The Thamel Fire, or "You're Good at Not Dying"

 A mainstay and place of refuge for over 40 years, gone. 

Last night I was less than 100 metres from a massive explosion in Thamel, the main tourist district in Kathmandu. It triggered a fire that raged all night, and I (barely) slept to the sounds of sirens singing in the streets.

Danger, like, real life actual danger, is a strange thing. It's a slow, confusing state during which your brain has to process all of the new information it is receiving, and then it has to figure out which of the appropriate steps it has to take to make you not die.

I had a conversation with my friend Loren yesterday. He is about to embark on a long traveling journey (and we are going to meet in Bangkok), and the advice I gave him was basically, "if you're not scared, you are doing something wrong. You need to be scared. It's how your lizard brain will make sure you won't die."

And when you boil it all down, that is all ANY of us are any good at: not dying. If you are here and reading this blog in your pajamas, eatin' cheetohs (or whatever snack you enjoy) thinking about rent and TV shows and the price of oil, well: good for you. You are EXCELLENT at the one thing you need to be good at doing: not dying. That can change at any minute, but right now you are doing a great job. Kudos.

Sometimes we pass our time not dying in a way that feels really calm and mundane. We live our lives and pay our bills and ride the bus and tuck our children into their beds and we think that we are safe. But really, we don't even realize that we are walking through a minefield of constant terror and chances for death.

Your heart can literally explode in your chest. Your  house can catch on fire and you can be burnt to death in the time that it takes for you to wake up and realize what is going on. A driver can have one too many Tom Collins and drive straight into you as you cross the street. You are never "safe," my friends. Never. Safe is not a thing.

I don't mean to sound all Fox News and make you worry about scary foreign men bursting into your apartment and raping your pets ("A New Terrier Terror Strikes the Nation!!!"), but come on. We lull ourselves into complacency that every single moment we are alive is not scary as shit. IT IS. And guess what - you are good at navigating the fear. You have to be.

People say, "Jess, aren't you scared to travel the world alone?" The answer is YES. Of course I fucking am. I'm not an idiot - bad stuff happens here in Nepal, but it can also happen to you while you are sitting on your couch in Edmonton or Topeka. Your ceiling could cave in or a swarm of bees could attack you or you have stroke - and we all know that but we just pretend otherwise. Like my mum always says, "You are going to die somewhere, so it might as well be somewhere fucking interesting."

 

On the left - messages from Ben, at the time (he thought I was at home). 

On the right, message from Matt today.

Last night I was sitting in a pub in Thamel with Matthew Rose and Dan Pritchard, participating in a quiz (like I do every week) when a huge explosion rocked the bar. At first we thought it was a bomb, and then someone said it was just a single tank of cooking propane bursting and so we nearly continued the quiz. It wasn't until the screams and shouts from the street alerted us that something a lot bigger had happened.

Twelve gas tanks (like these ones) exploded at Faces nightclub and the entire centre of Thamel was on fire, and the bar in which I was sitting was less than 100 metres away from where it started. But it was strange - it was like we didn't know exactly how to gauge the danger, like we didn't realize it was a huge problem. I continued texting the boy, even. Time slowed down, and it was only when we stepped outside to see a wall of flames approaching did we realize that it was indeed time to leave, and that is when our lizard brains kicked in and made us not die. We went the other direction.

That's all you have to do. Don't die. And when you do - because you will - and it is in an exotic locale, it's no more shocking than if you were in your bed, surrounded by fat grandchildren. It's death. It is always a possibility. Pretending that it isn't is unhealthy and dishonest. Pretending that it isn't means that you sleepwalk through life and never appreciate how wonderful and treacherous it really is. Pretending that it isn't means that when death does come - and it will - you'll be so unprepared that you'll try to ignore even the very experience of dying. It's one of the most important things that will ever happen to you, so what a spectacular waste.

Today Thamel is in ruins. There are only 7 firetrucks in the entire Kathmandu valley and they all responded, but the fire blazed through the night. One of the most iconic bookstores in Asia, Pilgrims, is gone. Countless people lost their livelihoods, thankfully it seems that no one lost their lives. But life is fleeting, and life is fragile. 

I'm going to finish this up with a direct quote from something I wrote to Loren yesterday:
"You made this choice to travel, this amazing choice that like, a eeeenth of the population makes and you know why they don't make it? BECAUSE IT IS TERRIFYING. And that is so, so fucking beautiful."

Take care. Don't die. You're already good at that.

xoxoVD/Jessica O'Neill

***Note - this blog was just republished at one of my FAVOURITE sites, The Order of the Good Death. Check it out there as well. :)

Better, Not Older - 31 Things I Did While I Was 31

 Better late than never, little Dear.

