But do carry on ever!

It isn't for sale as well as for the exchange of the so familiar boon, money, to the lure of a tart or of a woman styled herself in the needed fashion and norm and contour of the time now, so luring that even a fakir or a practitioner in the form of a mendicant could be lured into doing odd things, if you haven't mastered the groundbreaking concept of Nagarjuna in both its academia and, the most important of all, experience based on personal approach.  And I mean about 'your life' and 'my life', dear compatriot, for we are still the same, having not gained a step ahead in being able to take the great inverse way, so far away from the so familiar broad way of our 'cognitive inertia' or this confidence of ours in how we see, discriminate, and take in but fall back, at the end of the day, into the same trap of being the same disgruntled ones ever. 

Covid-19: Love and self-discovery in the time of this deadly pandemic by a middle aged Tibetan dad, for his nurse-daughters, at Bylakuppe Tibetan Settlement

The story deserves a moving script, taking into account every tiny detail, to remain as an evergreen short film in loving memory of a middle aged dad sort of finding himself and his nurse-daughters' love in the time of Covid-19, when he was infected with the deadly virus or microbe that tends to mutate and grow stronger in its destructive instinct. Thank you so much, you two lovely, beautiful Tibetan nurse-daughters of the dad for sharing this wonderful episode that posed more or less as a great hurdle in your way, in your great expectation in terms of how you would have preferred to spend your vacation at home with your beloved family. But through the same hurdle, even letting go of your stable jobs as nurses for saving your beloved dad, I think you could learn even more and get connected even closer with your beloved dad. Really, there is here the vibe of a Tibetan spirit, our ideals, something from our initial time in the alien land and weather, destined to be exiled ones but so close. It's all about how you see it from what angle after all. Thank you so much!

A great self-confession

Can you imagine more condescending word than 'shallow-pate'? Namely, brain-drained, monomaniac in the sense that you don't know or care if your life can be ended up thus, dedicated or sacrificed thus for a depraved woman, maybe your wife, for there being some children between you two? But you do still care more for her than your innocent children. Can the English word 'uxorious' suffice for such a one, or 'blind love", or any? What you call a man without any sense of dignity? I am eager to learn about such a one, for there are those Tibetan women or men abroad, who have happened to come abroad first, and later, after a few years, albeit taking his or her children and espouse abroad in the name of 'family union', he or she has already changed into someone else, so depraved taking that the West is for 'freedom', namely decadency. Can you imagine a Tibetan woman in her early fifties saying so? Where is the essence of the statement 'our cultural essence', our 'Tibetan ideals' that we are so ready to mouth? I am so curious, for being a Tibetan myself, a monastic product after all. Or those philistines in the name of Tibetan husbands or wives abroad first are well aware of Shakespeare's "All the world is a stage" in its that literal sense, to be hogged down whatever come bumping about in your way abroad? As a human soul changes, a Tibetan abroad changes--we should be able to accept it so. Mercy, we are all just commoners, philistines, parasites of the sort, and would be so forever, if we don't try to pursue the inverse means, namely to be able to disrupt our 'cognitive inertia', that sense of concreteness in its objectivity. I know, you can't have any idea about what I try to convey to your intuition. 

Joy or Pain: The Oxymoron

 "སྐྱིད་པོ་རང་གིས་མ་བཏང་ན། །སྡུག་པོ་མི་ཡིས་གཏང་ཡོང་ངོ།།" 

"Joy, if you can't cull it up for yourself, pain, those in the name of 'human beings' can inflict it upon you." 

Say, a well-known Tibetan proverb, namely seemingly came about as a repartee from the mouth of an obscure working class veteran back in the century almost not less than three generations or more. And I don't have any idea why this witticism has happened to pop up in my mind when I was mulling over the statistical as well as individually disported facts about Belgium being the happiest country in the world. But Marcel Proust, I have been with you since the outset of this pandemic. Your being that pedantically boring sometimes is nothing other than my being not outgrown yet, or your sense of humanity outweighs it.

Lo, those irises saying something to you and me

Marne-la-Vallée, the vale, namely the valley marked by the range of lowly eminence on either side of the slithering river La Marne. But, here, I mean it from a personal way of seeing and that from Le Parc de Noisiel, those faces of declivity gilded by the setting sun as the sky magenta. And just next by the gate of the park, with its gilded curlicues of rococo designs, there is a squarish plot for personal venture of trying on any growable things--flowers to herbs to vegetables. And along the length of its border on one side, I found those curious irises in their fresh mantles of purple and green rather sharp and pointy sort of lost in their being there as enduring a vegetating period but short as the nature of their life is. Yes, curious that was what they were but not those passersby--human beings jogging, cycling, promenading, ambling, or lost in folds of overlapping futures and pleasures and dreams.

Seemingly at the close of Spring - II

May 18, 2021.

Carriers-sous-Poissy: Like treading along a dreamy strip of footpath that it's in reality, adrift like poplar fluff, leave aside the timorous exchange of those fleeting waves and vibrations of putting oneself out of countenance and getting composed somehow, I happened to draw myself up at the commanding point and record it so, the easy, naïf way, no cost of mulling over at all.

Seemingly at the close of Spring - I

May 7, 2021.

A glimpse of Parc de Noisiel from under an English oak: in the evening during a summer solstice. A few copper beeches stand just at one angle of the view.