PAST LIFE MEMORY
PRAYER FLAGS
For centuries, Tibetan Buddhists have planted prayer flags outside their homes and other spiritual places. Inscribed with auspicious symbols, invocations, prayers and mantras, prayer flags blow in the endless winds of the high mountains, carrying their beneficent vibrations directly to the gods. Prayer flags are said to bring happiness, long life and prosperity to the flag planter, as well as to those in the same vicinity. So I felt very safe whenever our vehicle past by a temple sporting several hundred flags.
Students of Tibetan Buddhism and other pilgrams travel vast distances for the honour of studying at Darjeeling's monasteries. Others are content just to breathe the hallowed air of this special part of the planet. Having experienced only a small part of their epic journey, myself, I could more easily appreciate exactly why travellers felt so awe-inspired about this region.
Long before my trip to Darjeeling, I had enlarged a photograph of the sunrise on Annapurna Mountain, which is also part of the Himalayas. The picture, taken by a friend during her walking trip through the mountains in Nepal, had captivated me during her slide-show. It shows a cavernous valley, totally veiled in clouds that resemble windblown lakewater, from which the snow-capped mountain rises. The dawn sun paints both the clouds below and the mountain tops beyond in a myriad soft pinks and greys. Somehow I felt an immediate kinship with this mountain. 30 years later, it is still special to me and is thus mounted in pride of place on my living room wall
BHUTIA BUSTY GOMPA
photo by kind courtesy of:
http://www.tripadvisor.in/LocationPhotos-g304557 w11-Darjeeling_West_Bengal.html#19513746
PRAYER WHEEL
Inside and to the right of the entrance doors of Bhutia Busty monastery is a huge, elaborately carved golden prayer wheel to which I was drawn like a bear to honey.
In Tibetan prayer wheels, the mantra (prayer) is Om Mani Padme Hum, which invokes the powerful benevolent attention and blessings of Chenrezig, the embodiment of compassion. It is printed in an ancient Indian script or in Tibetan script, usually on the outside as well as on the scroll inside.
I was truly delighted to have this opportunity to commune with spirit in what felt, to me, like a familiar manner. While others in our party admired the artistically decorated Buddha and other artefacts in that monastery, I remained, grinning like a demented child as I spun that great wheel clockwise 11 times.
44 years after my birth, whilst in this beautiful Himalayan setting, turning the largest prayer wheel I'd ever seen, felt so familiar I realized that the past, present and future had all converged for me.
I had finally come home to my sacred mountains.
As a small child growing up in London, England, I had yearned to visit the Himalayas and often had nighttime dreams of living in one of these small mountainous villages in several of my past lives. My most vivid recollection is of being an itinerant merchant, a family man who travelled constantly, only rarely seeing his family and reconnecting with his neighbours.
At that time, I had been responsible for transporting gems, semi-precious jewels, animal skins and cinnamon bark on a convoy of yaks, through the Eastern Himalayas. We travelled only when the passes were free from snow during the summer months. We would then connect with caravans that had journeyed south from the famed 'silk road'. And I would exchange my goods for herbal remedies, books and writings of the skills and knowledge that had originated in China and Tibet. And, most importantly, I would return home with textiles, including the much requested most magical silk.
In my former lifetimes, I must have often witnessed the sun rising over the Himalayas. And now, as an adult, in this lifetime, the morning after our auspicious shopping trip in Darjeeling, Mom and I were to witness the Himalayan sunrise together. It was almost like a rite of passage for me. We had awoken at 3am to enjoy a cup of tea before accompanying the rest of our family on the dark, slow and bumpy jeep ride to Tiger Hill, which lies further along the torturous mountain crest, only 11 km from town.
TIGER HILL
Every cloudless morning, crowds gather at Tiger Hill, a vantage point of 8,482 feet, to watch an uninterrupted view of the sun rising over the entire Himalayan mountain range. We arrived at our destination about 4.30am, surprised to see a few dozen land rovers and jeeps already parked beneath the stone-built viewing platform. It was so cold, I was glad of my heavy sweater and ski jacket, especially when the wind blew across us on the open platform atop the elevated tower.