1. After many years and a few hiatuses, I completed my Honours BA in Communication - finally- with a 4.0 GPA and a minor in Dialogue.

2. I wrote a lot, and I was published in the Tyee, xoJane, the Under 35 Project, Huffington Post, The Vancouver Courier, Whistler Traveler and Vancouver is Awesome.

3. I was hired as a pro-bono Ethical Tourism Advisor by Next Generation Nepal after I read a book called Little Princes and it inspired me to do something about child trafficking in Nepal.

4. I told a story at Rain City Chronicles (the Vancouver version of the Moth) about accidentally moving into a crack house. (You can listen here - I'm the first storyteller of "Under the Influence.")

Oh, how I wish this was ironic. BUT IT REALLY ISN'T.

5. I saw Neil Diamond in concert with my mum and her pals - we're the "Oh, Neil!" girls. I am a Diamond Head - I love Neil, like, an unhealthy amount, and the concert nearly had me in tears.

6. I hosted couchsurfers - 6 in Vancouver and 5 in Kathmandu - and I feel more and more dialed into its international community of vagabonds, travelers and engaged citizens.

Interestingly, also what I do with men.

7. I marched in the Gay Pride Parade with the Vancouver Orphan Kitten Rescue Association (VOKRA) for whom I have fostered kittens in the past. We won the People's Choice Award for best float, and only about half of the attendees thought we were furries. 

8. I spent one perfect day in Singapore visiting my friends Tanya and Peter. I took a Chinatown Walking Tour, ate some amazing chicken rice, visited a hawker centre for frogs legs, char kway teow and wontons, drank fresh beers and won a pub quiz at a huge brewery pub at Clarke Quay. Whew!

9. I spent the next (perfect) day in Kuala Lumpur, taking a food tour, going to see the Petronas Towers and spending an evening alone on a verandah in a thunder storm, listening to music, writing and drinking Tiger Beer.

10. I stored my belongings, said some difficult goodbyes, made some hard choices about my beloved cats and moved to Kathmandu for 7 months.

11. I took the one-month Introduction to Buddhism course at Kopan Monastery, followed by the one week silent Lam Rim retreat.

Me and Ani Drolma moments after my refuge ceremony. I became "Thubten Tsultrim."

12. I formally took refuge in Buddha, Dharma and Sangha and officially became a Buddhist.

13. I applied to University College of London and York, and was accepted to both! I accepted UCL's offer to do my MA in Cultural Heritage Studies.

14. I consumed entrails on the streets of Bangkok on Christmas morning with my girl Jess and spent Christmas Dinner in Columbo eating gluttonous amounts of crab with my Mum and Tim.

15. I took a cooking class and learned to make rice n' curry, pol sambol and egg hoppers in Galle, Sri Lanka.

16. I spent New Year's Eve 2013 on a stunning beach in Tangalla, Sri Lanka with my Mum, Tim, Jess and a bartender who looked like Bruno Mars.

17. I began volunteering at the Kopan Dog Rescue and fell deeply, madly in love with the dogs there. 

The next hill over is called  Pubic Mound.

18. I trekked through the Annapurnas in a snow storm with my pal Vilija. Our Poon Hill trek was stunningly beautiful - and incredibly treacherous due to a freak storm that meant we had to descend the steep mountain trails by sliding on our bums/crawling on our hands and knees. 

19. I began Nepali lessons and learned how to speak ali ali (a little bit) of Nepali. Ramro!

20. I purchased my first sari and wore it to a glamourous birthday event.

21. I booked a 9 day vacation to Thailand with my gal Jess (again - she's my soul mate) and learned how to dive on Koh Tao. I am now officially SSI certified to scuba dive anywhere in the world.

Two of the many good friends I made this year, Cass and Jess.

22. I added over 100 new friends on Facebook, which means I met over 100 awesome new people who have added richness, humour, art, compassion, wisdom and sass to my life.

23. I discovered (much) younger men and realized that age really doesn't matter when two people have a lot in common. I also heard, "you look so good for your age!" quite often this year, to which I replied, "hunty, this is what 31 looks like!"

24. I had a blast getting covered in coloured powder on Holi -  and then had less of a blast when a gang of teenaged boys surrounded me and a friend and groped us. This is common in Nepal, and made me feel vulnerable and ashamed. It was my first sexual assault, and it made me have even more compassion for victims of sexual violence.

25. I learned to love dal bhat, the Nepali national dish that consists of a mountain of rice, lentil soup, vegetable curry and spicy pickle. A bad dal bhat is bland, mushy and boring, but a good one is yummy comfort food. (But to be honest, I ate more pho than anything.)

