinese shop signs and hears more Chinese spoken than Tibetan. In fact, Lhasa often has the feel of a standard colonial outpost. Much as did India under the British rule, Tibet attracts young men with economic ambitions coming to make money to support themselves and their families back home in China. As did the British in India, Chinese may lived their whole lives in Tibet without ever bothering to learn the local language.

Meanwhile, even as Lhasa is increasingly Sinified, its Buddhist heart is very much in evidence. It is often said that the practice and study of Dharma is far livelier in eastern Tibet, mainly for political and historical reasons. The occupation of Tibet by China employs, among others, the tried and true colonial method of divide and conquer, and part of that process involves dividing the area of Tibet into several different Chinese provinces. Western and central Tibet lie within the boundaries of the so-called Tibetan Autonomous Region or TAR, while Kham and Amdo were politically amputated and grafted onto the provinces of Qinghai and Sichuan. In these two provinces to the east of the TAR, Tibetans are politically grouped with other ethnic minorities and thus receive less intense scrutiny than they do in provinces where they are the single largest rivals to Chinese hegemony.

Nevertheless, Buddhist practice is certainly alive in central Tibet as well. (see Christian's photo above of public teachings we came across at Ramoche temple in Lhasa). We found the debate yards of Sakya and Sera monasteries vibrant with the sounds of monks sharpening their understanding of their textual study. Elsewhere, we happened upon a small monastery whose abbot was conferring a highest tantric initiation that very day, his monks having just completed the corresponding sand mandala. Unlike similar initiations I had seen in Tibetan monasteries in exile, every single monk, even the young monks in the back rows, who had earlier been playing and giggling, evidently knew all the complex mudras and performed them correctly with great solemnity once the initiation had begun. Although this was not primarily a tantric college, it was clear that this abbot had taken great pains to train these young monks.

Thanks again to Christian Luczanits for the marvelous panoramic photo of Lhasa that heads this entry...

overwhelming loss

Three days drive east of Shigatse, across wind-scorched plains and over dizzyingly high passes, lies the ancient kingdom of Guge. This kingdom, though now best known as a series remote and ruined monasteries, was instrumental in the revival of Buddhism in Tibet. It was a king of Guge who invited Dipamkara Atisha and hosted him during the first years of Atisha’s history-making stay in Tibetan territory. It was here that Rinchen Zangpo labored so fruitfully to render the Sanskrit canon into Tibetan.

In most of the places we visited in central Tibet, the signs of damage to monasteries are limited to shells of buildings, with the rubble mostly cleared away. The old statues made of bronze and other metals that can be made into bullets and weapons were hauled off to China long ago, and the shards of statues that had been made of brittle clay were long swept away.

At Tholing, an ancient seat of the Guge kings, the entire central room of the main chapel is conceived as a walk-in three-dimensional Vajradhātu mandala, with a huge seat for Vairocana Buddha at the center and other larger than life sized thrones at each of the four gates of the mandala. Normally as we walk through temples in Tibet, members of our group call each other over to share a quiet discussion of some detail they have noticed. Here the group falls utterly silent as most of us scatter on our own to bear witness to the incomprehensible clash between the beauty of what once was and the ugliness of what was then done to it.

None of the figures that had once occupied the walk-in mandala escaped the frenzy of the Cultural Revolution. The thrones stand empty. The temples roof had been removed, letting the rain in to do the remaining work of wiping the paintings off the walls. The only other hints of what was once here are random bits of exquisitely modeled limbs and torsos of the statues of the surrounding deities on the outer walls. A few images, too high to be attacked completely, have had their heads bashed in.

For the first time on this trip, I am reduced to tears. Later I see that I am not alone in this response.