The Great Lapidary Right of Testing a Piece of Gold: As so or not

As Lord Buddha exhorts or lets us be at our own liberty in terms of taking his teachings as valid or not, the great lapidary right of testing a piece of gold as so or not by a professional one more matter-of-fact  than an alchemist of the medieval, I think it's the time to pose to the world the same liberty to take someone claiming as a Tibetan, if he or she is or not, in the West but by going through the same lapidary process in the form of associating and questioning and learning if, other than just petty personal interest related ones, something related with the larger picture of Tibet's survival (cultural or political) does matter to him and her or not? If yes, how? Do let him or her speak in the truest of his or her senses to feelings (do record them). We can study. In essence, as per the point that I meant to tap at then, I mean now there are many those who impersonate as being a 'Tibetan' but not so in the truest sense of the word that just has the political implication of solidarity and doing and working for and winning over in due course. A Tibetan is a Tibetan, a politically displaced one. A Himalayan of Tibetan culture can't be necessarily so. Have you ever experienced of being a politically displaced one?

The sense of narrow protection: Does it count in letting oneself grow and outgrow?

To be able to move forward, to be able to let go of, for to forgive is unusual, like, as said in Tibetan Buddhist Studies, there is no traumatic an experience like forbearance despite its being salutary, and, at last, to be maverick in the truest sense of the word or to get oneself or ourselves stuck in the quagmire of always unrealistic, myopic hardiness, with that narrow sense of protection that is always as variable as a capricious entity like 'regional politics' and its whimsical exigencies.

*

"... great fundamental currents raise from the depths of the ages the same angers, the same sorrows, the same boasts, the same mania, throughout superimposed generations, each section accepting the criteria of various levels of the same series and reproducing, like shadows upon successive screens, pictures similar to though often less insignificant than that which brought Bloch and his father-in-law, M. Bloch senior and M. Nissim Bernard and others I never knew, to blows." Marcel Proust, Time Regained

A Tibetan Novel That Roars Like Tibet's Snow Lions: We Measure The Earth With Our Bodies by Tsering Yangzom Lama

I think that I've never read a novel by a Tibetan writer that roars like of Tsering Yangzom Lama's We Measure the Earth with Our Bodies. As my reading of Marcel Proust's beyond one million worded novel or series of the sort, namely in search of time lost and regained--really something worth-reading, if you care about the working of our emotions, especially jealousy in the name of love--having recently been completed, I find her wordings really traceable and simple and sharp, so sharp and precise as of her having labored for it over a decade or more. Oh, can there be such a Tibetan woman, young and mystic, with such an extraordinary talent (not the shallow ones of any related with internet hype of now)? She has mesmerized me even much more than Yan Martel's Life of Pi, for, as you can say, I am a Tibetan. 'Oracle', 'medium', such beautiful words, and I want to add 'telepathy'. And it counts, if we can prove so, with such nuances of our identity.

My late friend Tashi Dorjee la: Thanks for bringing it on me

One of my close childhood friends, named Tashi Dorjee, who had been residing in NY as an ordained but not necessarily in form, died of chronic liver disease known as Hepatitis B yesterday. The news came to me from one of another close childhood friends of mine named Dorjee, who, too, has been residing there, and as I have been reading Tsering Yangzom Lama's WE MEASURE THE EARTH WITH OUR BODIES (bought from Google Play Books as an eBook format), I, too, found it something like 'a wet cracking sound' dealt on me, on my head, on my not-going-to-die tomorrow's certainty. Well, are we really living?

The question remains, for being an untimely death, of our taking it for granted, our health when we are hale, not thinking of maintaining it through a working discipline imposed on ourselves. Why a Westerner reads and maintains his physical fitness? Maybe for his or her 'this life' related dreams or future or anything obtainable as per a looming philosophy of solipsism at the backdrop of his or her mind. Why we don't do so? Maybe as of our hereditary programming of the sort, not so much for this life as it's for better ones to come to nirvana in due course. But not knowing even the workings of our gross physical and fluid mental systems wont fare us being eligible in the first place for such an ineffable goal of complete freedom, I think.  

Learning that's ageless

If you learn French, you can then get where such word like 'debut' in English comes from. Why not such words like 'rastaquouère', 'défroquée', 'nouveau riche', 'cul-de-sac', etc. And, yes, German 'schadenfreude' poses itself over 'sadism' with its own distinction that sometimes appears to me as splitting hairs. I thought that 'nolle prosequi' can be other than 'recto-verso', namely the latter being not Latin but Italian. And I was wrong. Learn, even if you are above 50 or 60 or more. Learn that matters after all. And, yes, learn that speaks and connects to your inner being's core wish (I don't say passion.). But the purpose why I live isn't for them at all, for I care only about the things of the mind and its transformation to its being able to connect to its radiant root inseparable with the ultimate nature of the universe, namely not being there as it appears, and that in its multi-layered depth of discovering like a foliated mass of something with a jewel couched in its heart. Leave it for today, and I will be there again tomorrow, for you, like anyone else, take with such an assurance, which's itself false, that 'I' and 'you' of such permanence can be there again for another 'tomorrow'. Oh, this silly notion of eternity does ruin us all, but, as a Frenchman says, 'c'est la vie', it's the life pattern of the majority of humankind--so docile, so demure where it counts for some 'fast joy' related with self-interest or self-absorption of any, but so intransigent, so mean where it counts for being able to let go of without such a retur.

