Welcome home! Please contact lincoln@icrontic.com if you have any difficulty logging in or using the site. New registrations must be manually approved which may take several days. Can't log in? Try clearing your browser's cookies.
Extreme Buddism in Nepal
Extreme Buddism in Nepal
http://travel.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,10330-2522415,00.html
With thigh-bone trumpets and rhythms played on human skulls, Tibetan Buddhism is not for the squeamish. Isabella Tree experiences a very different spirituality
The famous all-seeing eyes of Boudhanath stupa gazed down on us as my friend Rosa unwrapped her mysterious package on the rooftop of the Saturday Cafe. She had already told me what was in it, but it was hard to believe. It seemed so gruesome, so — un-Buddhist.
The ghostly mist of early morning made our assignation seem doubly surreal. Down below, monks and nuns in magenta robes circled mindfully amid a stream of lay Tibetans, Newars, Sherpas and Tamangs, as well as westerners in North Face and jeans.
Gingerly, my friend lifted out the contents of the embroidered case. The object inside was a damaru — a hand drum of the type used in Tibetan Buddhist meditation. When rotated very fast backwards and forwards, tiny pellets suspended on two cords rap the little drums on either side in rhythmic alternation, making a sound to lift the practitioner to a higher awareness.
Rosa had been asked to take this particular damaru back to England for some Buddhist friends, and was understandably nervous about it. The hand drum was just as she had described. It was made out of human skulls — children’s skulls, to be precise. Over the highly polished craniums was stretched a thin membrane of human skin.
“One skull is female, the other is male,” she explained. “It symbolises the union of wisdom and compassion. It’s very powerful. If you get one made out of babies’ skulls, that’s even better — something to do with the energy flowing through the opening in the fontanelles.”
Rosa is not a Buddhist herself, but she knew enough to be worried about bad karma. “If you don’t know where something like this has come from, you have to make sure it has the right energy, that it was made with the right intention. I’m not taking any chances. I’m going to take it to a Rinpoche to get it blessed. Don’t want my plane crashing or anything.” She was laughing, but I could see she wasn’t joking.
The shops around Boudhanath are full of similar objects. In one, I was shown a selection of skull offering bowls; in another, half a dozen trumpets made from women’s thigh bones. Dusting one off, the shopkeeper put the hip joint to his lips and blew, making a noise like a hunting horn.
This almost jocund familiarity with death is one of the first challenges a westerner faces when encountering Tibetan Buddhism. A tall American I met told me how she’d been in a taxi with a lama when he started measuring her thigh. “What are you doing?” she’d asked him in amazement. “Your thigh bones would make marvellous trumpets,” he’d exclaimed. “Would you leave them to our monastery?” Slowly, though, as I became more familiar with them, these ritual implements made of human body parts seemed less macabre. There was something beautiful, even reassuring, in the touch of bone, in the feel of another’s — and hence my own — mortality. But to Buddhists, these artefacts are not just reminders of impermanence, of the illusory nature of life; they are power tools, keys to a higher consciousness. There is tantric magic in them.
Rosa and I waited outside Ka-Nying Shedrub Ling monastery for a break in the morning’s teachings, and a chance to have an audience with the renowned Rinpoche Chokyi Nyima. He was born in Tibet in 1951 and, at the age of 18 months, was recognised as the seventh incarnation of the Drikung Kagyu Lama and a spiritual emanation of Nagarjuna, the second-century Indian Buddhist philosopher. After the Chinese invasion, Chokyi Nyima fled to Sikkim, where he became aide to the 16th Karmapa. It was the Karmapa who, in the early 1970s, instructed Chokyi Nyima to establish a monastery at Boudhanath, where there is a substantial community of Tibetan exiles, and to turn his efforts towards instructing western practitioners (Richard Gere, Laurie Anderson and Steven Seagal are among the followers).
The doors of the shedra flew open and a hundred or so mainly western practitioners streamed out for tea. Rosa and I removed our shoes and entered the gigantic shrine hall. On a high platform sat the beneficent, walnut-faced figure of Chokyi Nyima — like Yoda, but without the ears. A queue of supplicants was inching its way around the walls for his blessing. One by one, they approached the dais, some relaxed and talkative, others bowing obsequiously. As each came before him, the Rinpoche leant forward intently, sometimes muttering a mantra or blowing on their heads, as if exorcising a demon.