26. I fell into a giant open sewer hole and was rescued by the Nepali army.

I'm saying, "have you ever tried to help, but accidentally made things a whole lot worse?"

27. I wrote and gave a Pecha Kucha presentation on my research into orphanage voluntourism in Nepal at the 9th Kathmandu Pecha Kucha Night, and I hope to give a similar presentation in London and Vancouver.

28. I co-wrote and presented a pub quiz (that benefits the Umbrella Foundation) at Pub Maya in Thamel. My rounds included questions on Lynch, Bowie, Joy Division, Rocky Horror, Voodoo, Wayne's World, Edith Piaf and Tom Waits.

29. I got a tattoo of a Matryoshka doll in honour of my grandmother. Thar's right: I got a tattoo of a Ukrainian stacking doll by a Swiss artist in Nepal. 

30. I learned to open a beer with any available implement. Physics confuses me, but I finally met a boy who taught me the basic principles of levers, so look out science! You're my bitch now.

31. Finally, on my last day of 31 I learned to ride a motorcycle at Hearts and Tears Motorcycle Club in Pokhara. I was surrounded by great teachers, fun friends and a boy who is riding his bike from here back to the UK. At long last, I'll actually be able to put the word "biker" before "babe"(or "bitch").

That's all, pals. Now to get started on a list of 32 equally amazing things for this coming year: bungy jumping, getting back on my skateboard, surf lessons, Greek island sailing, warehouse parties, finding a flat in Brixton and a lot of writing.

xoxoVioletDear

Hey. 32. Bring it. This goth bitch is going to OWN you.

Idiot Compassion, Orgies and Self-Imposed Writer's Block (and a Little Perspective)

 

Looks prettier covered in blood....   

I need to write. But it's nights like tonight that I sit and struggle with exactly what I want to say and how to say it. I know I want - no, need - to write something, but it feels overwhelming and complicated, something I don't know how to do - like those days that you sit at work and wonder "hmmm, when will they all realize I have NO IDEA what I'm doing?"

Part of me wants to write poems, but I need to scrawl those messily by hand - my brain won't communicate poetry to a keyboard. But it's Nepal and the power is off and as romantic as writing by candlelight sounds it isn't really possible when your eyes are as terrible as mine. That leaves me with the laptop and either this journalish 'personal essay' stuff or fiction, and I will be honest: fiction scares me.

I have a few ideas for stories brewing but they involve themes that are still too raw and so I am avoiding them, thinking to myself "oh, that? Yep. I'll write that later." as I slink away and hide and read jezebel instead. I know that the best thing to do would be to plunge my hands in up to the elbows and get messy and haunted with my particular muse, but I have to work in the morning and I have no whiskey in the house (oh, look at me being all tortured and writerly). It's also just easier just to let myself slack and get away with avoiding the big, scary work.

So instead I will give you a piece about my week that will start wanky and Holden Caulfield-y (or Lena Dunham-y, see link above) but get progressively more self-aware, I promise.

It has been a bizarre week. Last weekend I found out that two of my ostensibly "straight" exes are...erm, 'romantically involved' in a 'group setting' on the regular. This news was obviously unsettling, and a bit upsetting - and also kind of hilarious. (I'm pretty sure neither of them read this, but if they do - hi guys!) Now, should I be relieved or offended if they don't ask me to join them? Just kidding. (Am I? Mostly...)

After a weekend filled with spontaneous laughing jags, on Monday I had to perform a "friends-off" and tell a particularly toxic pal in Kathmandu that I could no longer be in their life. It felt shitty to abandon someone who is obviously in need of mental health help, but allowing their abusive behaviour to go unchallenged was not doing them any favours. In this case, I really like the concept of idiot compassion that has been popularized by Pema Chodron. In her words it is defined as "the general tendency to give people what they want because you can't bear to see them suffering. Basically, you're not giving them what they need. You're trying to get away from your feeling of 'I can't bear to see them suffering.' In other words, you're doing it for yourself. You're not really doing it for them."

Had I stayed friends with my buddy after they repeatedly treated me badly (and swore it would never happen again each time) I wouldn't have been helping them, I would have just been enabling them - and that isn't compassion. It's actually cowardly and selfish on my end. Avoiding idiot compassion means that I can be a compassionate Buddhist (or Buddh-ish, depending on the day) without being a fucking doormat. But that doesn't mean it is easy, and I had to be careful that I was reacting in a calm and measured way and not out of spite or anger. I'm proud of how I handled the situation.