His Holiness the great 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet in Ladhak: Sojourn and teachings and dedications

25/07/2022: Just a glimpse of devotees on the floor at Ladhak Thiksey Monastery, the students of Sherab Keytsel Ling School, in the concourse of it, with the proper edifice of it in the backdrop at one angle to the right but occupying the half of the middle ground, listening to the teaching on Secular Ethics by His Holiness the great 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet, now on a sojourn there in Ladhak, when Dharamsala's weather is musty and wet. And for me, it's sort of a presage to his return to Tibet and doing the same great thing from Potala Palace in Lhasa, for the valley of Thiksey and the proper edifice of its monastic university speak of it through its likeness but much more by the ardent Ladhaki devotees. I wonder do Tibetan at large study the essence of our cultural values like them who do in the manner of learning, reflecting over and putting them into practice (and here all about taming one's minds and emotions more or less vulgar, wild, bellicose, belligerent to being, resolutely, self-centered by policing over or meditating over that you and me just go for the physical posture: cross-legged, eyes half-closed or tethered down on the tip of one's nose, straight backed, hands the right over the left with the insides of the thumbs pressed against each other, and so on...)? Much, much respect and appreciation to Ladhaki people for making his benedictory smile beam once again over the commoner of a me, the worlding of a me, the philistine of a me, the run-of-the-mill of a me, and for the rest of humankinds at large downtrodden and oppressed more by one's way of viewing than by others' malevolence, and if not so but crestfallen and sickeningly insecure by the doings of one's own mind!!! 

Wake up you dastards

If you think you're Tibetan and fecund, do like them. Just don't brag or be a braggart, a coward, a dastard who can make some noise or posing over when he or she is with a few others of his or hers. (But not so, when he or she is alone, cast among other alien faces.) Sadly, these days, it's really hard to find a real brave one, like a good friend. Sadly, why I find almost every 'man'  as a woman to the core but not necessarily in form, namely so methodical about what is within the close range of 'only this life'

My comment on a vlog lamenting on the disappearance of Max, a German shepherd

Oh, Max, I thought that he could have found his way back home by now, on this next vlog, his only home, namely at yours. But if you can be someone sort of a thinker like being able to reflect on who could be his (I mean Max's.) parents to his grand parents to endless, the fate of his ending up in the pet store from where you kind guys bought him for Tenzin Dickey and Tenzin Choekyi, the story goes back endlessly that you and I can't trace aback, like of our own ones as human beings now. As a few of those who commented about (on the last vlog) a lesser one (like a dog if compared to a human being, namely in terms of intelligence and intuition) being fated to be a victim (sort of someone on the receiving end in this life for his or her misdeeds in any past lives, as a debt to be redeemed) in any forms on behalf of his incarnated patrons, I do agree so as per my own experiences of having noted such phenomena. But my own ones can be, as you can say, just subjective. But this speaking documentary, the URL below, especially about (Antarctica + Penguin) a determined penguin to leave every one else of his or hers behind and face his or her own fate, namely his or her death, by straggling away from everyone else, is sort of ineffable for me, isn't it? How you can say why Max came into your life and why he left so? 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BB3YRtzRxE

Sodom and Gomorrah and Criminal

In an alien landscape and social environment but the same pattern and instinct for being what we are, self-interest first and the rest thereafter, and for me, the second or the third experience of being an exiled one, it's sort of really shocking to find even stranger a phenomenon related with what I've been reading (I'm almost at the close of reading Marcel Proust.), namely an invert one, a guy so much in tryst with proving his being virile or machismo or having that many female admirers so obscure and nameless, who could dare to create a seraglio of his own out of his fancied notion of his being someone virile, foolproof, perfect. Apart from such a one being, perhaps, a perfect husband, for he accompanies only guys and thereby leaves his partner at ease as per her own ignorance, or a nuisance to her, for he tends to prove his virility by courting any opposite sexes at hand, I've encountered something novel that is nothing other than being criminal: one who is bent to his being an exploiter of yokels (village women) who he has chance stumbled on in an alien land through the medium of social networking sites. And a victim could be also someone whose love has gone awry somehow, thanks for the breakneck speed of just appearance of now. And for me, for his being more or less a close one of mine, it's really hard to digest such huge lies of his in terms of his being innocent in inveigling a woman to perdition, despite his seemingly consistent demeanor of being impassible and taciturn and placid. Despite so, he could leave a woman to her own fate, namely leaving her to death through hemorrhage overnight as of a miscarriage. But later on, he could reason her, when encountered with her own way of voicing her rights and interests, with such crude wording like 'one has to sacrifice any in the name of love' but after having been dazed by her challenging mode of expressing herself that he could never have imagined even in his dream.

