Quick Update on the Book: I spent the first four months of this year on Whidbey Island immersed in writing my book. Then I put the book aside for seven months. I intentionally haven’t thought about it since. This January & February I will dive back in determined to finish it. I must confess, it’s a lot more work than I ever thought.
My brother Troy will be co-authoring the book with me. His notes and writing are excellent. We have eight additional contributors including fellow expedition members and a unique perspective offered by one of our Sherpa’s – Dawa Lama.
As I plunge back into writing I have decided to increase my Blog posts to one every two weeks. With my posts now following the book’s narrative, I don’t want the story line getting lost in month-long gaps. So here we go!
Following my last post several people asked me if I was a Buddhist. My answer is patently “no”. I don’t believe in labels and the divisions they innately encourage. Once you put a label on yourself – you define everything you’re not. (I cover the fine human art of conceptualization in the book.)
I am a student of Buddhism. But I don’t see Buddhism as a religion. To me it is a science of the mind. Not only does it show us that our unhappiness is largely self-induced, but it provides pragmatic remedies. It’s important to remember that, “In the arena of the mind, what we believe to be true – is.”
Nor am I a Mormon – as I am often accused and the story below might indicate. I attended Brigham Young University in 1972 & 1973 on football scholarships. And while I have many Mormon friends, I myself am not of that faith.
In my last Blog I discussed my lifelong obsession with understanding the human mind as the path that led to our Tibet adventures. As a boy I was fascinated by people’s different perceptions of reality. But more than that, I was intrigued by the prospects of manipulating realities.
“I found strong evidence of this in both practical jokes and hypnosis.” In the book I footnote this statement as follows:
Since I can remember I have been fascinated by the mind, perception and the idea of reality. Though an object or situation could be the same, how could people’s beliefs, points of views, and experiences with it be so different?
As a young boy I realized I could alter realities through the medium of practical jokes. By finding people’s blind spots, vulnerabilities and limits of perception it’s easy to construct a false set of circumstances. This becomes their reality and they believe and act accordingly. Magicians do this all the time.
I observed that the subconscious mind would filter out all evidence that didn’t reinforce the current belief and only allow supporting evidence to find its way into consciousness.
The “joke” came when the “victim” realized his or her mental construct of reality didn’t correspond with actual reality. The collision of the two belief systems and its resulting confusion could be hysterical. To me, the implications were much more than a joke.
A Separate Reality
BLOG WARNING: The account below is meant for mature audiences only. Discretion is advised.
Case in point. In 1973 I was a sophomore at Brigham Young University My roommate, Bill, and I harbored a young man in our apartment. I will call him Jake (we called him the Butler). Jake had gone AWOL from the Army. In exchange for hiding out, he provided us cooking and light house cleaning. It worked for Bill and me.
One bored afternoon we came up with the novel idea to dress Jake up as a wayward coed. This was no small task as Jake was a fairly large guy. Our plan was to get him all dolled up and then call over a fellow student named Chuck (not his real name for reasons soon obvious). Chuck was a tackle on our football team. He weighed no less than 260 pounds. We’d tell him we had a girl for him.
Chuck had just come off a two-year church mission in Guatemala. He was still a virgin and this tortured him. He brought it up several times and frankly we were tired of hearing it. So we went to work on Jake. We had a neighbor named Lilly. She was in her mid-20’s and familiar with our practical jokes. She was full on board for this one. We borrowed a bra and panties. Jake’s thick torso blew out the panties. But with rubber bands we could hold the bra in place. We returned the shredded panties to Lilly and exchanged them to for a lacy slip. It wasn’t perfect but it was the best we could do. Lilly had an old wig and we asked her to bring it over with some makeup. We stuffed the bra with gym socks, attached the auburn wig and Lilly artfully applied the deep red lipstick, rouge and eyeliner. This was punctuated by a quick spray of cheap perfume. Done.
We stood back to admire our Venus. Lilly burst out laughing. Jake looked like a hermaphrodite Hulk Hogan. The call was made and in the blink of a loved starved eye there was a timid knock on the door. Inside, last minute instructions were whispered and the lights turned down.
I opened the door. “Hey Chuck…. come on in.” I said. “Listen, before we get going I have to tell you a couple of things. First of all, Vanessa is quite shy. Secondly, please be gentle.”
The stage was set.
Chuck walked in blinking for his eyes to adjust. And there she was in the corner on the couch, legs crossed, our Madonna.
“Well this gig is up.” I said to myself. “There’s no way Chuck is going to believe that monstrosity is a female.”
