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Monk Chants

Recorded on August 20, 1995, at the Rinchenpung Monastery. Symbolically Vajrayogini’s naval, the gompa houses a statue of Rang Rig Gyapo - the king of self-awareness and the wrathful emanation of Padmasambhava. The monk chants are an invocation to this meditation deity to protect all sentient beings from the consequences of their own misguided behavior.

107a 1994 Gil Troy Ethan in Thai TempleEthan Bindelglas, Troy, Gil in Bangkok Buddhist Temple

165a 1994 Gil Troy in Rickshaw KathmanduGil & Troy in a Rickshaw. The Tibet expeditions were major undertakings. Pemako is so remote that it usually took us a full 10 days of travel just to get to the trailhead. But we always had a good time along the way.

Hola Amigos y Amigas!

Well, the writing is going well. I’m over 40,000 words and it’s been astounding revisiting these adventures. Troy, Todd and I have such fantastic documentation. Two decades ago Pemako (the “Hidden Lands” of S/E Tibet) was one of the last unexplored Eden’s on the planet. It was exotic. It was mystical. There was a sense of a unique place in time - a time that could never be recaptured.

This was on the cusp of the internet and the world was shrinking by the day. Tibet was deluged with Han Chinese. Large bonuses were paid for them to relocate. Tibetans would soon be a minority in their own country and their ancient culture was under siege. As the planet’s last frontier we understood that each step we took into Pemako was historic.

One other bit of good news. Troy just flew up and visited. He will be co-authoring the book with me. It only makes sense. Troy was on all three expeditions and he is a fantastic writer. I am really excited about his involvement. Our brother Todd will also be contributing stories on the 1995 expedition.

Through offering different perspectives we hope to keep the book lively, fast paced and most importantly - interesting.

I have included a small story from one of our trips through Bangkok on our way to Tibet. I hope you enjoy it.

Tashi delek!

Gil

1997
Bangkok

Changing planes in Osaka, we had a day layover in Bangkok. It just so happened that a grade school friend of Troy’s - Ethan Bindelglas - was traveling in Burma and he made the short hop down to Bangkok to visit. We landed at 9:30 in the morning and he was there. It was great to see him. It’s always fun to see home town friends half way around the world. We loaded our mountains of gear in two taxis and headed into the city. It was sweltering and the gridlock was the worst we’d seen. I noticed billboards selling “pee bottles” for drivers sentenced to endless rush hours. On a portion of our crawl I saw this guy on crutches on the sidewalk next to us. For a couple of miles we were neck and neck. The long sleepless flight coupled with the swirl of colors, the darting of tuk tuks, over-loaded bicycles, the ceaseless honking, the endless congestion, and the acidic smell of pollution made me light headed. Sensory overload - that’s Bangkok.

Troy and Ethan had another grade school friend - Reid Bracken - who lived in Bangkok. Oddly and with no explanation, one day he sold his business in Phoenix and moved to Bangkok. It was a gutsy move - one that prompted endless speculation on our part. Reid had reserved rooms for us at the Stable Lodge on Sukhumvit Road. Touting itself as, “A Tropical Garden with Swimming Pool” it was perfect.

After Troy and I checked into our room and showered off twenty hours of travel, the four of us jumped in a taxi and headed to the Chao Praya River. This sluggish waterway flows through the city. Traveling it in long boats is one of our favorite Bangkok pastimes. The city was extremely crowded and all the homes clustered on the river banks only had three walls. So careening through the s-turns we had a bird’s eye view into these people’s lives. Some waved - some just went about their business. With a twinge of voyeurism – it was a great way to spend the afternoon. Another added feature was the small “beer boats” that saddled up next to us selling local brews. It was a glorious way to unwind.

As the sun was setting the light turned splendid against the city’s high rises. Swinging wide we headed back for dinner.

“Ugh, here we go again.” I thought as we sat gridlocked with the taxi’s air-conditioning blasting. We were captives under a blanket of mushrooming fumes. I was leaning against the widow in mindless thought. I noticed there was an old gray bus stopped next to us. It was crammed with people - so crammed that many were standing. I don’t think they could have squeezed one more soul in there. It was un-airconditioned and obviously lugging exhausted laborers home from a long day of whatever they did. And then the strangest thing happened. My vision shifted. The entire scene became a sepia brown - except for one girl on the bus. She was in technicolor. With an ocean of tired humanity pressed around her - she had her face, likewise, leaning against the window. She was pretty in a plain way. Our eyes locked and time stopped.

I’ve had these experiences before in other third world countries. And it’s not a sexual thing as it’s happened with old and young, male and female. I think about it a lot. Perhaps it’s some kind of psychic connection - or interconnection as the Buddhists would say. I believe it’s a recognition of our shared human experience and a blatant reminder of the inequities of our world. I’m looking forward to a great dinner and then getting on an airplane for the trip of a lifetime. She’s caught in a grinding life of survival. We’re both human beings. We both laugh and cry and love and get out of bed in the morning. Yet by virtue of birth she is held prisoner in a cycle of struggle and despair while I dance with the world.

But this isn’t guilt. I trace it back to my meditation practice. Meditation changes us. It changes our brains. It changes the way we think and relate to our world. It wasn’t a girl I was looking at on that bus. It was me. I saw myself in her. And with that fundamental recognition flows the most amazing realization - I must help her, for in doing so I am helping myself. Her survival - her well being - her happiness - are my own.

At Rancho Feliz we call this, “enlightened self interest”. Loosely defined, it means that the most selfish thing we can do for ourselves is to help others - those not born into our same fortunate circumstances. And we do this, not by providing welfare, but through the redistribution of opportunity. To me the words “opportunity” and “freedom” are synonymous. Without opportunity we are victims held in the bondage of ignorance - as with the girl on the bus. But with opportunity we can become creators. We can exercise free will and chart the courses of our lives.

But there is a cruel paradox for the present human condition. Acts of giving are counter intuitive to our habitual thought patterns of self identification and its grasping and attachment. The Buddhists call this a “false view”. The idea of an independent self cannot withstand the scrutiny of reasoning and logic. This simple concept is at the very core of Tibetan Buddhism and will be examined in greater detail in the book.

Suddenly I’m jolted back into reality as our lane opens and we move forward. I hold her gaze for as long as I can. But then she’s gone - swallowed in the sea of her own destiny.

“Perhaps she saw a part of herself in me.” I wondered.

I’ll never know.

 

 

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