For the past two weeks, I rose from bed each morning and strolled out my door to the sight of monkeys swinging from trees, picking sweet mangos from them. I walked past the monkeys, up stone steps and through throngs of robed monks and nuns, deep in meditation. I slided into the dining hall, where I sipped black tea on a rooftop terrace that overlooked Kathmandu and the rolling Himalyan foothills that surround it. After this morning ritual, I would spend the next 10 hours of my days in meditations or teachings from the wise Geshis. Over dinner I'd discuss and debate the lessons and insights of the day with the United Nations Council of Wanderers and Seekers. Yet, it was not a monk, a gesha, the hills, a friend or even my own mind that taught me the greatest lessons at Kopan. No, my greatest teacher was an earthquake.
We were sitting in the colorful, quiet gompa, deep in a meditation used to cultivate a powerful and equal compassion to friends, enemies and strangers alike. I began to hear, even feel, the heavy footsteps of the monks above, performing some ritual I had never seen. Wait. It is not just the ceiling shaking. It's the walls, the Buddha statues, the pillars, the ground... I'm in an earthquake!
My eyes shot open to the sight of Ani Karin, our kind teacher, chanting her sutras fruiously with a possessed trance on he face. Meanwhile, my friends in the class were actually curiously looking about, many with sly grins on their faces. The earthquake was actually more of a source of amusement than one of fear. The ground was shaking, yet gently so. It was as if the Earth was rocking us, her precious child, sweetly to sleep. How cool! I've always wanted to feel what an Earthquake felt life!
Then, the Earth was angry. It's calm rocking became a mad shaking. The grins snapped to long-drawn faces of dread. Ani Karin screamed, "GET OUT!"
Self-preservation took over. I must get out of the Gompa! With no care or concern for the old or injured friend I'd made, I darted for the door. In this moment, I cared for nothing else but myself. Others became mere obstacles on my way to the door, some gateway to a perceived land of safety. For a quick moment, I considered going back to grab my camera, but a forceful jostle almost kocked me over. My selfishness consumed my attachment, and propelled me out the door.
The city of Kathmandu screamed in terror. It was the first time I've heard a city scream, the first time I felt a heavy, tangible fear howling in the sky all around me. Yet, this suffering in the air instigated no cause of concern for others. Instead, it only intensified my own desire to save myself, and it forced my feet to scurry ever faster down the stairs to the solid ground.
Under my stuttered breathing - a grasping for air - the Earth calmed. The palpable fear around me dissipated and my consciousness returned. As we all came back to our senses, some of us laughed, some held hands, some went for walks, whatever our shaken minds needed at the time. With a restored mind, I asked Ani Karin if this was normal. She said it was only a tremor, but the strongest tremor she's ever felt, and she thought at the time that it was the beginning of the huge earthquake Kathmandu has been fearing for a long time.
So, it was not a true crisis, but my mind perceived and acted as if it had been. This behavior of my mind frightened me even more than the screams of Kathmandu.
I consider myself a compassionate person. A lot of the major choices I make in my life arise from a belief that if we truly think about the suffering of others, the only rational course of action to take is one of compassion and kindness. I've adopted the idea that by benefitting others we ultimately benefit ourselves, into an aspect of my identity. I actively search for ways in which I can make some difference, even if only a small one, on the lives of other people. Yet, when a true test of compassion came before me, I failed miserably.
Not only do I consider compassion to be an important part of the essence of who I am, but I was actively meditating on the necessity and importance of compassion. Yet, as soon as I was in danger, I didn't care in the slightest what happened to the people around me. As horrible as it sounds, they could've been crushed into oblivion from the ceiling, and it only would've pushed me quicker to my own safety.
------------------
After two days of complete silence and 12 hours of meditation, I found myself alone on a grassy knoll overlooking the monastery. The lessons, insight and impact of the past two weeks welled up so completely in me, I could do nothing else but weep. Warm tears gushed across my face uncontrollably, and whenever they would begin to cease, a new thought would take hold and joyful tears would erupt again. All-in-all, I spent half an hour crying in happiness on that hilltop.