The Butler had a five o’clock shadow, hairy legs, broad shoulders and huge knuckled hands and feet. But subconsciously Chuck didn’t want to see those things. All he wanted to see - and all his subconscious mind allowed himself to see - was the object of his deflowerment. The Butler had been well coached. He wasn’t to open his big mouth but rather to giggle furtively, bat his eyes and occasionally flip back his wig hair.
That’s all it took. It was like watching a train wreck. Everything slowed way down. It was a joke gone terribly bad and I wanted to stop it. But that devil on my left shoulder the Mormons warned me about kept my protests at bay. The lurid side of me wanted to see where this was going.
Chuck sauntered over rather stiffly and sat. The couch quivered under his weight. He was a lineman. The Butler giggled three octaves too low and almost knocked his wig off with a flip of his hand. Repositioning the hairpiece he giggled again.
“You know, he’s not that bad.” I thought to myself.
Then it happened, without so much as a word Chuck slid his hand under the slip and up the Butler’s leg to his crotch. However, with suprising foresight the Butler had shoved his privates down between his crossed legs. This was hard to watch as Chuck’s searching hand, his heavy breathing and the lump in his trousers could only mean one thing. In his mind, in his reality, our Butler was going to be his first lay.
I think this dawned on the Butler at the same time. With no intention whatsoever of being the love cushion of BYU’s starting tackle, he stood up in disgust, his pecker flopped out, and he marched into the bathroom admonishing Chuck as a pervert.
Chuck’s reality exploded. He stood there in a daze, his mind racing to make sense of it all. By the time he gained some manner of conscious equilibrium Bill had vanished and I was on a dead run fifty yards down the street.
In high school a few of us went to see a hypnotist perform in the school’s auditorium. It was fun to watch students under hypnosis play pretend musical instruments or race around the room like they were cars.
But the final act was truly provocative. The hypnotist asked for a volunteer. A friend of mine raised his hand and was called on stage. He was hypnotized. And then the strangest thing happened.
Taking a large yellow pencil, the hypnotist told my friend it was a lit cigarette. He began puffing on it. Suddenly he took the pencil from his mouth and acted like he was putting it out on my friend’s arm. My buddy screamed and jerked away looking at the hypnotist in disbelief.
“What the hell did you do that for?” he asked.
Well, that was strange. But what happened next was profound. A blister formed. I was astounded. I thought to myself, “You mean the mind is so strong that by belief alone it can change the molecular cell structure of the skin?”
The implications were staggering. If I could harness my mind, I could influence my reality and the quality of my experience.
This single realization set me on a lifelong quest to understand the workings of the human brain.
How Did We Get Here?
At this time I would like these Blog Posts to chronicle our 1994, 1995 and 1997’s expeditions by featuring excerpts from the draft book accompanied by corresponding photographs.
It’s interesting to witness the three expeditions weaving – almost seamlessly – in and out of one another in a consistent and ever evolving story-line. It’s truly an ordered A-B-C chronology that ultimately culminates in an unforeseen but climactic conclusion – a conclusion not possible without the prior two odysseys.
It was a rather linear path, centered around a great interest in the outdoors and my lifelong obsession with understanding the human mind. The outdoors part was easy. Our father loved to hunt and fish. We were exposed to camping and hiking as far back as we could remember.
And my interest in the workings of the mind also had a clear path. As a boy I was fascinated by people’s different perceptions of reality. The idea that – in the arena of the mind, what you believe to be true, is – intrigued me. I found strong evidence of this in both practical jokes and hypnosis. Hypnosis led to the Hindu - Paramahansa Yogananda’s – mind science teachings as a way to visualize and rewire our brains – thus manipulating our realities. I utilized visualization and self-hypnosis as a way to achieve my goals.
My journey of the mind finally settled on Tibetan Buddhism and meditation as a means to a happier life. I loved the pragmatism of Tibetan Buddhism. I loved the outrageous teachings of Tibetan meditation master Chögyam Trungpa.
It was this interest in the mind that led directly to our adventures in Tibet.
I remember clearly, February 1st 1994. I was turning forty in twenty-five days. This was a big one for me. My gift to myself was a promise to go to Tibet. I had no idea how or where in Tibet. I knew nothing about Tibet other than Chögyam Trungpa was from there. So I set my intention.
Meditation is not a matter of trying to achieve ecstasy, spiritual bliss or tranquility, nor is it attempting to be a better person. It is simply the creation of space in which we are able to expose and undo our neurotic games, our self-deception, our hidden fears and hopes.
