A Monkey in the Buddha's Lap

As a prelude to the journey, I'm posting a story I fashioned out of some of last year's email posts from Nepal (with excellent editorial advice from Glenda M.) I would definitely love to get into the travel writing business. What traveller wouldn't, I suppose. I am fascinated with the way that my mind opens up to new insights as a result of moving my body to new locations. Adding the element of being paid to do it would be perfection itself. Enjoy.

A Monkey in the Buddha's Lap


After six full weeks in the Kathmandu valley I had still not seen a single monkey. Pictures of monkeys scampering through temple courtyards are quite common and I was excited by the prospect of these ancestral clowns as daily companions. What I came to experience was a different story.

Greater Kathmandu has satellite communities on either side, both of which contain large Tibetan expatriate communities. Each of these has an imposing stupa, a round structure representative of the body, speech and mind of the Buddha. The area surrounding the Boudhanath stupa where I was living is relatively flat and largely devoid of trees. The Swayambhunath stupa, on the other side of Kathmandu, is set on a small mountain that rises high above the city and is covered with thick vegetation. So the monkeys were all lodging on the other side of town.

The taxi drive from Boudha to Swayambhu is less than a half hour, so there was no great obstacle to calling on my monkey friends at any time. But life in Boudha got very busy very fast. I was spending my days studying the Tibetan language and the gyaling; an oboe-like shawm played in temples, which requires a circular breathing technique similar to the didgeridoo. My daily lessons and other involvements with new friends in Boudha meant that the trip kept getting put off.

On my final day I took action. Auto-rickshaws and tuktuks belching noxious black smoke, the cacophony of beeping horns and the lazy cows reclining in the middle of major thoroughfares in comically oblivious languor were old hat by now. My mind was fixated on the one thing I had not yet seen.

Upon arrival at the stupa devout pilgrims were already spinning myriad colorful prayer wheels while circumambulating its base. Running, playing, chattering and munching among them were the joyful monkeys I had waited so long to see.

As I began my own ascent up the thousands of narrow stairs to the top of the stupa I passed between two impressively tall Buddha statues, seated in the usual serene cross-legged repose. The devout may consider them objects of veneration, but monkey karma dictates that Buddha statues are equally good for jungle-gym fun. One somewhat quieter monkey was seated happily in the Buddha's lap, eating some grain or seeds, which had fallen into the begging bowl in his upturned hand.

Over the course of six weeks in Nepal I had often felt like those monkeys. My faltering attempts to master the Tibetan language must often have sounded like so much monkey chatter. The frequent squawks I had made in trying to play the gyaling had provided a great deal of comic relief for the monk who was my patient teacher. But through it all there was also the nourishment provided by the loving-kindness and compassion of the Buddha whose philosophy and way of life had started me on this pilgrimage about five years before in a small Toronto temple.

Since Boudha has more temples per square inch than most other places on earth it also has a very large number of Rinpoches. Rinpoche is the Tibetan word for "precious" and is often used as a term of veneration for high lamas who are incarnations of previous great masters. I always think of them as spiritual prodigies. They demonstrate higher than normal spiritual capabilities at a young age, similar to the way that musical or artistic prodigies show early signs of mastery that go far beyond their years. Tibetans have perfected a system for finding these adepts and putting them through rigorous training in order to ensure that their gifts are maximized and put to the greatest possible use for the welfare of human society.

Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche gives a dharma talk every Saturday morning to which many westerners come. He usually delivers it in Tibetan through a translator, but often gives illustrations in English. These never fail to be hilarious and filled with jokes and laughter. He loves to make fun of his thick accent and his difficulty with English pronunciation. The word "balloon" which usually comes out "bloon" is a constant feature repeated with much humorous effect. "Peak" and "pick" are also good for lots of fun. When he laughs, he rocks back on his seat, throws his head back and lets go with a high pitched cackle. The whole audience can't help but laugh along.

