uh oh.. the elements
After a long morning, we finally pull up to the Shechen Tennyi Monastery. Outside the monastery gate, a few teenage monks lounge around in plastic chairs down by a roadside shop. They wear their ceremonial robes and sip bottled Cokes and joke around like high school kids. One gives another a playful shove, grinning.
The sacred and the everyday—blurred lines in motion.
Nearby, a passing monk strolls past us. I spot something peculiar on his feet. Nike Dunks.
Sidenote: Robes and Nike Dunks? They work.
There’s a sustained coolness in the way these monks move. Like they know something we don’t, and don’t care if we ever find out. I chat with one briefly. He tells me there’s a ceremony coming up — “You shouldn’t miss it,” he says. His smile is calm but certain.
I’m flanked by the French guy and the Mongolian girl on my right and left sides. We approach the front door of the main temple and leave our shoes by the entrance. He’s in Nepal because of his interest in Buddhism. She came here for a conference and decided to skip her return flight and stay.
On the second floor of the main temple, a massive portrait of Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche greets visitors as they enter. They say Dilgo was the most realized being since the Buddha himself. He's a big deal in the Buddhist faith.
I look at the portrait. He locks eyes with me. We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity.
Next to the portrait, there’s a giant wooden statue carved in his image. It’s larger than life. People come up one by one, placing offerings at his feet — money, food, little things that mean something. Small acts of reverence.
I look at his portrait again. I focus on his eyes.
They say he was a great teacher. Patient and pious and kind.
We leave and eat dal bhat and pastries at a nearby spot. I sip a warm Coke. The whole meal costs four dollars.
I think about Rodney and Amrit. Somehow, I always manage to find the right people when I travel. I make a mental note of this as I stare across the street at a woman and her child pushing a food cart. She wears a white top and gently encourages her child as they work together, slowly inching the cart up a slight incline.
A moped driver carrying three giant cement bags whizzes by. Neither the woman nor her child bats an eye as it passes within an inch of them. I walk over to help. Three people can make short work of a job like this. She thanks me and we part ways.
I take a deep breath and let the moment sink in.
After a long morning, we finally pull up to the Shechen Tennyi Monastery. Outside the monastery gate, a few teenage monks lounge around in plastic chairs down by a roadside shop. They wear their ceremonial robes and sip bottled Cokes and joke around like high school kids. One gives another a playful shove, grinning.
The sacred and the everyday—blurred lines in motion.
Nearby, a passing monk strolls past us. I spot something peculiar on his feet. Nike Dunks.
Sidenote: Robes and Nike Dunks? They work.
There’s a sustained coolness in the way these monks move. Like they know something we don’t, and don’t care if we ever find out. I chat with one briefly. He tells me there’s a ceremony coming up — “You shouldn’t miss it,” he says. His smile is calm but certain.
I’m flanked by the French guy and the Mongolian girl on my right and left sides. We approach the front door of the main temple and leave our shoes by the entrance. He’s in Nepal because of his interest in Buddhism. She came here for a conference and decided to skip her return flight and stay.
On the second floor of the main temple, a massive portrait of Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche greets visitors as they enter. They say Dilgo was the most realized being since the Buddha himself. He's a big deal in the Buddhist faith.
I look at the portrait. He locks eyes with me. We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity.
Next to the portrait, there’s a giant wooden statue carved in his image. It’s larger than life. People come up one by one, placing offerings at his feet — money, food, little things that mean something. Small acts of reverence.
I look at his portrait again. I focus on his eyes.
They say he was a great teacher. Patient and pious and kind.
We leave and eat dal bhat and pastries at a nearby spot. I sip a warm Coke. The whole meal costs four dollars.
I think about Rodney and Amrit. Somehow, I always manage to find the right people when I travel. I make a mental note of this as I stare across the street at a woman and her child pushing a food cart. She wears a white top and gently encourages her child as they work together, slowly inching the cart up a slight incline.
A moped driver carrying three giant cement bags whizzes by. Neither the woman nor her child bats an eye as it passes within an inch of them. I walk over to help. Three people can make short work of a job like this. She thanks me and we part ways.
I take a deep breath and let the moment sink in.