When it came to my turn, I found myself suddenly nervous. It’s not every day you stand in front of a reincarnate lama. Clumsily, I thrust forward my gift — a box of Rococo creams. “Ah, chocolates!” he smiled. “From London,” I spluttered. It was only later I wondered what the Enlightened One would make of Passion Fondant and Venus Nipples. “I wanted to ask you”, I stammered, “what do you think makes Buddhism so appealing to westerners?”
When he spoke, it was with surprising clarity. His English had a distant American twang. “It is because Buddhism is not a religion, so to speak. It is a science, a way of understanding the world. It is practical. The wisdom side is sharp and the compassion side is beautiful. Even so, it is difficult for westerners to understand the east, just as it is for east to understand west. It takes a lot of hard work, and patience.” It seemed a great feat — to be transmitting the philosophical Everests of Buddhism to the flat, materialistic landscape of the western world.
Outside, Rosa was looking distinctly more relaxed. “Rinpoche said the damaru has good karma. I shouldn’t be worried. It will bless my flight back. And he said it’s right it should be used for its proper purpose.” It was incredible to think of the rat-tat-tat of that little skull drum, soon to be conjuring peaks of higher consciousness from a back room in Battersea.
http://travel.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,10330-2522415,00.html
With thigh-bone trumpets and rhythms played on human skulls, Tibetan Buddhism is not for the squeamish. Isabella Tree experiences a very different spirituality
The famous all-seeing eyes of Boudhanath stupa gazed down on us as my friend Rosa unwrapped her mysterious package on the rooftop of the Saturday Cafe. She had already told me what was in it, but it was hard to believe. It seemed so gruesome, so — un-Buddhist.
The ghostly mist of early morning made our assignation seem doubly surreal. Down below, monks and nuns in magenta robes circled mindfully amid a stream of lay Tibetans, Newars, Sherpas and Tamangs, as well as westerners in North Face and jeans.
Gingerly, my friend lifted out the contents of the embroidered case. The object inside was a damaru — a hand drum of the type used in Tibetan Buddhist meditation. When rotated very fast backwards and forwards, tiny pellets suspended on two cords rap the little drums on either side in rhythmic alternation, making a sound to lift the practitioner to a higher awareness.
Rosa had been asked to take this particular damaru back to England for some Buddhist friends, and was understandably nervous about it. The hand drum was just as she had described. It was made out of human skulls — children’s skulls, to be precise. Over the highly polished craniums was stretched a thin membrane of human skin.
“One skull is female, the other is male,” she explained. “It symbolises the union of wisdom and compassion. It’s very powerful. If you get one made out of babies’ skulls, that’s even better — something to do with the energy flowing through the opening in the fontanelles.”
Rosa is not a Buddhist herself, but she knew enough to be worried about bad karma. “If you don’t know where something like this has come from, you have to make sure it has the right energy, that it was made with the right intention. I’m not taking any chances. I’m going to take it to a Rinpoche to get it blessed. Don’t want my plane crashing or anything.” She was laughing, but I could see she wasn’t joking.
The shops around Boudhanath are full of similar objects. In one, I was shown a selection of skull offering bowls; in another, half a dozen trumpets made from women’s thigh bones. Dusting one off, the shopkeeper put the hip joint to his lips and blew, making a noise like a hunting horn.
This almost jocund familiarity with death is one of the first challenges a westerner faces when encountering Tibetan Buddhism. A tall American I met told me how she’d been in a taxi with a lama when he started measuring her thigh. “What are you doing?” she’d asked him in amazement. “Your thigh bones would make marvellous trumpets,” he’d exclaimed. “Would you leave them to our monastery?” Slowly, though, as I became more familiar with them, these ritual implements made of human body parts seemed less macabre. There was something beautiful, even reassuring, in the touch of bone, in the feel of another’s — and hence my own — mortality. But to Buddhists, these artefacts are not just reminders of impermanence, of the illusory nature of life; they are power tools, keys to a higher consciousness. There is tantric magic in them.
Rosa and I waited outside Ka-Nying Shedrub Ling monastery for a break in the morning’s teachings, and a chance to have an audience with the renowned Rinpoche Chokyi Nyima. He was born in Tibet in 1951 and, at the age of 18 months, was recognised as the seventh incarnation of the Drikung Kagyu Lama and a spiritual emanation of Nagarjuna, the second-century Indian Buddhist philosopher. After the Chinese invasion, Chokyi Nyima fled to Sikkim, where he became aide to the 16th Karmapa. It was the Karmapa who, in the early 1970s, instructed Chokyi Nyima to establish a monastery at Boudhanath, where there is a substantial community of Tibetan exiles, and to turn his efforts towards instructing western practitioners (Richard Gere, Laurie Anderson and Steven Seagal are among the followers).