One evening, Phakchok Rinpoche (Chokyi Nyima's nephew and the head of my lineage) asked me to come and meet the monk who would be my gyaling teacher. The monk, Ngawang Tenpa, was quite late so we talked for a couple of hours and had dinner together.

His father, Chokling Rinpoche came in while we were eating. He is a very large and jolly man. He was still standing at the door when Phakchok Rinpoche told him that I was from Toronto. "Toronto!" he said, with a big smile on his face "Go away, you must have SARS!" Then he jumped back and hid behind the door curtain and kept laughing and peeking out to see if I was still there. Seeing this imposing and important man jumping up and down, laughing and playing a child-like game of peek-a-boo was a wonderful first impression.

All of the lamas I met spoke fluent English, but I lodged with a family who only knew Tibetan. This, I hoped, would accelerate my linguistic progress. Sentence structure proved to be one of the biggest challenges. Since in Tibetan, like in German, the verb comes at the end of the sentence I always found myself getting to my "action words" far too soon. Then I had to back track to insert all the rest of the grammar. I also had to get used to saying things like "a just arrived from India man" instead of "a man who just arrived from India."

My host family took to having me "translate" the BBC news for them every night during supper. I could never give them too much detail, but usually got the gist across. A typical description of a political demonstration would go: "These people like/don't like Saddam Hussein, and are making a lot of noise." It probably helped me practice more than it helped them understand the situation, but we had a lot of fun with it.

Ngawang, my gyaling teacher, decided that he wanted me to teach him some English as well. I would translate phrases from Tibetan into English for him. He doesn't write in English, so he transliterated all of it with Tibetan characters. Then he tried bravely to wrap his tongue around the inscrutable English language (especially those devilish "th" "v" and "f" sounds.)

Since in written Tibetan there is no separation of words, only of syllables, he was left to his own devices as to where one word ended and another began (a similar problem that foreigners have in reading Tibetan.) His attempts would often come out like: "To dayI willgo to themar ketand buy some cheese." Every mistake he made (and there were plenty) was greeted with his own gleeful self-deprecating laughter. I decided he was a good example of the approach I should take to my own Tibetan studies.

I definitely progressed faster at the gyaling than at language. I guess I'm more intuitively a musician than a linguist. Soon enough I found some ease in playing the instrument, and although I still made a few squeaks and squawks I made quick progress. Phakchok Rinpoche would be visiting Toronto at the end of the summer and I hoped to be good enough to play during his stay at our temple.


As the weeks went by I was asked to play at three different pujas. The first was the monthly "Dakini Tsok" which takes place on the twenty-fifth day of the Tibetan lunar month. The gyaling is always played in pairs with one player being the leader, determining the tunes, and so forth. So I played "second" for that puja. I was a bit nervous at first, but the monk and I had already been friends for some time so the atmosphere was comfortable and I soon relaxed.

The next was a feast offering on the solar eclipse day that took place during my stay. Phakchok Rinpoche and about twelve lamas and monks came. Rinpoche said I should try playing, and after it was over he said he was very pleased with my progress. I was even more nervous at that Tsok because of all the lamas, and a different playing partner, but he was also very easygoing, so stress was kept to a minimum.

The following day was the first of two days of funeral pujas for a monk who died while in retreat. There wasn't much playing to be done, but Ngawang Tenpa and I played together. The gyalings that they had in the funeral shrine room were old and hard to play, so I was happy when the next day at the cremation I was relieved of my duties. There were twenty lamas and monks in attendance and many better-qualified players than I.

The funeral puja took place in an "outdoor building" (roofed, but not entirely enclosed by walls.) The monks sat on marble benches, which protruded from the walls. The shrouded body was brought from a cold room where it had been kept on ice and was put on a funeral pyre. The pyre was in another roofless area separated by a short wall, so we couldn't actually see the body burn.

Amidst much chanting and playing of drums, cymbals, bells and gyaling, the pyre was lit. Many different types of offerings (everything from soy bean oil to sticks of bamboo, tall dried grass and strips of cut up cloth with mantras printed on them) were prayed over and then added to the fire. The whole range of offerings was repeated until the body was entirely burnt up. It took about four or five hours in all.