ཆ་མི་འཚལ་བ་ནི་ཚུར་མཐོང་བ་ཞིག་གི་འཚོ་བའི་ཆོས་ཉིད།

མཆོར་སྒེག་གི་འཛུམ་མདངས་ཤིག་ལས།

གདོང་རིས། མིག་ཟུར་གྱི་རི་མོ། འཚོ་བའི་ཉམས་མྱོང་།

མདོར་ན། བཞུད་ཟིན་པའི་ལམ་བུ་དོག་ཡངས་ཅི་རིགས་ཀྱིས་བྱས་པ།

དངོས་གནས་རྟེན་འབྱུང་གི་གཏམ་རྒྱུད་གསོན་ཉམས་དོད་པོ་ཞིག་གྱེར་ཡོང་།

ཆ་ཅི་འདྲ་ཞིག་མི་འཚལ་ཡང་ད་དུང་འདི་ལྟའི་ཉམས་འགྱུར་ཞིག

གང་འདྲ་བྱས་ནས་ཐུབ་བམ་བུ་མོ་ལགས།

ང་ལ་གསུང་རོགས་གནང་།

རེད། གཏམ་རྒྱུད་ཀྱི་ལྟེབ་མ་སྟེ། འདི་ལྟའི་གཞན་དང་གཞན་གྱི་བརྒྱུད་རིམ་སྨུག་པོར།

ད་དུང་ཁྱེད་ཀྱིས་གསན་ཞིང་སྐྱོར་ཐུབ་པ།

རང་ཉིད་དེ་དག་གི་མདུན་ན་ཧ་ལམ་ད་ལྟ་རང་རྙོག་འཛིང་གི་འཇིག་རྟེན་འདིར།

སྐྱེ་བ་བླངས་མ་ཐག་པ་ལྟ་བུའི་མཛེས་པའི་ཚུལ་འཆོས་ཀྱི་རྟུལ་ཞུགས་འཛིན་ཐུབ་པ།

རང་དོན་ཡིད་བྱེད་ལས་གཏི་ཐུག་གི་སྐབས་འདིར།

དངོས་གནས་ཡ་མཚན་ལས་ཡ་མཚན་ཆེ་བས།

རང་གི་མཚན་ཉིད་ཀྱིས་གྲུབ་པ་དཔྱད་ཤེས་ན་དཀའ་ནའང་།

ཁྱེད་ཀྱི་གཏོང་ཕོད་ལས་མཆེད་པའི་མཛེས་སྡུག་ནི།

ཡོད། ཡོད་འདྲ་བ།

 

ང་སྟེ། ལྟ་བ་དེར་མོས་གུས་ཅན་ཡང་ལན་འགའ་འཁྲུལ་སྣང་ལ་འཕྱན་དུ་བཅུག

འཁྲེན་སེམས་ལ་ཕྱིར་མིག་ལན་གཅིག་འཕེན་དུ་བཅུག་པས།

ད་ཆ་དེས་དྲངས་པའི་སྣང་བ་ཟང་ཟིང་སྟེ།

མཐའ་རྒུད་པ་ཤེས་ནའང་རང་དབང་མ་ཐོབ་པས་ཆེས་སྐྱོ།

དངོས་གནས་ཆེས་སྐྱོ་བོ།།

 

ཡང་། ཆོས་ཤེས་ནའང་ཚེ་འདི་གཙོ་བ་ཞིག་གི་ངོས་ནས་བལྟས་ན།

དངོས་གནས་ཁྱེད་ལྟ་བུ་ཐོབ་པ་ནི་གསེར་ཏེ།

སྙིགས་པའི་དུས་འདིར། རང་དོན་ཡིད་བྱེད་གཙོ་བའི་དུས་འདིར།

བཅུ་དྲུག་ལང་ཚོ་ཡོལ་ཡང་ད་དུང་ཕྲ་བའི་ལུས་ཀྱིས་རྒྱན་པ།

བཞིན་པགས་དམ་པས་རིས་མེད་མིན་ནའང་།

ཐིག་རིས་རེས་མཚར་ཞིང་སྒྲོལ་བའི་གཏམ་རྒྱུད་ཀྱི་རྣ་ཆ་འོད་སྟོང་འབར་བ་རེ།

 