To top off the week, I found out that an old flame has moved on - a fact that came to light in a weird, roundabout way. I wasn't at all shocked, and I wasn't really upset. I was just caught off guard and a little bummed, as I think anyone would be. I'm actually more upset that there is no one in Kathmandu with whom to have an ill-advised 'moving-on/kind-of-bored/my-bed-is-freezing' fling. I live in the expat-lady capital of the world (development work is largely a vagina-having thing to do) and so I have pretty much zero options when it comes to dating. Nepali guys are incredibly handsome, yes, but I have weird ethical qualms about breezing into a developing nation for seven months, banging the men and then leaving.This leaves me expat men who are either a) older and married, b) younger and frat dude-ish or c) OH WAIT THERE IS NO C.

By mid-week I was sufficiently feeling like garbage. It was then that I found out that my pal had been attacked in rural Nepal. Mere hours after hearing this terrible news I learned that a Tibetan monk had just set himself on fire in Kathmandu. My heart sank and tears welled up in my eyes, a heavy weight in my chest. This marks the 100th self-immolation in the past year, and the first of its kind in Nepal (the other 99 have been within Tibet and China). The act took place at Boudhanath Stupa (which is located right near Kopan) and I go there quite often to circumambulate and recite mantras. My recent visit to Boudha made the monk's pain and desperation feel more tangible, more urgent. Yesterday I found out that he has passed away from his burns, and this news put my whole 'sorry' week into perspective.

Basically, while I have a few woes with friends and exes, millions of people in Tibet are being stripped of their human rights and their millennial-old traditions are being lost. They are so disenfranchised that they are resorting to a brutal self-inflicted death to try desperately to draw international attention to their plight. While I grumble about the cold and the rain and the lack of dating options my friend sits in hospital with a fractured skull, her career and travel plans dashed (temporarily). Through this ordeal and all of her suffering she has had the most inspirational attitude and positive outlook. I'm humbled.

So I can get down in the dumps and lonely and even stuck with a bit of writer's block, but I lead a charmed fucking life. I don't want to forget how lucky I am and feel sorry for myself when things get angsty - instead, I need to get busy spreading this fortune around. The only things that I know I can do to make this world a better place are meditate, be compassionate, work hard on meaningful projects and write. When I avoid writing fiction or poetry about painful subjects because it's easier to avoid them than confront them, well that's just idiot (self) compassion, and that doesn't help me or anyone. So I need to write.

It seems fitting to end on that note, because it is also where I started.
Good night, chickens.
xoxoxVD

Tricking My Ass (onto the cushion): A Meditation Mistake

A spinning prayer wheel at Swayambunath Temple. 

I arrived at Pranamaya yoga studio this morning at 9:10. The class wasn't due to start until 9:30, so I was a little bit surprised to see a small clutch of people waiting outside the studio door. "Eager!" I thought.

This was my first yoga class in months, and I was eager to stretch and limber up. I have, admittedly, been a pretty epic slacker in my spiritual practice since leaving Kopan, only meditating once a week at the FPMT centre in Thamel. The cushion can be a scary place, and so I thought the yoga mat might be a more suitable place to ease back into mindfulness and battle some mental demons in a physical way.

The class was described online as a "dynamic" Vinyasa flow, which was good, because I kind of needed something to kick my ass. It has been a long, strange week filled with disturbing news about exes, and last night I broke my self-imposed Kathmandu sobriety in order to down a bottle of red at a Bollywood themed party. I woke up this morning still able to taste the menthol cigarettes I had greedily sucked down, and I was dangerously close to being hungover.

But not so close that I was willing to break my plans for some Saturday morning yoga. I stood amidst the crowd of people and waited for a few minutes, until an American guy came blustering into the studio. "Sorry guys!" He announced. "So sorry I am late!" I was really confused. What did he mean, late? It was still fifteen minutes before the class was scheduled to start!

We all headed into the room, and I set my handbag down and popped over to the loo to take a quick pre-yoga pee (always important). When I returned I noticed something strange. The others were sitting on blankets and bolsters. No yoga mats, and the teacher, Frank, was already instructing despite the fact that it was only 9:20. What in the holy hell was going on?!

The first word I registered Frank saying was "death." It slowly started to dawn on me. This was not a yoga class. This was a meditation class.

I glanced over at the schedule on the wall and it was confirmed: This was the 8:50am Saturday morning meditation. The "9:30" class that I had viewed online was indeed taking place.... all the way in Patan at one of Pranayama's other studios. I had misread the website, and ended up in a meditation.

Now, that was not the only fateful coincidence. On any other Saturday, had I made the same mistake I would have arrived at the studio and been faced with a locked door, the class half-completed. I would have checked the posted schedule, realized my mistake and left. However, this week, the one week that it mattered - Frank was late. He arrived 25 minutes late, seconds after I myself had arrived.

