As I sit here, gnawing on dried apricots, I feel accomplished. I have mastered a way of living that was foreign to me before this moment. I have finally realized that this journey to Ladakh is just a journey and there should be no expectations. I live day to day with minimal forward thinking. I live in the present.
Buddhism has made me realize and accept my “in the moment” approach. As the Dalai Lama XIV said: “What we think of as “I” is a succession of instants in a continuum of consciousness” and right now, as the wind whips through the valleys and the sun settles behind the mountain peaks, I am just a succession of instants.
On South East St. in Amherst, Massachusetts, my life progressed like a checklist. The infinite, empty white squares lined up in my mind, begging to be checked off. I spent my days anxious to finish the list that didn’t have an end. I do not totally blame myself for this unfortunate situation (nor my parents who have raised me in this way). It seems one must live like this in order to “succeed” in our western culture. When we desire good futures, our experiences in the present become inconsequential. We move faster and faster until we are hopping around like brainwashed rabbits.
There are no brainwashed rabbits in Ladakh.
Problems arise when western habits are juxtaposed with the Ladakhi system. Homework, for example, seems so irrelevant when I live minute to minute. At this altitude the checklist section of my brain has evaporated and, with it, the concept of homework.
Another western habit that has basically vanished from my life at SECMOL is bathing. I wash my hair when it gets stiff with grease (which is usually about twice a week) and I perform a full-out bath only once every seven days. But it all seems okay here. A shiny, well-clothed student almost seems sacrilegious amongst the endless brown sand. Adapting to my natural surroundings puts me at peace. At SECMOL there is not hand sanitizer in every classroom (like there is in my school in the U.S.) and having dirt under your nails is okay. Once again the ways of the West are drowned in the Indus.
As far as homework goes: the deadline for choosing an exhibition topic has come and gone and I paid little attention to it (this is the problem with living in the present). Now I must appease my teachers and decide what aspect of Ladakh I want to explore further. Nothing immediately comes to mind and I feel weird treating Ladakh and its culture as a science experiment or an undiscovered geode. I feel a part of here now, so much in fact that I refuse to sit in the “tourist section” at monastic festivals. Ladakh is my home. But I will not forget that everything is ephemeral and this sanguine place is just another step in my journey.
Buddhism has made me realize and accept my “in the moment” approach. As the Dalai Lama XIV said: “What we think of as “I” is a succession of instants in a continuum of consciousness” and right now, as the wind whips through the valleys and the sun settles behind the mountain peaks, I am just a succession of instants.
On South East St. in Amherst, Massachusetts, my life progressed like a checklist. The infinite, empty white squares lined up in my mind, begging to be checked off. I spent my days anxious to finish the list that didn’t have an end. I do not totally blame myself for this unfortunate situation (nor my parents who have raised me in this way). It seems one must live like this in order to “succeed” in our western culture. When we desire good futures, our experiences in the present become inconsequential. We move faster and faster until we are hopping around like brainwashed rabbits.
There are no brainwashed rabbits in Ladakh.
Problems arise when western habits are juxtaposed with the Ladakhi system. Homework, for example, seems so irrelevant when I live minute to minute. At this altitude the checklist section of my brain has evaporated and, with it, the concept of homework.
Another western habit that has basically vanished from my life at SECMOL is bathing. I wash my hair when it gets stiff with grease (which is usually about twice a week) and I perform a full-out bath only once every seven days. But it all seems okay here. A shiny, well-clothed student almost seems sacrilegious amongst the endless brown sand. Adapting to my natural surroundings puts me at peace. At SECMOL there is not hand sanitizer in every classroom (like there is in my school in the U.S.) and having dirt under your nails is okay. Once again the ways of the West are drowned in the Indus.
As far as homework goes: the deadline for choosing an exhibition topic has come and gone and I paid little attention to it (this is the problem with living in the present). Now I must appease my teachers and decide what aspect of Ladakh I want to explore further. Nothing immediately comes to mind and I feel weird treating Ladakh and its culture as a science experiment or an undiscovered geode. I feel a part of here now, so much in fact that I refuse to sit in the “tourist section” at monastic festivals. Ladakh is my home. But I will not forget that everything is ephemeral and this sanguine place is just another step in my journey.
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