Sunrise in the tropics happens very swiftly, and the mere anticipation of its splendour had everyone twittering with excitement. All eyes were glued to the east, and gradually the crowd fell silent.
At that time, I had been responsible for transporting gems, semi-precious jewels, animal skins and cinnamon bark on a convoy of yaks, through the Eastern Himalayas. We travelled only when the passes were free from snow during the summer months. We would then connect with caravans that had journeyed south from the famed 'silk road'. And I would exchange my goods for herbal remedies, books and writings of the skills and knowledge that had originated in China and Tibet. And, most importantly, I would return home with textiles, including the much requested most magical silk.
In my former lifetimes, I must have often witnessed the sun rising over the Himalayas. And now, as an adult, in this lifetime, the morning after our auspicious shopping trip in Darjeeling, Mom and I were to witness the Himalayan sunrise together. It was almost like a rite of passage for me. We had awoken at 3am to enjoy a cup of tea before accompanying the rest of our family on the dark, slow and bumpy jeep ride to Tiger Hill, which lies further along the torturous mountain crest, only 11 km from town.
TIGER HILL
Every cloudless morning, crowds gather at Tiger Hill, a vantage point of 8,482 feet, to watch an uninterrupted view of the sun rising over the entire Himalayan mountain range. We arrived at our destination about 4.30am, surprised to see a few dozen land rovers and jeeps already parked beneath the stone-built viewing platform. It was so cold, I was glad of my heavy sweater and ski jacket, especially when the wind blew across us on the open platform atop the elevated tower.Sunrise in the tropics happens very swiftly, and the mere anticipation of its splendour had everyone twittering with excitement. All eyes were glued to the east, and gradually the crowd fell silent.
I have heard that, instead of silence, some Tiger Hill crowds now greet the dawn with Buddhist chants. While that would also have been wonderful, we, in our silence, shared a sense of reverence, much like a communal prayer that everyone knew by heart and whispered in their own native tongue.
How very blessed we all were to share such a wonderful spectacle of Nature that day. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and not just because it was cold there! I remember thinking that this trip to the Himalayan 'cradle of the gods' was the perfect way to thank the Creator for all of my blessings in life.
How very blessed we all were to share such a wonderful spectacle of Nature that day. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and not just because it was cold there! I remember thinking that this trip to the Himalayan 'cradle of the gods' was the perfect way to thank the Creator for all of my blessings in life.
SUNRISE OVER THE HIMALAYAS
We watched in awe as the pitch dark of night was replaced by a shimmering grey that silhouetted the mountain range, stage-lighting them for Nature's next scene. Suddenly, the eastern sky brightened and the features of the tall mountains became sharper, till we were able to distinguish one mountain from another. Then a blinding beam of sunlight blazed through the clouds, bathing the most easterly mountain peaks in a soft pink hue. Within seconds this rosy glow had spread westward across the entire range. Sunlight illuminated the snows atop each separate mountain peak - and it was dawn.
A collective gasp arose from the crowd and then, filled with joy, we all applauded, for we had been privileged witnesses in the first scenes of an epic play. That our universe provides this marvel on a daily basis is the real miracle, and one that I had so often taken for granted in Canada. Now, since seeing the sunrise over the Himalayas, I have become much more aware of the daily treasures, such as clean air, sweet water, and loving friends that fulfill the promise of joy and beauty in the lives of everyone on the planet.
Sadly, we had been unable to see Everest that morning, because there was just too much cloud to the west, separating us from it. The crowd began dispersing soon after sunrise. Some vendors lingered, selling glossy 4 x 6 inch photographs of the sun rising over Everest to those of us who had not actually seen it that day. I will always remember the silent reverence of the crowd, and the feeling of awe that permeated my entire being, at seeing the sun rise over the Himalayas. Even without spontaneous applause and a Hollywood soundtrack, the effect was unforgettably spectacular.