Exactly one week later on the front page of Section C of our Arizona Republic newspaper there was a long article written by Hal Mattern titled, “Crazy about Canyons”. The feature stated:
“Tucson resident Richard D. Fisher is looking for people to join his 21-day expedition in May to Tibet, where a team will explore the Namche Barwa Canyon. Fisher, who has visited the canyon three times already and found it to be the deepest gorge in the world, stresses that the trip will be no walk in the park. ‘We’re talking about a real adventure,’ Fisher says.”
The article was punctuated by a photograph of an enormous, cloud-shrouded and lush green canyon with a colossal river churning through it. I sat there stunned. “This is it. This is perfect. What a coincidence!”, I thought to myself.
There was a phone number. I was going on that trip. I found a pay phone and called Rick. But before I could finish introducing myself he said, “Do you have any rafting experience?”
“Hell yes I have rafting experience.” I told him. “My brother Troy and I rafted 430-miles down the Green River. We’ve rafted the Big Drops in the Colorado River’s Cataract Canyon and we’ve rafted the upper Salt River here in Arizona many times.” I was going to tell him we’d rafted Africa’s Zambezi but I thought that might be pushing it. I told him we’d hiked across the states of Arizona and Washington. Here the conversation took on the needy flavor of a job interview so I shut up.
“That all sounds good,” said Rick. “I’m getting married this weekend so why don’t we get back in touch in a couple of weeks?”
A couple of weeks! No way. I was going on that trip. I told him Troy and I were coming the next day (Tucson is only 120 miles south of Scottsdale) and it wouldn’t take us five minutes to introduce ourselves and give him the required deposit to secure our slots on the expedition. He reluctantly agreed.
Well I knew Troy would be all in. I was excited to tell him. After listening to me babbling for five minutes he looked at me and said, “When do we go?”
The bad news is you’re falling through the air, nothing to hang on to, no parachute.
It Can’t be Real?
I haven’t thought about the book since I left Whidbey Island.
Every author I’ve spoken to says that once the first draft is complete you should step away and forget about it for three months. After that you can re-engage with a clear mind and begin the editing process.
Well, I’m now thoroughly enmeshed in my day-to-day life and the thought of wading back into over 500 pages and carving it down to 300–350 pages is daunting at best. It gives me a headache.
But the story is there. Rock solid. And my brother Troy and author Claire Scobie (who was on our 1997 expedition) have promised to help.
In the meantime, the four months of solid writing have left me in a mental cul-de-sac. I have no creativity to even pen a simple Blog post. So I’m going to feature a 1995 journal entry written by my brother Todd. I hope you enjoy it, and the accompanying photograph, as much as I do.
Note: Todd’s excerpt references Dugmas and poison cults. These are real. They will be discussed in greater detail in future posts and in the book.
Todd Gillenwater’s notes:
Sunday - August 6, 1995
We’ve been hiking for about three hours today, and it is a glorious day. Scattered clouds, sunshine - probably the nicest day so far. It’s day four or thereabouts on our expedition through Pemako - the sacred lands of Tibetan Buddhism. This is a place where Heaven and Hell converge, where monks can fly and poison witches with backwards feet try to lure you into eating something and gaining access to your soul.
I’m a pretty pragmatic American, so I go along with it from a curiosity standpoint more than one of belief. I don’t buy into the mystical stuff - but it's fun to listen to those that really believe it.
Then again… there was that lady I saw with her feet on backwards who stared directly at me through the dirt-smeared rear window of our land cruiser as we drove past. When I asked the guys about it, they said, “Oh, she’s a Dugma, a poison witch, they all have their feet on backwards. Don’t eat anything she gives you.” Oh, well, that’s fine - just a poison witch staring at me. What on Earth does that mean?!
Now, aside from that, I’ve seen nothing mystical, magical or Heaven meets Hell-like, just mountains and forests. It is an incredibly beautiful, wild and remote place, no doubt.
Gil and I are hiking together now, through a forested valley and along the banks of a river. It’s maybe 40’ across with fast moving greenish water. Looks like a New Zealand river, actually. We are chatting and having a wonderful hike on this beautiful day.
After some time, the trail leads us near the river’s edge and we stop for a breather - something is not right here. The river that was on our right all morning is now on our left, and we hadn’t crossed it. Hold on here - it’s not greenish, it's distinctly chalky in color from snowmelt. And it’s half the size it was five minutes ago. And it’s flowing in the opposite direction. We look at each other in confusion and disbelief - had we walked into a side-canyon and just not realized it? The valley is broad here, and there aren't any side canyons. We turn to look back down the trail and there is the green river, flowing big and trail-left just like we thought. And here we stand next to another river, of a different color, flowing the other way and clearly they are different rivers. We are on a strand of land that’s at the most 30’ wide between two different rivers flowing in opposite directions. It isn’t a hairpin, oxbow or meander in one river - it’s TWO DIFFERENT RIVERS!