When I put all of this together in my head and realized that we were about to do one of the meditations I find most meaningful - death meditation - tears sprung into my eyes. "What a wonderful karmic surprise," I thought, "and how fucking terrifying."

See, karma or fate or God or pure chance - however you want to look at it - something got me on that cushion today. Some kind of wheel turned and set into motion the weird series of coincidences that led my sore post-trekking ass onto the floor of the yoga studio to sit and watch my breath and confront my own mortality.

The purpose of vivid death visualizations are to remind you that at any moment you could die, and so you should never put off the important things in life. You should apologize to people you've wronged. You should forgive everyone who has wronged you. You should do things you love. You should pray to whatever you believe in. And most importantly, death meditation reminds you that you should fucking meditate.

I tried to hide from the cushion, from the meditation - but it found me. Thank god. Thank Frank. And thank me.

Enjoy the Silence?

 

A fresco depicting an analogy about meditation - chasing monkeys and elephants.

I am cheating on my silence.

See, I told myself that I would keep silence for the whole week, and my strict definition includes reading, writing and eye contact. "Noble silence."

Noble silence can be a blessing, a welcome reprieve from the constant expectations of others. There is never any need to break out of one’s private little bubble and interact in any way, and the idea is that it allows all of the mind’s time and energy to go inward.

Let’s face it: I have been sucking at inward. First of all, when I arrived from my three days off in Thamel, I didn’t lock up my laptop or iPhone behind the front desk. Ani Karin, the nun in charge of the course, made it clear on day one that this retreat, while entirely silent, would be less strict than the November course on things like internet usage and portable electronics. I decided to keep my gadgets for the first night, at least until official silence started the next morning. That ‘first night’ has stretched into the whole week.

My laptop has taunted me. By day two my pudgy little fingers were aching for the keyboard, just inches away from me, and I decided that a little editing couldn’t hurt…. and maybe a little music? If it is quiet and folky, surely that is acceptable, right? A little Kate Bush? Maybe some Sufjan?

By the next afternoon I was listening to Xiu Xiu on my headphones as I did kora around the monastery. “Dear,” I frowned at myself, “this is getting a bit ridiculous.” At least I’m back to folk music and Dharma podcasts.

But that isn’t all. I have been having lengthy conversations with the dogs and cats, in which I usually ask them things like, “whose leg is this? Is this your leg? What a nice leg. Look at dis leg!” I have been reading Ayya Khema’s autobiography in 60 minute chunks, and earlier today I nearly ran out of a meditation on samsara in order to write an apology letter to some people I pissed off a long time ago. Ironic.

This silence is fraught with complications.

I guess I am in retreat doubt. It’s this weird complex in which I become convinced that I am retreat-ing wrong and that there is some magical key or wish fulfilling jewel that other people have access to that I somehow cannot find. I look at the beatific faces around me and decide that those people are a) better Buddhists than me b) getting the “right” answer out of all of this and c) kind of in need of me to hit them in their smug mouths.

Whoa, did I type that? K, promise I didn’t mean it. Ish… It’s just that I vacillate between contentment and angst on the cushion. Some sessions things are so calm and productive that I become convinced that I should become a nun, or at the very least a Dharma teacher. (I can picture it now – I’d be kind of a straight-talkin’ mix between Oprah, Wendy O Williams and Sylvia Plath.) Other times I am a jittery, twitching mess convinced that my spastic fidgeting and chronic candy-eating is annoying all within a ten foot radius. And then there are the times that I miraculously sleep, sitting upright, through an entire meditation and wake up just as the nun chimes the singing bowl, unsure of where I am and actually kind of proud of the fact I didn’t fall over. Worst. Meditator. Ever.

Knowing this about myself at the beginning, I told myself that even if the cushion was a battleground, at least I would keep my silence. Right?

Oh, no? Wrong? Ugh…

Part of my serious commitment to this retreat was that I WOULD NOT WRITE. I would not give license to the random and distracting bullshit that my mind produces at a breakneck speed and during all of the break times I would just sit in silence and stare out over the Kathmandu Valley and meditate on emptiness. To be fair, sometimes I do sit and stare out over the Kathmandu Valley, but I am usually thinking of RuPaul’s Drag Race, sex or poutine while I do – and sometimes all three (don’t ask) – can we call that emptiness? And while I threw out my pens so that I would not be tempted to write in my moleskine, I kept my laptop within arms reach. Convenient, Dear. You’re doing it wrong. 

I should mention that I am currently in the MS stage of some pretty virulent PMS and so I need to cut myself some slack. I haven’t actually had a conversation with anyone for 4 days, and that surely has to mean something, right? It’s especially difficult when my brother from another mother, Aritro, is like, two tables over from me and we intentionally don’t make eye contact because I know I will explode into a neutron bomb of gossip and random pop culture facts if I catch his gaze. My steely resolve must say something about my commitment to inner growth, right?

