Earthquake is a Lesson

We don't have to do anything. Nature does everything. It gardens, it storms, it shakes, and occasionally it reminds us that we are not nearly as important as we think we are.

A devastating earthquake in Nepal has destroyed thousands of lives. Natural calamities like earthquakes are difficult to predict—because nature doesn't send RSVPs—and can wipe out entire human communities in the time it takes to brew a cup of tea.

Did you know that the Lord Buddha's teacher was nature? He attained enlightenment under a Bodhi tree. That's right—a tree taught him to be natural and in harmony with nature. No PowerPoint. No tuition fees. Just leaves, roots, and silence. The ultimate God, it turns out, is Nature itself.

Powerful nature both destroys and creates. It leaves no stone unturned—literally—in punishing the sinful acts of animals like us. It tries to wipe out those who destroy nature. Irony of ironies: we chop down forests, and nature responds by shaking our foundations. Fair enough, honestly.

Yet here's the strange, beautiful, and deeply hypocritical part. When disaster strikes, people flock to help one another. They come together to share love, truth, and faith. They become saints overnight. But are they like this when the world is normal—when tragedy has not shaken us awake? No, I would say. Then, they cheat, fabricate, and terrorize. They cut corners and cut each other down. It takes a collapsed building to remind us how to be human. Catastrophes like this teach us to love and to truly live. Shame it takes so much death to get there.

Thank God—or thank Nature, same thing—Bhutan has been blessed and was not affected by this earthquake. For now. The ground beneath us is only pretending to be still.

I would like to express my deep sympathies and condolences to the victims of the earthquake in Nepal, India, Bangladesh, and Tibet. May the living find strength, and may the dead find peace.

I will leave you with a photo of the national flag of Bhutan flying at half-mast. It hangs lower than usual, as a symbol of our deep sentiments, condolences, and mourning for all those victims and others affected by the earthquake. A small gesture, but sometimes a bowed flag says what words cannot.

Thank

 

My Khayey Poem

From Google

Note: This poem is purely the product of my personal experience of a remote kind of hard, yet easy, comfortable, and free life. The countryside was it! How I spent nights chasing animals from the field crops. And in the end, the animals and I would be friends in the night. Animals like deer, when I make noises, are saved from the tiger.

Khayey (Sharchopa term): A stilt hut made of bits and pieces of wood, poles, leaves, etc., usually built as a guardhouse for farmlands.

It's hard—
hard in the rain or shine.
But it's free.
It's demanding—
calculating the yields and the meals—
but it's carefree.

A Khayey is thatched with banana leaves.
Through perforated leaves, I see the moon.
The moon is the king of the night,
just as wild animals are.

The Khayey itself is all naturally built:
tall poles, little poles, leaves of varieties.
In this nature, a human as I stand
with an insipid fire burning near my bed.

My maize plants surround the Khayey—
tall and tilting, they swing gently.
Sometimes waves are just under my feet.
Who protects?

Anyways, the fresh evening breeze keeps me fresh.
I can hear every tiny sound—
the sound of all insects and creatures,
the sound of the cuckoo,
the chatting of birds,
the sound of animals rushing beside the farmland.
It's their world.

Slowly the sounds die,
but my friends come to life—
not bothering whose crops they are destroying.
What do I have?
What do they have?

I shout, throw stones piled beside my head.
My guests sprint down for a minute or two.

But soon,
alas! Loud roars roar through the deep valley of the forest,
making different sounds.
There is commotion.
"My deer!" I cried.

And the only way to help them from the prey
is just to shout continuously.
I expect some of them to come near my Khayey
and take refuge.
But it is a two-way blockage.
It is an easy trap for a tiger,
and he would never leave without having one.

There is a painful cry of a deer for many minutes
as he drags it down the valley.

Oh dear, it is painful to have lost my favorite orange deer—
I saw her the previous evening—
and I believe it's all because of me,
because I chased her away from my field.
She came here for refuge.
If she sought refuge here,
then where is my refuge?

The sinking thought answers silently in the night.

Cluster Sports Meet 2015

Darla School is hosting the cluster schools’ sports meet, which begins on 16th and runs until 19th April 2015. Five middle and higher secondary schools from lower Chukha Dzongkhag are participating: Darla MSS, Gedu HSS, Pashikha HSS, Chumithang MSS, and Kamji MSS. A variety of outdoor and indoor games will be played over these four days. Today, on the first day, many athletic events were won by our host school. I hope the other schools won’t have to return home with very red, defeated faces!