I thought about sharing the thoughts I had on that hilltop on this blog, with family and friends, but have chosen not to do so. Wise words and elegant pleas for compassion would strengthen neither my mind or heart, only my ego. For there is a fundamental difference between intellectualizing something; arbitrarily adopting beliefs into an identity, and actually being something, actually breathing something. When the Earth shook, it showed me just how far I have to go. Words will not get me there. Only meditation. Only action. Only experiencing.
We were sitting in the colorful, quiet gompa, deep in a meditation used to cultivate a powerful and equal compassion to friends, enemies and strangers alike. I began to hear, even feel, the heavy footsteps of the monks above, performing some ritual I had never seen. Wait. It is not just the ceiling shaking. It's the walls, the Buddha statues, the pillars, the ground... I'm in an earthquake!
My eyes shot open to the sight of Ani Karin, our kind teacher, chanting her sutras fruiously with a possessed trance on he face. Meanwhile, my friends in the class were actually curiously looking about, many with sly grins on their faces. The earthquake was actually more of a source of amusement than one of fear. The ground was shaking, yet gently so. It was as if the Earth was rocking us, her precious child, sweetly to sleep. How cool! I've always wanted to feel what an Earthquake felt life!
Then, the Earth was angry. It's calm rocking became a mad shaking. The grins snapped to long-drawn faces of dread. Ani Karin screamed, "GET OUT!"
Self-preservation took over. I must get out of the Gompa! With no care or concern for the old or injured friend I'd made, I darted for the door. In this moment, I cared for nothing else but myself. Others became mere obstacles on my way to the door, some gateway to a perceived land of safety. For a quick moment, I considered going back to grab my camera, but a forceful jostle almost kocked me over. My selfishness consumed my attachment, and propelled me out the door.
The city of Kathmandu screamed in terror. It was the first time I've heard a city scream, the first time I felt a heavy, tangible fear howling in the sky all around me. Yet, this suffering in the air instigated no cause of concern for others. Instead, it only intensified my own desire to save myself, and it forced my feet to scurry ever faster down the stairs to the solid ground.
Under my stuttered breathing - a grasping for air - the Earth calmed. The palpable fear around me dissipated and my consciousness returned. As we all came back to our senses, some of us laughed, some held hands, some went for walks, whatever our shaken minds needed at the time. With a restored mind, I asked Ani Karin if this was normal. She said it was only a tremor, but the strongest tremor she's ever felt, and she thought at the time that it was the beginning of the huge earthquake Kathmandu has been fearing for a long time.
So, it was not a true crisis, but my mind perceived and acted as if it had been. This behavior of my mind frightened me even more than the screams of Kathmandu.
I consider myself a compassionate person. A lot of the major choices I make in my life arise from a belief that if we truly think about the suffering of others, the only rational course of action to take is one of compassion and kindness. I've adopted the idea that by benefitting others we ultimately benefit ourselves, into an aspect of my identity. I actively search for ways in which I can make some difference, even if only a small one, on the lives of other people. Yet, when a true test of compassion came before me, I failed miserably.
Not only do I consider compassion to be an important part of the essence of who I am, but I was actively meditating on the necessity and importance of compassion. Yet, as soon as I was in danger, I didn't care in the slightest what happened to the people around me. As horrible as it sounds, they could've been crushed into oblivion from the ceiling, and it only would've pushed me quicker to my own safety.
------------------
After two days of complete silence and 12 hours of meditation, I found myself alone on a grassy knoll overlooking the monastery. The lessons, insight and impact of the past two weeks welled up so completely in me, I could do nothing else but weep. Warm tears gushed across my face uncontrollably, and whenever they would begin to cease, a new thought would take hold and joyful tears would erupt again. All-in-all, I spent half an hour crying in happiness on that hilltop.
I thought about sharing the thoughts I had on that hilltop on this blog, with family and friends, but have chosen not to do so. Wise words and elegant pleas for compassion would strengthen neither my mind or heart, only my ego. For there is a fundamental difference between intellectualizing something; arbitrarily adopting beliefs into an identity, and actually being something, actually breathing something. When the Earth shook, it showed me just how far I have to go. Words will not get me there. Only meditation. Only action. Only experiencing.
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