We descended the tower and then tried to distinguish our jeep from the 40 or so identical vehicles that had been parked, higgeldy-piggledy in the roadway below. In India, order and neatness seems to be optional, even - or perhaps especially - when driving or parking a vehicle. In the Himalayas, the air feels alive and fluid and, somehow, more highly charged than the air at sea level. Perhaps that is why the first light of dawn here is always greeted as a magnificent event?
Our return trip in the early morning light permitted us to see what we had only felt in our bones during our outward bound journey to Tiger Hill. The road back to Darjeeling wound through heavily forested mountainous terrain that only occasionally allowed us glimpses of the broad ridge upon which "the Queen of the Hills" is built. This treacherously narrow road led us past many heavily gilded roadside shrines, that had been liberally festooned with prayer flags hung by grateful, or hopeful, travellers and pilgrims.
We watched in awe as the pitch dark of night was replaced by a shimmering grey that silhouetted the mountain range, stage-lighting them for Nature's next scene. Suddenly, the eastern sky brightened and the features of the tall mountains became sharper, till we were able to distinguish one mountain from another. Then a blinding beam of sunlight blazed through the clouds, bathing the most easterly mountain peaks in a soft pink hue. Within seconds this rosy glow had spread westward across the entire range. Sunlight illuminated the snows atop each separate mountain peak - and it was dawn.A collective gasp arose from the crowd and then, filled with joy, we all applauded, for we had been privileged witnesses in the first scenes of an epic play. That our universe provides this marvel on a daily basis is the real miracle, and one that I had so often taken for granted in Canada. Now, since seeing the sunrise over the Himalayas, I have become much more aware of the daily treasures, such as clean air, sweet water, and loving friends that fulfill the promise of joy and beauty in the lives of everyone on the planet.
Sadly, we had been unable to see Everest that morning, because there was just too much cloud to the west, separating us from it. The crowd began dispersing soon after sunrise. Some vendors lingered, selling glossy 4 x 6 inch photographs of the sun rising over Everest to those of us who had not actually seen it that day. I will always remember the silent reverence of the crowd, and the feeling of awe that permeated my entire being, at seeing the sun rise over the Himalayas. Even without spontaneous applause and a Hollywood soundtrack, the effect was unforgettably spectacular.
We descended the tower and then tried to distinguish our jeep from the 40 or so identical vehicles that had been parked, higgeldy-piggledy in the roadway below. In India, order and neatness seems to be optional, even - or perhaps especially - when driving or parking a vehicle. In the Himalayas, the air feels alive and fluid and, somehow, more highly charged than the air at sea level. Perhaps that is why the first light of dawn here is always greeted as a magnificent event?
Our return trip in the early morning light permitted us to see what we had only felt in our bones during our outward bound journey to Tiger Hill. The road back to Darjeeling wound through heavily forested mountainous terrain that only occasionally allowed us glimpses of the broad ridge upon which "the Queen of the Hills" is built. This treacherously narrow road led us past many heavily gilded roadside shrines, that had been liberally festooned with prayer flags hung by grateful, or hopeful, travellers and pilgrims.PRAYER FLAGS
For centuries, Tibetan Buddhists have planted prayer flags outside their homes and other spiritual places. Inscribed with auspicious symbols, invocations, prayers and mantras, prayer flags blow in the endless winds of the high mountains, carrying their beneficent vibrations directly to the gods. Prayer flags are said to bring happiness, long life and prosperity to the flag planter, as well as to those in the same vicinity. So I felt very safe whenever our vehicle past by a temple sporting several hundred flags.
Students of Tibetan Buddhism and other pilgrams travel vast distances for the honour of studying at Darjeeling's monasteries. Others are content just to breathe the hallowed air of this special part of the planet. Having experienced only a small part of their epic journey, myself, I could more easily appreciate exactly why travellers felt so awe-inspired about this region.
