Dear America

"Laughter is easier, minute by minute, spilled with prodigality, tipped out a cheerful word." The Great Gatsby

The best remedy of 'depression' is, I think, dear America, to orientate yourself toward being familiar with the fleetingness of every worldly pleasurable experience, and thereby to the dreaminess of every glitter and glamour that we covet for... Namely, to be able to have the guts to observe to the quantum level of anything observable. All you have to be able to do is to be able to see the nature of a bygone such an experience, like of something from yesterday, maybe more shocking as of being so close in proximity... Dear, you're special yourself, for you can see it. And, yes, to be able to try to look at the experience itself when in the middle of something pleasurable or not. 

Tibet: the legacy of the land of snows

Despite our internal strife of any, be it sectarian or regional, that we tend to take rather lightly as in need, for there is no reliable lair for such narrow sense of protection, given the stark realities before our eyes, our position as the stellar model of a civilisation followed by many should be maintained, now scientifically... Then take care of a single word that comes out of your mouth, not to be such of someone parroting, of a charlatan, if not of a dilettante. A single word that weighs can be found by a one with such genius who takes cares of what he says. Are we really holding the same mantle yet?

A Tibetan If You're: Ask Yourself, Dear

For my fellow Tibetans: if you aren't some sort of a thinker, who can spend some time alone on a daily basis but backed by your some grounded learning in 'Nalanda tradition' of logical analysis as His Holiness the Dalai Lama has been laying a lump of emphasis on, then you're as gullible as a troglodyte, an animist of the sort, so forthcoming to be turned into a convert of any dogmas, faiths. Dear, if you're that materialistic, then you're nothing at all at the core. Tibet has lost its physical land and its sovereignty, but it's still independent in its at last 'perception-grounded' cultural values. (Thanks your Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet!) If you let go of that by your being a sort of hardy philistine, then you're like a fluffy, susceptible, paper-made figure. If you don't care at all, Lhasa can be turned into Babylon like Bangkok, no matter if Tibet is a sovereign nation. 

A Tibetan prays but not as a commoner

As per what I've heard now and then, a Tibetan is sort of slighted as not taking an active action but just praying. That can be true so far, but who knows what takes to internalise oneself into such a benevolent benediction that is based on the enthusiastic interest, rational belief (if not having some concrete ground of automatic realisation) in the universal reality of such dreaminess, not there as we tend to take as so yet closely interconnected with the system of causation, like if you sow, you reap, like this fleeting convenience on an individual basis, as it's Friday evening in France.

Advanced Grounds of Thought: East and West

Socrates's portrayal as a 'gadfly' by Plato sounds more interesting than his ontological theory of Unchanging Form (like red as conventional and redness as unconventional), but such bold way of positing that subjective projection is what it is partakes of a hue of what I am interested about, despite his being unable to pinpoint so to the subjective entity, the fabricator, rather than just to its agency.

Five-Fifty Forum, 2019

Sikyong's Kennedy's speech like but imploring way of voicing 'don't ask what CTA can do for you, but, rather, say what you can do for the sustenance of Tibetan struggle by doing what you can for CTA' is timely, if not late, despite being prevaricating in some way as always for this trait of not welcoming any critiques but all praise. Yes, it's timely, for I've come across such niggard Tibetans here in France not paying their GB dues saying 'I will send it to India to be done there, cheaper.' But there are those so prodigal in spending hundreds or thousands in euros in betting games so rife here, at those muggy, musty bars and cafes known as Tabac. And about the importance of Tibetan language and preserving our cultural values, I can see how Tibetans squander their time, when off the chore of a treadmill, by idling it away for any divertissements at hand, be it at a park for a round of playing cards, at Stalingrad, or any such trifles. Sadly, there are those I've come across who had some schooling to college in India: leave aside in Tibetan but so variable in English. So, as my own notion, I can consider a Tibetan being invariable in a certain alien language not being able to write in Tibetan. And as of our cultural values, I wonder even one out of those I've come across has ever taken notice of how his or her ever experience of a paroxysm, like anger or fear, is shot through, namely having this mindfulness of observing it in real time in some way so far, to get to the root of it and its ground. 