There are three days left, Dear. And so maybe you should put the laptop away, stop narrating your experience, ignore the dogs (but who will compliment them?!) and get back on that cushion. Remember that even when everyone else looks positively Buddha-like, their monkey minds are as crazed as yours (well, maybe not as crazed as yours, just sayin’). Turn off your iPod and go and sit and stare out over the Kathmandu Valley and meditate on emptiness - if that’s what you’re calling it…

Where Is My Mind? A Month at Kopan Monastery

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Gonna get me some mantras on.

It is the night before the big silence starts, and I am tucked in safely into my bed. I decided to live large and spend 10 dollars per night (including 3 meals) for a luxe single room (instead of 5 dollars per night for a dorm bed the likes of which I slept in all of last month) and the privacy is lovely. I am using my MacBook one last time, indulging in Elliott Smith and a Twix bar.

Tomorrow the scary begins – endless hours spent with only myself for company (and man, I am one weird lady). A seven-day meditation on the Lam Rim, often referred to as the ‘Graduated Path to Enlightenment’ in the Tibetan tradition. I have spent the last month here at Kopan Monastery immersed in teachings on its 16 stages, and now for the real work  - the silent, weeklong meditation (taught by dis nun) that kind of seals the deal. It’s a chance to reflect and make sense of the thousands-year old teachings and to determine the best way to apply them to my life.

Therein lies the challenge. Last month’s teaching style was nothing like I predicted it would be. For a Western Buddhist who cut her teeth on Brad Warner, Noah Levine, Pema Chodron and Thich Nhat Hanh, it was kind of a shock. I encountered a version of Buddhism I had never imagined existed – a fiery hell’n’brimstone, ultra-conservative rendition of the Dharma that I love with all of my heart. Or at least, I thought I loved…  

Despite this being an introductory course taught by Westerners for Westerners (for which Kopan is famous) this year the emphasis was drawn away from the Dharma that I find helpful on a day to day basis – lovingkindness, compassion for oneself and others, equanimity towards all beings– and focused towards avoiding a rebirth in the hell realms. Now, like it or not, this hell stuff is a part of the Dharma. The thing is, most Western teachers are quite gentle with it, and the courses I have taken in Vancouver either avoided these bizarre topics or were quick to point out that they should be viewed metaphorically. This was not the case this November at Kopan.

Some of the most seasoned students were shocked at the almost evangelical tone of the teachings, and I too was quick to reactionarily revolt in my own mind. Sure, the guided meditations were blissful, but the actual teachings often made me feel angry. They seemed to list endless rules and conditions in which you would create “bad karma” – sex, indulging in food too gluttonously, intoxication, self-cherishing thoughts – that all guarantee that you will be reborn in the hell realms. For a Buddhist like me who doesn’t even know if they believe in literal definitions of reincarnation and karma the litanies of things that will land me a shitty rebirth was trying, to say the least, and contradictory to other teachings I have received. 

 

A character I created named Not-oft Amused Raccoon shows his feelings toward the teachings.

These teachings challenged me. My ego took over and I rolled my eyes in a patronizing way and dismissed entire concepts outright. I rejected a great deal of what was taught (anytime things got too supernatural), and I began to have a pretty major crisis of faith. I battled with the concepts – but ultimately I determined that I could still be Buddhist. I recognize that most of the behaviours and actions that will propel you into a “hell rebirth” are all pretty negative here in this life, too, and avoiding them will make me a better person for my friends, family and all sentient beings in general while I sort out exactly what I believe on the reincarnation front. This was, I told myself, just one lineage out of thousands within Tibetan Buddhism, not to mention the countless Mahayana traditions and the whole world of Theravada I have yet to explore! My belief in the science, psychology and basic truth of Buddhism, though shaken, remained strong.

Well, strong-ish. I still couldn’t wait for 30 days to be up and to get off this hill and return to Thamel with money jangling in my pocket, ready to order two fingers of scotch, rocks please. I counted the days, wanting to smoke cigarettes and wear make-up and flirt with boys and talk pop culture with the friends I made during the course (Hi girls!). I was ready for some worldly pleasure, yo. 

 

Before: Monastery Gals.

 

After: Thamel Babes.

And so as soon as the course ended I raced to “the real world,” and just as the teacher, Venerable Thubten Gyatso, had predicted – it was less than fulfilling, to say the least. I had (many) drinks and (many) cigarettes and danced the night away and it all seemed… kind of frantic and empty. The beer tasted like shit (this may be due to the fact that ALL NEPALI BEER TASTES LIKE BUDWEISER. Put an Oatmeal Stout or a Coffee Porter or a crazily bitter triple-hopped IPA in front of me and then see what I say) and the next day I felt terrible. I gave up on smoking. I stayed chaste. I abandoned my attachment to foo… (Ha! Almost got you there. I still love food. Gunna eat me so much random weird stuff in Bangkok so soon!)