Long before my trip to Darjeeling, I had enlarged a photograph of the sunrise on Annapurna Mountain, which is also part of the Himalayas. The picture, taken by a friend during her walking trip through the mountains in Nepal, had captivated me during her slide-show. It shows a cavernous valley, totally veiled in clouds that resemble windblown lakewater, from which the snow-capped mountain rises. The dawn sun paints both the clouds below and the mountain tops beyond in a myriad soft pinks and greys. Somehow I felt an immediate kinship with this mountain. 30 years later, it is still special to me and is thus mounted in pride of place on my living room wall
BHUTIA BUSTY GOMPA
photo by kind courtesy of: http://www.tripadvisor.in/LocationPhotos-g304557 w11-Darjeeling_West_Bengal.html#19513746
Darjeeling is home to many exquisitely and elaborately decorated monasteries, constructed in remote locations where monks can meditate in peaceful isolation in the idyllic surroundings.
Our jeep made a detour to visit one such monastery on our return from Tiger Hill. The Bhutia Busty Gompa is a fortified ecclesiastical place of learning, a sacred place that is part university, part monastery. Here students learn about and practise the doctrines of peace and love while enjoying glorious views of the Kanchenjunga peak.
The monastery, originally called the "Place of the Thunderbolt", has had a long association with Darjeeling, which itself translates as "Resting Place of the Thunderbolt". Mt. Kanchenjunga, the third highest peak in the world, forms an awe-inspiring backdrop for Bhutia Busty Gompa, which was destroyed by an earthquake in 1934, but preserved and restored to its former glory by the King of Sikkim because Bhutia Busty Gompa is one of the branches of the Nyingmapa sect's Phodang Monastery in Sikkim, run by the red sects of the Lamas who are the original owners of the monastery.
The Bhutia Busty Gompa is known for its exquisite library on the top floor which houses a number of Buddhist books plus a rich collection of books on Tibetan culture including The Tibetan Book of the Dead which attracts tourists and visitors.
Our jeep made a detour to visit one such monastery on our return from Tiger Hill. The Bhutia Busty Gompa is a fortified ecclesiastical place of learning, a sacred place that is part university, part monastery. Here students learn about and practise the doctrines of peace and love while enjoying glorious views of the Kanchenjunga peak.
The monastery, originally called the "Place of the Thunderbolt", has had a long association with Darjeeling, which itself translates as "Resting Place of the Thunderbolt". Mt. Kanchenjunga, the third highest peak in the world, forms an awe-inspiring backdrop for Bhutia Busty Gompa, which was destroyed by an earthquake in 1934, but preserved and restored to its former glory by the King of Sikkim because Bhutia Busty Gompa is one of the branches of the Nyingmapa sect's Phodang Monastery in Sikkim, run by the red sects of the Lamas who are the original owners of the monastery.
The Bhutia Busty Gompa is known for its exquisite library on the top floor which houses a number of Buddhist books plus a rich collection of books on Tibetan culture including The Tibetan Book of the Dead which attracts tourists and visitors.
PRAYER WHEEL
Inside and to the right of the entrance doors of Bhutia Busty monastery is a huge, elaborately carved golden prayer wheel to which I was drawn like a bear to honey.
A Buddhist prayer wheel is a hollow metal cylinder, often beautifully carved, mounted on a rod handle and containing a tightly wound scroll printed with a mantra. According the Tibetan Buddhist belief, spinning such a wheel is just as effective as reciting them orally. And at 8000 feet, where the air is thin, being able to pray while conserving your breath really is a blessing. Prayer wheels come in many sizes: they may be small, attached to a stick and spun around by hand, medium-sized and set up at monasteries or temples, or very large and continuously spun by a wind or water mill.
photo by kind courtesy of
http://www.transitionsabroad.com/publications/magazine/0711/
photo by kind courtesy of
http://www.transitionsabroad.com/publications/magazine/0711/
In Tibetan prayer wheels, the mantra (prayer) is Om Mani Padme Hum, which invokes the powerful benevolent attention and blessings of Chenrezig, the embodiment of compassion. It is printed in an ancient Indian script or in Tibetan script, usually on the outside as well as on the scroll inside.