Impossible, yet here it is, we are seeing it, we are photographing it, but it is impossible. My brain keeps telling me this can't be real. Then I recall the look on the face of the Dugma as she leered at me when we drove past - backwards feet weren’t possible either...
“Were we Poisoned?”
The Original Warriors of S/E Tibet’s “Hidden Lands”
At the time of our 1994, 1995 & 1997 expeditions into S/E Tibet’s “Hidden Lands” it was one of the least known and last unexplored places on the planet. In addition to housing the world’s deepest gorge (almost 4 miles deep), the geologic instability and average rainfall of over 25 feet per year, coupled with its politically “off limits” status enforced by the Communist Chinese, were all effective repellents to even the hardiest explorers.
The other effective repellent was tribal. For hundreds of years the aboriginal Abor (Hill People) and Mishimi (Not Civilized) tribes straddled the southeastern frontier of Tibet. Fiercely territorial, these warring tribes attacked all who attempted to enter the Hidden Lands. They effectively thwarted Europe’s colonial expansion efforts of the mid-1800’s.
In addition, their descendants, the indigenous Monpas of the upper gorge and the Lopas of the lower gorge, possessed the same xenophobic and aggressive attitude. “Poison Cults” flourished. Several early explorers were murdered and three British military incursions were defeated and chased out of the country, further isolating the area.
Tibetan Buddhism believes the more hostile the environment, the more sacred the landscape and the faster the journey to realization. Accordingly, these Hidden Lands are referred to as, “Beyul Pemako” meaning the “Hidden Land of the Blossoming Lotus". Tibetan Buddhist philosophy extols sacred landscapes as hidden places (beyuls) where pilgrims can greatly accelerate their paths to enlightenment. As the deepest, wettest, most geologically unstable and biologically diverse areas on the planet, the Great Bend of the Yarlung Tsangpo River is Tibet’s most revered “Hidden Land”.
Ancient prophecies foretold a time when:
Men will lose sight of truth and religion and will turn to warfare and the pursuit of power for it’s own sake. Dishonesty, greed, and cunning will prevail; an ideology of brutal materialism will spread over the earth.*
*Bernbaum, Edwin. The Way to Shambhala: A Search for the Mythical Kingdom Beyond the Himalayas, (1980) St. Martin’s Press, New York
With the projected inevitability of worldwide destruction, Buddhist texts described pilgrimage routes into Pemako where those with pure karma could retreat. Here they would find Shangri La - a land with no disease or poverty, where sacred waters ensured longevity and food would grow without work. Here they would be liberated from the bondage of time. There would be no toil and inhabitants were free to master the highest science of them all, the science of the mind. Great lamas would teach true wisdom and all would accelerate their spiritual progress. This Shambhala would be a heaven on earth.
Following the annihilation of the outside world, Shambhala residents would emerge to repopulate the earth with an enlightened society.
However, the prophecies were clear - Pemako could only be reached with enormous hardship and pure intention. Those with ulterior motives or negative karma were certain to encounter failure or death.
To many Tibetans, the Communist Chinese invasion of the 1950’s was the prophesied destruction of their world. They fled their oppressors seeking refuge in the “Hidden Lands" or “Shambhala” of the “Great Bend of the Yarlung Tsangpo”. However, despite tremendous efforts the promised paradise failed to materialize. What the pilgrims found instead were devastating landslides, incessant rains, warring tribes, vipers, jungle diseases, blood sucking leeches, tigers, hordes of insects, dense vegetation….. in short, hell on earth.
Thousands of these paradise seekers died while some survivors made it on to resettlement camps in India, Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan.
At the time of our mid-1990’s explorations into the Hidden Lands, Buddhism and the indigenous superstitions walked a thin line. There were Monpa poison witches who practiced black magic. They were called Dugmas. It was a cult and their superstition held that if they killed you, all your positive physical and mental attributes would flow into them. But, a strict protocol had to be followed. A Monpa sorceress would make a “poison vow”. But this could only be executed on a full moon. On that night she would paint half her face black and braid the hair on one side of her head. Once committed, the Dugma was obligated to poison someone within 30 days. In the event she missed the deadline she was bound to poison herself or a family member.
Passing strangers were favorite victims, especially if they seemed strong since the purpose was to gain control over the victim's spirit and energy. The victim died after ingesting a slow-acting lethal concoction of mushroom, snake and frog toxins. The poison could be secreted in food or drink. Dugmas were also known to put the poison under their fingernails and scratch your neck while you were sleeping. Many times concerned locals would warn us not to accept offers of food in certain villages. Our porters were equally as leery and would steer clear of “poison villages”.