ད་ཕོ་ལོ་བཞི་བཅུ་བརྒལ་བའི་དུས་འདིར་ཁྱེད་ཕྲད་པ་ནི།

དགའ་ཡང་སྐྱོ་འོས་པ་སྟེ།

ཕྲན་གྱིས་བརྒྱུད་རིམ་རྟེན་འབྱུང་ད་ཤེས་པས།

གྲོགས་དང་། མ་ཤེས་ན་འཕུང་པས།

ཁྱེད་ཀྱི་ད་དུང་འགྲིམ་རྒྱུ་ལྷག་པའི་ལམ་བུ་སྟེང་གི་གེགས་ཤིག་ལས་གཞན་ཅི།

སྐྱོ་བ་ནི། མཐའ་རྒུད་པའི་གཏམ་རྒྱུད་ཀྱི་ཚུགས་ཀ་དེ་རང་ཡིན་མོད།

འོན་ཀྱང་། ངས་དྲན་ལམ་ནས་སུབ་མི་ཐུབ་པ་ནི།

མཚན་འཛིན་དེ་ལས་མཆེད་པ།

ཁྱེད་ཀྱི་མཆོར་སྒེག་གི་འཛུམ་མདངས་དེ་རང་ངོ་།།

And I think I keep learning on

A pergola of stone beams with corniced ends supported by slim, quadrangular stone stilts was draped in thick trailing mantles of ivy and convolvulus plants. The white flowers of the latter peeped out here and there through the thicket of foliage leaning on trellises, which made the proper place within, one level above another like two wide steps, shady, cool and secluded, like a strip of flowerbed and a lonely malus tree with its brushy branches and twigs bearing such an aesthetic touch like from an art book next by a road didn't seem to exist. And, rather as self-flattering, this is how I regard myself as trying to get myself adapted to an adventitious environment, with the above two sentences.

Tsanglha is a Tibetan dialect: Take it and learn about its history

My comment on this edition: 

The great thing is that you can still speak Tsanglha dialect so fluently, like your Tibetan and Hindi. And the way you guys live there surrounded by botanical wonders is so organic, and the dishes. I can understand your in-laws can't feel or understand, or see through your eyes, the things there, the changes taken place but there still being the vestiges for you to construct on, to claim who you're. But you can see through their eyes as well that is the wonder in your person. So lovely! Yes, a Bhutanese run-of-the-mill one wondering about how Tsanglha dialect corresponds to Sharchokpa dialect should study about Sharchokpa Bhutanese migration into Tibetan territory, known as Pemakoe, when Tibet was independent, and how we, Tibet and Tibetan, let you dwell there. And now, when we are exiled, political refugees, by the illegal occupation of our country by Red China, how we treat you as ourselves, not like those a few remaining Tibetans in Bhutan by Bhutan. So, by and large, Tsanglha is a Tibetan dialect.

To conform to or to leave forever

March 12, Tibetan Women's Uprising Day against the illegal, inhumane Chinese occupation of Tibet. But for me, who cares about it now? I mean within our own narrow circle, Tibetans diaspora, with its exiled polity now sort of crippled so far by the same schism, sort of older than of Stone Age, when it was all about seeking for some comfort to later on for protection to much later on for more complex protection, for a thinking human mind's mental constructs are endless, once the basic needs are met. (I wonder why human kinds can't live like animals?) Now, a thinking living being is nothing other than of a selfish disposition like of a cat. And, yes, Tibetan women, like U-Tsang Wa, should rise up to the understanding of their own values and guts, to be able to face any challenges ahead, even to be able to have such a volition (I don't say 'do or die'.) to conform to, if circumstances permit, or to get completely detached, for we don't have any such unavoidable bondages like 'commensalism' and 'symbiosis' of organisms to be met. If you're against His Holiness the great 14th Dalai Lama's far-reaching, humane guidance, then you've the complete right to get yourself weaned of it and find your own destiny. Such sense of narrowness within is, for me, far more wounding than what others (Mongols, China, English, Bhutan, Nepal) did to us by availing themselves of our weakness or situations then. 

The three-pronged approach to deal with our hardiness

The immaterial concept 'time'-- the conceptualizer, the act itself, what conceptualized, namely as per the change (from its subtle to gross level) of what is inherent to be changeable, the measuring pendulum we ascribe to it with our own designations but not being able to be pinpointed at as we fancy that we can, like the 'present' time of any as 'walking' that gets untraceable if traced to its infinitesimally changing nature. And, yes, what I want to come to is about the wonder of Madhyamaka philosophy, for it propounds on yet another daring finding that the subject, the conceptualizer, and the predicate, the act itself and what conceptualized are all as we project them out to be, in other words, as Proust's own in Swann's Way, seeing as we want them to be, namely not out there so in reality if traced for but out there just if not traced for.