I was truly delighted to have this opportunity to commune with spirit in what felt, to me, like a familiar manner. While others in our party admired the artistically decorated Buddha and other artefacts in that monastery, I remained, grinning like a demented child as I spun that great wheel clockwise 11 times.
THE NUMBER ELEVEN
In numerology, the number eleven is said to be a Master Number associated with transcendental knowledge, the refinement of ideals, intuition, revelation, artistic and inventive genius, whose promise is fulfilled when those carrying the number work with a more practical partner.
Eleven is a higher octave of the number two, the natural number of partnership. It carries psychic vibrations and has an equal balance of masculine and feminine properties. Because eleven contains many gifts such as psychic awareness and a keen sense of sensitivity, those who vibrate to its energy have also to be aware of its negative effects. The innocence and trust of those carrying the eleven vibration can invite treachery and betrayal from secret enemies, though even these setbacks and adversities often create opportunities for Elevens to further develop their inner strength and purpose. This is true whether 11 represents a person's name or their destiny.
In Western Astrology, the eleventh zodiac sign is Aquarius, sign of brotherhood, liberty and truth. It challenges us to recognize and express our own individuality, integrity and truth. In my own personal astrology, Aquarius is my Ascending sign as well as the Sun signs of both of my children. Further, my given name of Christobelle adds up to eleven, as do my middle name of Lorraine and my birth surname.
When I was a young child of 8 or 9, I had questioned my Mother about the spelling of my first name, and was told that she changed it so that, numerologically, it would equal eleven. When I pressed her for more information, she reluctantly divulged the story about the holy man who had shown up in the hospital and given her a Reading concerning my life's path, shortly after my birth in Bombay, India.
In numerology, the number eleven is said to be a Master Number associated with transcendental knowledge, the refinement of ideals, intuition, revelation, artistic and inventive genius, whose promise is fulfilled when those carrying the number work with a more practical partner.
Eleven is a higher octave of the number two, the natural number of partnership. It carries psychic vibrations and has an equal balance of masculine and feminine properties. Because eleven contains many gifts such as psychic awareness and a keen sense of sensitivity, those who vibrate to its energy have also to be aware of its negative effects. The innocence and trust of those carrying the eleven vibration can invite treachery and betrayal from secret enemies, though even these setbacks and adversities often create opportunities for Elevens to further develop their inner strength and purpose. This is true whether 11 represents a person's name or their destiny.
In Western Astrology, the eleventh zodiac sign is Aquarius, sign of brotherhood, liberty and truth. It challenges us to recognize and express our own individuality, integrity and truth. In my own personal astrology, Aquarius is my Ascending sign as well as the Sun signs of both of my children. Further, my given name of Christobelle adds up to eleven, as do my middle name of Lorraine and my birth surname.
When I was a young child of 8 or 9, I had questioned my Mother about the spelling of my first name, and was told that she changed it so that, numerologically, it would equal eleven. When I pressed her for more information, she reluctantly divulged the story about the holy man who had shown up in the hospital and given her a Reading concerning my life's path, shortly after my birth in Bombay, India.
Needless to say, I wanted to hear more about that, but Mom has always steadfastly refused to divulge any details, saying that I would find my way through and to my destiny, if it was meant to be.
A later blog episode, entitled, "A Convoluted Beginning" will tell you more about the holy man who met my Mother within 24 hours of my birth.
A later blog episode, entitled, "A Convoluted Beginning" will tell you more about the holy man who met my Mother within 24 hours of my birth.
44 years after my birth, whilst in this beautiful Himalayan setting, turning the largest prayer wheel I'd ever seen, felt so familiar I realized that the past, present and future had all converged for me.
My life had travelled full circle.
I had finally come home to my sacred mountains.
Is it any wonder that, despite my culture-shock, I could not cease smiling through my tears during my time in the Himalayas!
***********************************************************
SECTION 2 Chapter 1 Eskdalemuir Escapades takes you on an earthy yet spiritual journey through the convoluted and
serendipitous adventures, that led me to Buddhism in this lifetime.
No comments:
Post a Comment