Come on, I know myself the best

Being gripped by my own folly of taking it as there as per my own projection, I've, as a troubling afterthought, missed such a thing, like not being able to keep up with elevating, despite being so ephemeral, his or her mood just by the cost of my being able to mouth some favourable wordings, like "You're intelligent. You're smart. You've done it smartly. You look great. It happens, but you're great. I appreciate your way of thinking on how life should be spent. Wish you're going to have a great vacation." Dealing with the present sensitivity, the norm of the need of delicacy, is more or less like my tryst with playing myself off with the urge of my vulgar instinct, namely our basic instinct you know so well, this tethering myself to, so much of this carnal urge marked by the attachment to the opposite genital, the pivot that embodies all other sensual indulgences. I don't want to lie to myself. I want to break it down naked, the way my most cruel punishment meted out to its luring, clever encroachment on my mental stability. Both could be termed 'delicacy', given their life-energy counts just on this mindfulness, and that leads to a long story of self-discipline... Setting against it, having a timely sang-froid is rather bulky rather than being lissome.   

Hong Kong Protest: The Ongoing Revolution in Action

I wonder what could be the rudder behind the Hong Kong's colossal picketing against the presented reason as 'extradition bill', namely against The Party in Beijing, such prodigious union with such grand common interest, and that on their own soil, despite enjoying the so called 'one nation, two systems'. How they could be charged with even more adrenaline for the same cause, if they were in an exiled situation like us, Tibetans. But we are sort of embroiled head-to-toes in the same trifling imbroglio related with regions or sects, despite being in such heart-rending exiled situation, in such chore of a treadmill, if sort of ended up somewhere in the West, in such trammel of time and stress, especially even with some feeling knowledge of how many of our dear compatriots have taken to this self-eliminating protest known as 'self-immolation'.

But, no, standing before a seeming cul-de-sac matters much more than learning about it from a distant, safe part where it's all about 'capitals' and 'self-interests' interpreted as 'life'. In the other words, experiencing is in stark contrast with just knowledge. 

It does hold on to it only, quid pro quo

Darwin's straightforwardness in his rather categorically summing up a human's some doings for others as not based on some sublime faith or any obligingness motivated by a deep-seated spiritual shine but just of this same self-cherishing urge of getting oneself hallowed, and not doing something lousy as just of this fear or prejudice of getting oneself slandered by others has something of its own justification, given the rife mental disposition, edgy and so sensitive, of now one comes across on a daily basis, so much for whitening oneself by any means available, like saying something and doing something else, saying something and thinking something else, doing something by letting it be known, catchy, just a face lift, and for the worst case by telling fib after fib. I wonder how he could hint then at the present edginess? Was it so then as well, even without internet, one's core lost in the flurries of flitting, harrowing little conceptualisations on this and that as good-looking or ugly?