Thamel, Kathmandu’s main backpacker ghetto, seemed more like a hellhole than ever, complete with glue-huffing 8 year olds and the thin ghosts of desperation and need lingering in doorways, trying to sell me opium. The internet, which I had been craving for weeks, seemed boring and flat and I didn’t much care about news or drama or even watching the final episodes of my beloved Gossip Girl. It all seemed so petty and external and pointless, so fucking dark and empty that I just wanted to go back to Kopan and meditate. (For real. WHO AM I? Gah.)

My few days in Thamel have proven to me that as I immerse myself deeper into Buddhist teachings something fundamental is subtly changing in my brain – so subtly that I didn’t even notice it happening while I was busy mocking and scoffing at the more esoteric teachings. Now I have to go digging around to find out what exactly it is that has changed.

Basically, I need a way to make sense of all of the conflicted and intense Buddhist psychology lessons of the previous month. Seven days of silent solitude filled with 9-10 hours of meditation, both guided and solo, seems like the perfect place to be right now.  I have a sneaking suspicion that some of the convoluted and “bizarre” teachings will seem less convoluted and insane when I sit with them.  No, no – that doesn’t believe I will ascribe to literal interpretations of spirit realms, but they’re sitting better with me as metaphors as time goes by. I think I can come to a place where I can still be comfortable and strong in my beliefs, even within this particularly strict tradition. 

This retreat shit ain’t easy, and while it may seem self-indulgent, it really isn’t - it is a step toward cultivating the stability, selflessness and mindfulness that I need in order to truly be able to help more people and to be a better friend, daughter and person in general. (<---- Do you see this? Man, it was way easier when I was resigned to just being a drunken dirtbag poet. Ugh. )

So here I am in bed, huddled under a yak wool blanket and listening to clandestine folk music. After a few days of space I realize that I don’t have to unquestioningly swallow all of the beliefs of one teacher. More importantly, I can now see that there was a fuck ton of extremely valuable information mixed within all the talk of Nagas and Hell Realms, information that my ego was tempted to dismiss outright because it didn’t fit into my preconceived notions of life. Silly ego.

Finally, no matter what understanding I come to, I have to remember that I am always free to use my own wisdom to interpret and follow the Dharma in the best way for me. Now I just hope that summa that wisdom comes to me while I have my bum on the cushion for the next seven days….

Your head will collapse
If there's nothing in it
And you'll ask yourself....

Kitty Dharma

I had a lovely meditation with that guy on my lap.

I have just returned to the hectic and the crazy of Thamel in Kathmandu after month spent blissed out (and not so blissed out, but more on that later) at the Kopan monastery. I am about to go back beyond the gates tomorrow for a week long intensive Lam Rim meditation in pure silence, but before I do I wanted to write a little note to you guys to let you know I am alive and well (and a bit of a hippy. Even more than before. Sigh.)

You know, I have so much I could write and emote about. I could write about the massive realizations I had after meditating, the constant struggles to quiet my mind, my tug of war battle between attachment and aversion or the quest to forgive some people and let others go completely. Serious, heavy, life-altering blogging, people.

But instead I gunna write about kitties.

Listen, I promise that that other stuff is coming. I will write massive soliloquies about my experience, but I need some time to process it all and make sense of it, y'know? Find the right words. So in the meantime, here are some adorable cats at the monastery!

HEY GUYS I FOUND THE THING I LOST.

HHDL makes a cozy bed buddy.

Mahayana Buddhists believe that exposing animals to Dharma materials and teachings will help their chances at being reincarnated as a human, so cats and dogs are allowed to wander into the Gompa (a word that always reminds me of this) at will. This little grey cat never fails to curl up right here on the altar, at the righthand side of the Dalai Lama. Kitty friend knows what's up.

Greg!

I named this cat Greg, and normally he is a hot tamale, what with all the biting and snarling and hissing. However, on the night that this photo was taken, Greg was a total dreamy mushball and let me carry him around - and even zip him into my vest a bit - for over an hour! I was convinced that he loved me and we had a special bond, and I wrote a song about him, sung to the tune of "Fame," which had the lyrics, "Greg! You and me are gonna make it together, Greg! You and me will be just fi-i-ine. Greg! I really think we'll do it togeth-uh-uh, Greg! I think we're gonna make it this ti-i-ime."

