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.