Tushita

I have no photos from my time at the meditation centre. They confiscated all distractions, cameras included, at the start of the course, and so we were completely isolated from the world outside of the heavy iron gates.

One hundred and four of us, only six over the age of 50. It’s amazing how the energy of youth spreads and revitalizes, even in silence. These young people from all around the world – their caring and compassion and introspection – restored me and continues to rejuvenate as I meet them on the streets of Mcleodganj and they throw their arms around me….kindred spirits.

There’s Sally who is also staying here at Ram Yoga House, from Melbourne, Australia, in India to deepen her yoga practise. Noa and her partner from Israel, gentle souls who wear their hearts on their sleeves as they try to make sense of this world of ours, Carola from Sweden, Angie from Argentina and Ben from California. The two Indian women from Delhi who assured me that despite the money situation, I would be okay because I’m Canadian and people would want to help. And they were right.

I kind of miss the silence of Tushita. I miss the peanut butter and Tibetan bread. I miss the monkeys who were fairly well-behaved at the start of the week but who erupted into little hellions toward the end. Nothing was safe from their curiosity, fights breaking out all over, even an invasion of the kitchen. Hilarious for the students but tiring for the staff who had to try to control them…

Our dharma teacher Jimi is a 68-year-old American originally from Seattle who has lived in India since the 70s. He was also a monk for 12 years but left when he fell in love. Jimi has forgotten more than I’ll ever know about Buddhism, and his stories were entertaining and enlightening. He is, however, time-challenged and so we found ourselves in marathon teaching sessions near the end, trying to cram it all in.

We had an impromptu visit from two young lamas who spent their early years in a monastery but who also left to enter “the real world.” Wise far beyond their years. Both had connections to Canada.

I now have two weeks left to revel in the beauty of this mountain town, filled with Tibetans living in exile. Two weeks in the warm mountain sunshine, to eat momos and aloo gobi and parantha and pickle. To meditate, to walk in the forest, to have chai with the Kashmiri shopkeepers, to perhaps take part in conversational English classes for local monks. Content.