ང་ཚོ་ད་དུང་གཉིད་མ་སད་དམ།

གཞི་རྟེན་བརྟན་པའི་རང་བློས་བཏང་བའི་ཉམས་ལེན་ནམ་བསམ་བློའི་རྨང་གཞི་ཞིག་མཆིས་ན་ཕུད། གཞན་དེང་གི་དུས་སུ་མགོ་འགྱེད་དཔུང་པ་མཉམ་གཤིབ་ལས་རང་དོན་བསམ་བརྗོད་ལས་མ་ཕོད་ན་ཚར་བ་བཞིན། ང་ཚོའི་བཟང་བཟང་གི་༼ནང་འགྲིག་༽ཅེས་པ་དེ་ཡང་ཚར་བར་བྱེད་པའི་རྟགས་ཤིག་མིན་ནམ། དེས་ན་རྒྱལ་ཁྲིམས་གང་ལས་དགོས་སམ། དེས་ན་རང་དབང་དམངས་གཙོ་མི་བུ་སྒེར་གྱི་ཐོབ་ཐང་སྟེ་བསམ་བརྗོད་འཚོ་གསུམ་གང་ལས་དགོས། བསྐལ་བ་རྙིང་པའི་སྐབས་ཀྱི་ཀླ་ཀློའི་རྩུབ་སྤྱོད་ལས་སུ་ཤེད་ཆེ་བའམ་དཔུང་ཆེ་ན་གཉའ་གནོན་པའི་ཕལ་བའི་ལྷན་སྐྱེས་ཀྱི་དཔའ་སྙིང་མེད་པའི ལས་འཆལ་དག་གང་ལས་ཁྲིམས་ཀྱིས་སྡོམ་པར་བྱེད། འཇིགས་སྐུལ་རིང་ལུགས་ཆེད་གང་ལས་ཆེད་དུ་བཅའ་ཁྲིམས་གཏན་ལ་ཕབ་བམ། ཧ་ལས་ཡ་རེད། དེ་ཡང་རང་དབང་དམངས་གཙོའི་ལུང་པར། དེ་ཡང་རང་གི་རིགས་འགས་རང་རིགས་གཅིག་ལ། དེས་ན་ང་ཚོའི་རྩ་དོན་ལ་ཕུགས་དོན་ཞིག་ཡོད་དམ། ཡུལ་གྱར་བའི་གནས་སྟངས་འདི་ན། ཆེས་ཐབས་སྡུག་པའི་བཙན་བྱོལ་གྱི་གནས་སྟངས་འདིར། དོན་ཆུང་ཞིག་གི་ཆེད། ཧ་ལས་ཡ་རེད། དངོས་གནས་ངོ་ཚ་འདི་ལས་ཆེ་བ་གང་ན་ཡོད། མཐོང་མྱོང་། ཕལ་བའི་ཀླ་ཀློའི་རྩུབ་སྤྱོད་འདི་ལྟ་བུ། དེ་ཡང་དམིགས་བསལ་༢༠༡༡ལོའི་འོས་འགྲན་ནས་བཟུང་། ད་རྫུན་བཤད་ན་སུས་ཡིད་ཆེས་སྲིད་དམ། ཉེ་ལམ་ནེའུ་ཡོག་དུས་བབ་ཐོག་ཐོན་པའི་རྩོམ་དོན་ལ་མི་བདེན་ཚུལ་ཇི་ལྟར་སྒྲུབ་ཐུབ་བམ། ང་རྟག་ཏུ་ཧ་ལས་ས་ནི་ནང་མ་གཏོགས་ཕྱིར་ཞི་མི་འདྲ་བ་གང་འདྲ་བྱས་ན་ཆགས་པ་ཡིན་ནམ།

India: The Land of Quintessential Civilisations

Now, almost each country has its own form of 'diversity', but Indian diversity stands out as a shining gem, so practical and undemanding and welcoming despite her being less 'advanced', namely showy in that machine-enchanted way but drudgery in meaning, like a machine there for this and that trivial matter, so corrosive, so pampering. In essence, Indian diversity isn't just the toleration of foreign invasions and thereby encroachment of different alien faiths and cultures, so shallow against her deep-seated shine, but respecting them as having the same right, especially of expression and thereby thriving... But, at last, as she sees, it matters who holds on to the needed depth, as a human mind can't be blanketed as that blind despite the majority of the same version is just 'copy cat' now, rather so desperate for being feted and lionised like a desperate celebrity now, like a footballer whose personal life and personality so zoomed out from us.