After this cluster meet, there will be a Dzongkhag meet, followed by a regional meet, and then the national level. I leave you with some snapshots from the day.

Today When I Come to the School

My son recited a poem during the school poetry recitation competition on 27-3-2015. I wrote a simple poem for him. It is about what he sees when he goes to school. Full video:

https://www.facebook.com/pema.tashi.520

 

Today when I come to the school,

The road was full of mules.

Students were walking

And something they were talking.

Today when I come to the school,

I saw a milkman in his pool,

Pouring milk in his jar

And keeping it inside his car.

Today when I come to the school,

I saw a PP child so cool—

By hanging on the prayer wheel,

"Breaking the rule" is what I feel.

School Rimdro

Darla School hosted a two-day Rimdo on March 19th and 20th, presided over by His Eminence Yangpel Lopen. Below are some snapshots from our school's Rimdo.

Chefs: Ready to cook

Peeling off potatoes

Rimdro invocation

Driving away evil spirits

Sermon to our students

Mask dance to scared away evil spirits in the school

Wang to the public of Darla and nearby communities

 

The Mills of the God Grind Slowly BUT Exceedingly Fine

Very recently, I realized that life after death is fair. Our present deeds determine where we go. There are two destinations: heaven and hell. Life, however, is unfair now. Let me explain before you think I've become a doomsday prophet with bad internet.

Those who work hard often get less. Those who devote themselves suffer the most. Those who live honestly have crooked lives—like a tree that grew in a strong wind. Meanwhile, cheaters, liars, killers, and other wrongdoers seem to be rewarded with good lives. They drive nice cars. They sleep peacefully. It's enough to make a good person consider bad things. Almost.

I wish those who commit bad deeds were punished immediately. Like a lightning bolt. Or a sudden sneeze that never comes. But no. The universe has a slow delivery system.

Fortunately, there is a judge of our deeds—not later, but now. Those who cheat, bully, lie, kill, and commit other crimes are said to go to hell, while good human beings go to heaven. It is slow, but it is sure. The mills of God grind slowly, yet exceedingly fine. 

There is cause and effect in everything we do. This hope keeps me far from bad deeds and far from those who commit them. Also, I'm slightly afraid of ghosts. That helps too.

It is difficult to tune with life. Like an old radio. Some days you get music. Some days you get static. But life is life—you go on with good things, good thoughts, good deeds, a good soul—everything good. Yet in the end, we all turn somewhat bad and fallible. Nothing goes entirely according to our deeds now. Those who cheat continue cheating; those who lie continue lying. Such is the life of man—no extremity, no very good, no very bad. One must follow the middle path: the "badly good."

What is "badly good," you ask? It's when you want to scream at someone but instead you just sigh and make tea. It's when you see a cheater win and you don't flip a table. It's survival. With a little dignity left over.

Below is a song I like to sing when people grumble and do nothing. I call it The International Anthem of the Perpetually Unhappy.

Some people must-have.

Some people have not.

But they'll complain and complain and complain and complain and complain.

Some people will work.

Some simply will not.

But they'll complain and complain and complain and complain and complain.

Like this:

"It's society's fault I don't have a job."

"It's society's fault I am a slob."

"I have potential no one can see."

"Give me welfare. Let me be me!"

Hey, Bud, you're livin' in the Land of the Free.

No one's gonna hand you an opportunity!

(Unless you have an uncle in the ministry. Then maybe.)

Some people must-have.

Some never will.

But they'll complain and complain and complain and complain and complain.

"I don't have a house. I don't have a car."

"I spend all my money getting drunk in a bar."

"I wanna be rich. I don't have a brain."

"Just give me a handout while I complain."

Or this masterpiece:

"I wanna stay in bed and watch TV."

"Go out weekends in a limousine,"

"Dance all night takin' lots of drugs,"

"And wake up when I wanna."

Hey, Bud, you're livin' in the Land of the Free.

No one's gonna hand you an opportunity!

(Except maybe a free headache. Those are easy to come by.)

Some people will learn.

Some never do.

But they'll complain and complain and complain and complain and complain.

Yeah, they'll complain and complain and complain and complain and complain.

So here I am. Trying to be badly good. Watching the cheaters win. Watching the complainers complain. And singing my little song.

The mills of God are grinding. Slowly. Very slowly.

But at least I have tea.