The terrible events in Tibet of the past few days have me thinking about our Tibetan friends and reflecting on the times we've spent at lectures with the Dalai Lama (HHDL, to his people). I think I've said before here (and certainly in my writing and to my friends) that when it comes to matters of spiritual practice, I tend, like my eating habits, toward omnivorism. If a body of belief espouses peace and justice and taking care of others, I'm in. And, if it is sound psychology, I'm not only in but climbing the stairs. Having spent two weeks in sessions with the Dalai Lama over the past 25 years, I feel confident saying that he is a profound psychologist. His attention to empathy and his call to work toward the happiness of "all sentient beings" resonates.
Like many others who've been concerned about the future of Tibet, my heart is breaking: two friends have received first-hand reports, which are excruciating to read, and the news this morning that the Dalai Lama, an unwavering believer in nonviolence, is willing to step down as the political leader of Tibet if that would contribute to the violence coming to an end, make me want to...you know, I don't know what it makes me want to do but it's a lot more than sit here and post to my blog.
Some years ago, my husband and I noticed a banner outside an art gallery in Meredith, New Hampshire: "Tibetan Children's Art Exhibit." There we found the most amazing collection of paintings by children who had fled Tibet without their parents (they send them out in hopes of a better life) and resettled in the north of India at Tibetan Children's Village. We looked at the many paintings on the walls and in the many drawers and listened to the story of how these paintings came about. To deal with the trauma they experience during their dangerous journeys across the Himalayas, these kids are offered art lessons once they arrive in India. Art as therapy. We decided almost without discussion to purchase two pieces, this one, "Life is a Dream," and the one at the end of this post.
We chose "Life is a Dream" because we liked it and because it was painted by a young boy, T. Lobsang, who is completely deaf. My hubby was born on this very date 64 years ago with a 60% hearing loss in both ears. Enough said. Beneath the painting, which hangs in our living room, is the small plaque that was on the gallery wall, explaining more about this talented young man.
We also chose a second painting, White Tara, the female Buddha associated with compassion and long life, because it was painted by the children's art teacher, Sonam Choephel. The original, which this photo can't possibly reflect due to my limited photographic skill, is exquisite and hangs in our dining room. It's especially meaningful because some years ago, Sonam Tsering, the father of our friend Phuni Meston, came to our house for dinner and said prayers in front of it. Sonam, a Tibetan nomad who fled his country after the Chinese occupation and lived for many years in India before joining his daughter and son-in-law here in Boston, passed on in 2005. I think of him every time I walk through the dining room.
White Tara by Sonam Choephel