The doors of the shedra flew open and a hundred or so mainly western practitioners streamed out for tea. Rosa and I removed our shoes and entered the gigantic shrine hall. On a high platform sat the beneficent, walnut-faced figure of Chokyi Nyima — like Yoda, but without the ears. A queue of supplicants was inching its way around the walls for his blessing. One by one, they approached the dais, some relaxed and talkative, others bowing obsequiously. As each came before him, the Rinpoche leant forward intently, sometimes muttering a mantra or blowing on their heads, as if exorcising a demon.
When it came to my turn, I found myself suddenly nervous. It’s not every day you stand in front of a reincarnate lama. Clumsily, I thrust forward my gift — a box of Rococo creams. “Ah, chocolates!” he smiled. “From London,” I spluttered. It was only later I wondered what the Enlightened One would make of Passion Fondant and Venus Nipples. “I wanted to ask you”, I stammered, “what do you think makes Buddhism so appealing to westerners?”
When he spoke, it was with surprising clarity. His English had a distant American twang. “It is because Buddhism is not a religion, so to speak. It is a science, a way of understanding the world. It is practical. The wisdom side is sharp and the compassion side is beautiful. Even so, it is difficult for westerners to understand the east, just as it is for east to understand west. It takes a lot of hard work, and patience.” It seemed a great feat — to be transmitting the philosophical Everests of Buddhism to the flat, materialistic landscape of the western world.
Outside, Rosa was looking distinctly more relaxed. “Rinpoche said the damaru has good karma. I shouldn’t be worried. It will bless my flight back. And he said it’s right it should be used for its proper purpose.” It was incredible to think of the rat-tat-tat of that little skull drum, soon to be conjuring peaks of higher consciousness from a back room in Battersea.
0
Comments
It made me want to do three things.....
Travel to Nepal, for Losar.....
See these instruments for myself.....
Donate what I got to whomsoever needs a flute - or a drum......
My thighbone is not too long, but it should play a good tune, because I sang in a choir, in my youth......:D
We use human bones too. We do a practice called tsog which is a food offering practice, and we pass out the amrita (booze) in a skull cup. A real human skull cup. I found it in a shop up in Jerome, an old mining town reborn as an artists' colony near Sedona. Skull damarus are also nice to have. There's nothing ghoulish about it. Just a reminder of impermanence. One practice we do called chod is traditionally done in charnel grounds amongst the scattered remains of dead bodies. It's to overcome your attatchment to your own body and to lose the fear of death.
Palzang
Palzang,
I've already decided not to be buried or cremated when I die but to leave whatever's left of me to people who can use the various parts. Whatever organs the medical community can reuse I'll gladly give. But I didn't know who to leave the rest of the body to; medical schools? But now that I read this thread I want to give the rest to Tibetan Buddhists for these practices.
If you have any info for me I'd be grateful. Or if not, maybe you could point me in the right direction? I'd like to get this settled so I can be sure my wishes will be respected when the time comes. Would your monastery take the remains?
I know with the kapalas (skull cup), there is a very exact science on how to determine if a skull is a good one to use or if it would be inauspicious. I know the fewer sutures in the skull, the more auspicious. A skull with no sutures (i.e. where they've all fused) is the most auspicious.
So let me see if I can find any authoritative information for you.
Palzang
Fewer sutures, less leakage, eh?
Palzang
Thanks for posting this. It sort of helps clear something up for me. Last September I attended a speach given by HH the Dalai Lama at the University of Buffalo. On my way into the stadium a Chinese student gave my a paper to read. It showed the skin of a small child, and described how people in Tibet may be charged body parts for commiting a crime, two skulls, certain bones, a child's skin ect. It also said that the upper class might only get a small fine for killing, while one of lower class might be executed for a minor offense. It said this sort of thing went on while the Dalai Lama was there. I'm sure I don't have the details right, I didn't save the paper, but you get the idea. It troubled me a bit at the time because it did seem somewhat authentic. Thanks to your post, I see how they took an honest spiritual practise and twisted it into usefull propaganda.
Hi, Jake! Nice to see you!
Yes, the Chinese capability to lie about the Dalai Lama and about Tibetan Buddhism in general knows no bounds.
Palzang
The man was insane. And his insanity is being perpetuated.
For reviews of the book, read in the link below. Spot the critic (I think - I have no proof) whom I believe may be Chinese..
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Mao-Story-Jung-Chang/dp/0099461552/sr=1-1/qid=1168330171/ref=sr_1_1/202-5442263-8959851?ie=UTF8&s=books