<A>The mountain is young

<A> Life with Thousands of Buddhists in East Tibet

The mountain is young
Life with thousands of Buddhists in East Tibet


Years ago, to wander through a deserted countryside, to find a piece of fine craft in a Sunday market, or to meet fellow travellers in a small cafe were all part of my dreams. When the dreams one by one became memories, there was new space to fill, and a new perspective for the word travel.

I found this new horizon in the homeland of King Gesar of Ling, whose legendary story Tibetan folk singers never tire of retelling. A meditation center in east Tibet serves the dual purpose of being with nature and one's own soul. Serda Wuming Buddhism Academy was the one from which I have benefited most. It was also the biggest in Ganzi, west Sichuan; situated in Larong valley, and surrounded by five lotus shaped mountains, it was covered with thousands of little wooden huts, and windy prayer flags sailed above. I was lucky. In Chengdu a brilliant young living Buddha came into my life by accident, and afterwards the name Wuming where he studies could never be erased and the door of Tibetan Buddhism was opened, by fate.

Meditation isn't anything fashionable or exotic: it is a serious business to follow and practice Buddhism whole-heartedly. Liberation and happiness is the goal for all human beings, but changing our outside world can never bring us full permanent satisfaction. On the contrary, our desire will only become stronger and stronger. So the Buddha's teaching is to look within, and change the mind, as all your sufferings and problems are not from outside world, but really come from your mind. They are like the waves in the ocean: whether they are small ripples or furious storms, they are still part of the ocean. So the road towards liberation is to understand how our mind works, and through meditation to recognize its true peaceful nature.


My first visit to Wuming (five wisdom) Buddhism Academy was in May. I spent a month there with a young Tibetan nun. There were more than six thousand practitioners in the valley. For anyone who's interested in and serious about Buddhism, it's a heaven. Classes in Tibetan offer the widest scope for studying Buddhism; other brilliant teachers from the highest Rinpoche and about three hundred kanpo(professors in Buddhism) also teach in Chinese. The teaching environment is the best I know by far. The scenery was also one of the most fabulous, but the living conditions were the hardest I had ever experienced. But how strange and true, either pain or joy is really from your mind. I did not suffer at all, but a sense of deep joy and peace accompanied me day and night.

The nights were warm and sound lying on a Tibetan rag and I used to eat Tsamba three meals a day. I had lived on rice and unpeeled potatoes straight for ten days, but the cooking was good! I often had two or three full bowls of rice for each meal, which surprised the nuns. Nearly everyday I needed to fetch water from the well 10 minutes walk up the mountain. There is no ordinary road in the valley: you have to climb all the time to do everything- to go to the toilet, to go shopping or to visit friends. So you are actually doing lots of hiking, and the snow can make the walking more adventurous. I was once walking home against a heavy hail in a dark night, with little light, and slipped over twice and got covered in mud.

I found my routine there satisfying: ten o'clock in the morning was the most important event of the day: a two hour lesson on Buddhism by the highest Rinpoche of the college. After chanting and listening, feeling mentally refreshed but shivering with cold and hunger, I went out for sun and food. Often, I bought all the vegetable and fruits I could find in that day's market (there wasn't much choice even in summer), and the young Tibetan nun from Dege called Bema did all the washing and cooking. Besides, I needed her to heat the stove first. I tried several times myself, but was slow and clumsy to make a fire out of twigs and yak dung. But it seems that every Tibetan, even a high living Buddha, is a master of this primitive skill. So after washing, cooking and chatting, our lunch was ready. She often had other nuns accompany her home, so our lunchtime was never short of light laughter and enquiries over my hometown and age. No doubt they were so surprised by my age, and took a close look at my smooth whitish hands and face, with their tongues outstretched saying: 'Hey, but you look about eighteen!'

Two o'clock in the afternoon, when all the Tibetan nuns have lessons from Mencuo Kangjuoma (Mother Buddha), was a peaceful time for me to read at home. All was quiet and sleepy, but the drowsy air would sometimes magically turn against everyone and start to bomb the ground with rain and snow. After dinner and a small language exchange, I loved to mimic Bema Kham's Tibetan accent as a daily joke. Then she would go to bed rather early and fall asleep in a minute. But the last night during my stay was a feast - they had a small "party." A cheerful group of eight nuns around twenty came to our house. They cooked a huge pot of potato and beef stew, talked and laughed until two o'clock in the early morning, then all quickly disappeared into the dark night. You would never guess what they did when they left. They lifted logs and built a hut for my roommate's brother! What an endearing act of generosity!

When I bade farewell to Bema in a chilly morning, after she had carried my heavy pack to the door and handed me a bag of dried beans, she said: "Do come back in summer, until then we'll all go camping on the bazi (grassland)."

I did. In the middle of July, I came back to Larong valley. How wonderful to see all these good-humored young monks and nuns again! After a long snowy winter and hard study, finally they could have some leisure time to themselves and they spent it lavishly. A splendid break! Hundreds of tents like huge colorful mushrooms picturesquely dotted the rich soft grassland. There was no shadow and no ugliness under this glorious highland sun. I spent a week on this merry-go-round camping ground. The irresistable Tibetan hospitality wasn't unfamiliar to me. I was invited to this or that tent for lunch, and after meals called into another tent and the Tibetan tea party began. There, two tall young Lamas played their guitar and asked me to take photos for them, and would not let me go until I finished a bowl of yogurt. Here, a nun with her mother offered me small apples and joked about my hat in half understood Tibetan. After a day's singing and dancing performed by the Lamas, the most intense action every evening was the basketball game between the two biggest tents. The young boys were really into it, and it was interesting to watch the monks running and hopping with their long dresses swinging gracefully. After sunset, the road from camp to Larong valley carried an army of red-robed figures walking briskly along the river; talking and laughing cheerfully. Those like me who did not own a tent took full loaded trucks or minibus' back to the lodging. Some others, as poor as numerous Tibetan nuns, walked home with their belongings on their backs: water bottles, rags and food. It wasn't too far, but after entering Larong, the climb along the winding road from the bottom of the valley to their houses high on the mountain slopes was an arduous journey. But how soon would they shake off the fatigue and refresh themselves with cups of boiling tea and the excitement over the next day's play.

There were other celebrations which followed then until mid-August, when the grassland was changing colour and flowers began to fade. Revitalized, the practitioners were back to their busy meditating life, again happily isolated from the world.