In 1995, Troy, Todd and I were offered peaches by a local Monpa. Though tempted, we respectfully declined. He responded with a wry smile saying, “Don’t worry… it’s not the right phase of the moon to poison you!”
It is well known that Daku Norgay - the wife of Tenzing Norgay, Sir Edmund Hillary’s companion on the 1953 first ascent of Everest, had been poisoned in 1992 by a Dugma while on pilgrimage in Pemako. Even the Dalai Lama issued warnings to those considering pilgrimage in Pemako.
Many of our porters were direct descendants of these warring tribal people. In 1995, it was rumored that Troy, Todd and I had been poisoned by a Dugma for swimming in sacred waters. I do know that the three of us fell deathly ill and almost didn’t make it out. We go into great detail about this in our book.
During our three forays into this hostile environment we formed strong friendships with several of our Monpa, Lopa and Khampa porters. It was on these trips that we realized the striking differences between our cultural reality and theirs. We never could get them to understand the concept of a map. Their directions were all in their heads - trails traveled since birth. And chronologic time escaped them. “We’ll meet you there at 3:00pm” meant nothing.
Their lives were lived in a sub-context of malevolent spirits and guardian protectors as real to them as maps and time were to us. The reality gaps were considerable and we had to keep reminding ourselves of this fact.
Unfortunately, the Chinese targeted this area for several hydro-electric damns and most of the locals have been relocated. This culture is now forever lost. We feel extremely fortunate to have experienced it when we did.
For this Blog post I have included a collection of photographs above of Pemako’s local inhabitants. I hope you find them as interesting as we did.
Goodbye Whidbey Island!
Goodbye Whidbey Island!
A blink of the eye and my 4-month writing sabbatical is over. The timing was perfect. I penned my final word a day before I was scheduled to leave.
It was a daunting task. I started my writing every morning at 4:30am and often continued into the evening. I left Whidbey having written over 122,000 words (408 pages).
Troy will be adding an additional 100 pages for the 1997 portion – so we will be over 500 pages.
Our task now is to weed it back down to around 300 pages.
We will find a good editor to help us. Of course I’m biased, but with the photos we have as a compliment, I believe we have one hell of a book.
As a final tribute to the effort – on my long drive home to Scottsdale I went by Ketchum, Idaho. Here I located Earnest Hemingway’s grave and shared a smoke and a beer in his memory.
A year ago I said to myself, “I’m going to take the first 4 months of 2017 and write a book about our 3 Tibet expeditions. I want to write in a cold climate in a cottage on the sea.”
I had no notions of where or even on what continent.
Well I’ll be damned if soon thereafter I didn’t receive an email from life-long friend Craig Hannay that said, “Mom and Dad told me you were looking for a place on the ocean to write a book. Carrie and I would like to offer our beach cottage on Whidbey Island.”
As you can see by the photographs, it was perfect. It was inspirational. It was magnificent. It was a vision come true.
I will forever be indebted to the Hannay’s for their generosity and I will attribute any successes of the book in a large part to this magical setting.
And here’s the icing on the cake – as a final gift – on my last day I was presented with a splendid rainbow arching majestically over Hat Island. Even the locals had never seen anything like it. Rainbows play a significant role in the Hidden Lands of Tibet. They also play a significant role in the book. Was Pemako telling me goodbye?
In my last Blog post I talked about finding and eating a dead bear. I had several people contact me asking, “I thought Buddhists were vegetarian?”
I address this paradox in the book as follows:
We stood there in astonishment as Kaba Tulku performed a “Powa” ceremony, sending the bear’s soul to a better rebirth. When he finished he looked at my brothers and me and smiled as if to say, “A lack of food problem…. What problem?”
As we followed the group back to the cabin I asked Ian, “I thought Buddhists didn’t eat meat?”
“A lot of people think that.” He answered. “But it’s not true. Even the Dalai Lama will eat meat on rare occasions. You see Gil, Buddhists live by the law of karma. Karma is the Buddhist’s “Golden Rule”. And killing incurs the worst karma of all. It has nothing to do with eating meat.
Look at our Monpa porters. They’re drunk with anticipation of a big, fat, juicy bear steak. They realize the bear is a precious gift from the guardian spirits of Pemako. They can feast until their heart’s content and incur zero negative karma because they had nothing to do with its death. You see, the further removed from the actual act of killing the less negative karma you contract.”
And so ends this Blog post. It is my full intention to continue monthly Blogs up and through the publishing of the book. I appreciate your readership and your joining me on this remarkable journey.
© 2017 Tibet Hidden Falls. All Rights Reserved