Food for Thought

Every invaluable greatness to sublime realisation to complete liberation is free, like a great vista from a vantage point, like a magpie ambling along a length of a paved path in a waddling gait, while cackling and croaking, like so many mundane beauties of this earth, but we get ourselves tethered to this shabbiness, especially to the root of every suffering, namely this narcissism, to this amorphous, dreamlike self-importance. It's so true it's all about not having a gist of knowledge about what a healing potion 'other instead of self' has in store. We happen to experience it in our little escaped acts, but we can't get it , or see it so. Yes, here in the West, or elsewhere in the world, every problem stems from it, only it. In the other word, it's hinted as 'respect', but it's just a part of it, like 'relativity' is just a part of 'interdependence'.

In loving memory of finding myself as a slacker yet enthusiastic

Shantideva's evergreen page-turner

In a split-second, so infinitesimally, way of leaving behind whatever we experience, despite having no such a concrete ground as to point out to as now, the present one, the nastiest quivering thread of the dream is our means of communication, the complex system and its representation through our language, especially in printed words, that outlives everything... Just with the help of it, despite being our own projections at last, we can connect to him and her, and to the lord who has left behind that many words, yes, so altruistic. Namo Gautam Buddha!

Yes, read, read

The importance of book-reading fever or passing remarks in the ongoing TPiE session, but not a single cast of light on the art of reading, especially a good book, namely a book with life, the life-blood of a master-spirit, namely a book of self-reflection laden with personality hues rather than just stacks of words and descriptions and banal narration or trite events. Yes, the book I am talking about is of literary work rather than study book. But just reading, having such habit of gong over what's written like on a matchbox cover, is itself great. And reading conventional novels, yes, known as thrillers, can be the ledge to more mature way of reading, namely knowing what to read. And, yes, I confess, even doing a thriller can be laborious so far, as a man of letters is more or less doomed. Then why not who does expose himself or herself, who paints real events injected with one's own feel, who presumes to express seeing through someone else's eyes.

Climate Change Fever of Now

Autism, mutism, selective mutism, incommunicado, as Arundhati Roy's words, 'deliberately silenced' are what I want to learn about, my sort of passion. Whatever is related with some form of defect in expressing oneself or lacking its means, other words 'lackadaisical', 'indisposed', 'discomposed', are my curiosity, for lacking a means of expression costs for a thinking being. From this piece, I think we Tibetans have much to learn, our struggle through the highly ambivalent, sensitive world of now, so much concerned about one's fleeting pleasures, not only for the political struggle of ours but for our cultural ones like preserving our mother-tongue and calmness defined by being mindful of something so transcendental. She, Greta Thunberg, could be said as ཕུལ་བྱུང་མི་སྣ་, one with a tangential way of expressing oneself. And doesn't it define ourselves?

For the struggle itself, Climate Change, it's nothing other than a complex precept, one's control over oneself, like a choice, despite being so exigent, to care it or not, this suspending life-supporting orb of ours, our home. Yes, complex, for it's related with home-planning or population control by being wise by each individual, with self-command over one's needs or greed, with individual responsibility on a daily basis, with enforcement of lasting legal force over this seemingly eternal consumerism drive. It's, in essence, nothing other than revoking each one's innate altruism or summum bonum the mindfulness of which is the question, really tough, like asking a junkie not to take to this self-destroying habit, like pinioning our core from being ambivalent. 

The 60th March 10 in Paris

Like the concept of meliorism, namely it does matter, that repetition, persistence, with a defining enlightenment on my own identity on a daily basis, with such passion in the concept of dreamy projection and the stark different reality, like 'specious', 'telegenic', 'chicanery', I am joining the historic event March 10, because I am a Tibetan. No more time to go into Nagarjuna's ideals here. Now I see my joining the mass does matter despite my being that insular, so off being diplomatic and servile, for not having a local (leave aside friend, thanks the sensitive world at large) acquaintance, a marketable one, to take with me there, to tell them the same thing over and again, like their presenting charade of asking the same question now and again. Their prejudice, our fate of always being on the receiving end, the sordid world and system, the quagmire that I have to wade through. Some form of solipsism has to be maintained despite being in stark variance with the great one's ideals, just a whit of it, to keep myself rolling on..., like holding on to a strange story.