After it was finished I went to see what remained of the body. A light breeze was blowing and ashes from the unbelievably small pile of grey dust were already being picked up and showering the earth from which they had come.

Music was a theme at more lighthearted occasions, as well. One spring day I was invited to Phakchok Rinpoche's birthday party. It took place on the lawn of a large and lovely apartment building owned by his father, Chokling Rinpoche. A beautiful, large tent with colorful Tibetan designs was set up, and a sumptuous buffet was served by an attentive staff dressed in crisp white uniforms standing behind tables covered in starched linen on which delicious food steamed from gleaming silver platters. Chokling Rinpoche, Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche, Dechen Paldron (Phakchok Rinpoche's ever elegant mother) and many important lamas and monks were in attendance, as well as a large group of western students and supporters.


After dinner Chokling Rinpoche summoned me to his side. In a very loud voice for all to hear, he said: "Sing us a song." I guess Phakchok Rinpoche had told him that I was a musician. I was a bit taken off guard by the command for a performance, but when a Rinpoche says, "Sing" you sing!

There is a song that we sometimes sing at the Riwoche Temple in Toronto on special occasions. It is a hymn of praise to Padmasambhava, the tantric master who brought Buddhism to Tibet. It seemed appropriate, so I launched into this rather slow and lilting devotional song.

They listened respectfully but as I headed back to my seat Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche cried: "Sing another one. This time not so slow!" To which Chokling Rinpoche added: "Rock and Roll!" Chokyi Nyima said he wanted to hear a Canadian song, and suddenly, "Ah, si mon moine voulait danser" (Oh, if my monk would only dance) came into my head. Given the number of monks in attendance it seemed appropriate enough.

As I sang Chokyi Nyima began to bang his spoons in rhythm on the table. I don't think he had any idea that French Canadians play the spoons when these types of songs are being sung, but it was a perfect moment of cross-cultural symbiosis. They continued asking for more songs and I had to perform five in all before the "concert" was finished.

When I started the third song, Chokling Rinpoche decided it would be fun to sing along, so he jokingly imitated what I had just sung a few seconds in delay. For the fourth song Chokyi Nyima joined in and we sang a very cacophonous trio. Everybody was rolling with laughter seeing their revered lamas being so spontaneously silly, and although I wasn't sure exactly whether I was playing the role of singer, or court jester, I was happy to facilitate the levity.

Finally they requested O Canada, which felt a bit strange to sing by myself in that setting. I was pleased when about half way through Chokling Rinpoche raised his hand and cut me off, saying: "Okay that's enough." and the concert came to an abrupt end.

Good lamas have the ability to help us not take ourselves too seriously by over-identifying with our feelings and experiences. Often they do this by keeping us just a little off balance, so that hopefully, we can get a glimpse into the impermanent and ever shifting nature of human self-identity. This experience certainly had that effect on me. It also gave me quite a bit of notoriety around town. For the rest of my stay I would bump into monks on the street who would point at me and say: "You're the one who sang at Rinpoche's birthday." Then they would launch into their comical version of western singing. There was lots of laughter and friendly backslapping for weeks to come.

It is said that monkeys who spend their lives around sacred places are very fortunate. They are living out a karmic connection, which will result in better rebirths culminating in final enlightenment. Maybe I was once a temple monkey and am now just a little further down the path to ultimate realization.

Since returning to my temple in Toronto, and to Sonam Rinpoche, the perfect lama who guides it, I have proudly played the gyaling in the ceremonial processions and rituals for Phakchok Rinpoche's visit. I have also been asked to sing twice more for lamas here in the west. My lama has started to help me with my Tibetan studies, and I have begun to teach the gyaling to other temple members. Next summer Rinpoche wants to take a trip to Tibet. I will gladly go along, meet more masters, visit more temples, and lap up whatever I can from the Buddha's begging bowl.