Turns out Greg was super sick, and the reason he was nuzzling into me was because he was probably trying to kind of bury himself into my midsection, carve out a little grave and then die. When I realized this I spent 45 minutes looking frantically for the vet (one of the other 250 course participants), and then the cat, and then the vet again. It was harrowing, but turns out he just ate something bad and just had to poop a lot, and now Greg is totally fine. But still, Violet? The vest thing was an asshole move.

 

This post may be called Kitty Dharma, but there are a lot of dogs at Kopan too! This guy is named Lucky, and he sneaks into the Gompa and sits amongst the students whenever he can. I mostly love him because when he crosses his legs, they look like a heart. Best.

That's all for now, but I will write again next week when my week of silent meditation (no classes - whee!) has had a chance to solidify this whirling mass of Dharma and doubt in my brain - and in my heart.

xoxoVDear

A cartoon that I drew about Lucky.

Mental Boot Camp: Checking Into Kopan Monastery

My friend Brandon remarked, "That's the longest set of anal beads I have ever seen." I'll admit I lol'ed.

 By the time this is published, I will be checked into Kopan Monastery.

I just went through my old emails, and it seems that I sent my first inquiry about the Kopan Monastery November retreat way back on April 3rd. It seems like a trick of time and space that the first day of the course is tomorrow. How did this even happen? I am so not prepared.

Back in January, February and March I was a fantastically devoted Dharma student and daily meditator  - I felt that the only way I could advance my practice was to go all the way. In typical Violet Dear fashion I decided that that meant I had to go to Nepal, to study at the storied Kopan, a bastion of tranquility nestled in the hills above the Kathmandu Valley. I like to do everything BIG. This seemed BIG, and I patted myself on the shoulder and proudly congratulated myself. "Violet," I thought to myself, "you have the potential to be the best meditator on. the. planet. One day YOU will be teaching a course. Just pretend to be humble, you brilliant little minx!" Oh, ego.

Of course, everything has changed since I booked the retreat. I was hired to be a Ethical Tourism Advisor for NGN, I applied to British grad schools for 2013 and I graduated from University (finally. I know).

Aaaaaand, my practice has gotten... sloppy, to say the least. Without the daily rigours of a set schedule (I took 24 credits in my last semester) my life got more messy (and fun. It also got more fun).  I have stretched the limits of "no intoxication" until its grey areas turned black, and celibacy? Bwah! Celibacy went out the window.

I shuffled guiltily past my living room shrine without placing my bum on its cushion, and my prayer beads gathered dust around Buddha's neck as I avoided his peaceful gaze. I focused on work, friends and boys instead of Dharma and compassion. I attended a sangha twice a month, maximum, and while I would like to say I meditated on my own more often than this, that would be total bullshit.

This five month vacation from my practice has led me to feel incredibly ill-equipped for the silence, meditation and strict monastic life I am about to enter. Here is a copy of the daily schedule:


5.30 am - Prostration
6.00 am - Morning tea in the dining room
6.30 am - Morning Meditation
7.30 am - Breakfast
9.00 am - Teachings
11.30 am - Lunch
2.00 PM - Discussion groups
3.00 PM - Break for 1/2 hour
3.30 PM - Teaching
5.00 PM - Tea
6.00 PM - Guided Meditation
7.00 PM - Dinner
8.00 PM - Guided meditation, Q/A

The third and fourth weeks are slightly different, as you only get one meal a day (lunch) and it is held in silence. The fuck, Violet Dear. The fuck.

For one month I will have no creature comforts and will live in a dorm. There will be no heat, even when the temperature drops below zero at night. I will wear no make-up and only baggy, loose sweats and t-shirts. I will eat only dahl bhat and drink only water and tea. I will not be allowed to commune with members of the opposite sex, and I am not meant to think about sex at all (slow clap). No gossip or idle chit chat is permitted. No reading of any non-Dharma book. And I am paying money for this!

I am doing this of my own free will, and complaining about it seems trite and insensitive in light of the dire poverty in this country. I know that. It's still scary.

I'll admit, I am looking forward to just being there. It has been so many months in the making, and now I am kind of eager to just settle in and be, y'know? I know that it will be a true test of my mettle, and I know it will transform me.... into what, I have no idea, but it will sure be something. I'll be more calm. I'll be more mindful, more present. Maybe I will be stronger, more compassionate, more vulnerable. Like a spider web - transparent and delicate but able to blow in the wind and get soaked in the rain, strong as fuck and able to do anything to survive. God, I am making it sound like I am going to a melodramatic boot camp.

Which I guess I kind of am.

See you in December -
Violet Dear

I have 3 other pre-scheduled blog posts that will appear over the next month, roughly once per week. Ciao!