went to in Shanghai. The carpets were quite lovely and, after having resisted in Turkey, we bought one here. I know
it will provide us with good memories as well as enhance our home.
vendors and at the entrance of the road to the Potala Palace. This
"factory" has been there for many years--before it became a
tourist stop. The women at the looms are truly talented and should
be considered to be masters of an ancient art.
Along the street around the temples and monasteries are large
prayer wheels which the people spin as they go by. Within each of
the wheels are scripture. It is believed that as the wheels are spun,
the prayers are offered without private supplication. To the
observer, the process appears to be rather superficial, lacking
personal involvement or feeling.
travels, with clothes being worn for
days at a time. The children, with
their large, scared eyes, look
forlorn and lost as they cling to
their mothers' skirts or hide behind
other adults.
Palace, the Jokhang Temple, the Drepung Monastery and the summer Palaces of
the Dali Lamas. Ones that can afford it, make the trip up the mountains to the
Ganden Monastery. Traditionally, they circle around the palace and the temples
Buddha statutes of their choosing. The smell of yak butter, incense, unwashed bodies and centuries of dust and use
becomes almost overpowering
Buddhist monks. We arrived at meal time, entering the large hall where 200 or so
monks, sitting cross-legged on raised mats, were eating from their bowls. The monks
ranged from young boys to old men, all dressed in the red robes they seem to wear
all the time whether in the temples or out on the streets. Many smiled or nodded at
us, letting us know that we were welcome. Sunlight filtered in from openings in the
roof with the only other light coming from dim electric bulbs, providing a calming
and reflective atmosphere. Many statues and shrines filled alcoves around the room
whileyak butter and incense competed with the aroma of the noontime meal. After
the meal the monks returned to their rooms for an hour of meditation.
groups formed throughout the courtyard, holding boisterous and
animated discussions. Some were standing, arms waving, fingers
pointing while others sat and responded or walked around. Clearly
this was an enjoyed mental exercise. They were having fun.
around us, all walking clockwise while we walked counterclockwise. Soon the street was full, the crowd huge. The
more we walked, the more we had to struggle through the oncoming horde. We knew that something was happening
but hadn't a clue what that was. The next day Tsring explained that this was called "doing the circle." Every night
hundreds of pilgrims and Lhasans "circle" the Jokhang Temple. Some of them fully prostrate themselves after each
step.
The ground in front of the temple, day and night, is filled with men and women of all ages repeatedly prostrating, full
body. That day I wrote: "The temple is just a block away from our hotel. It is truly an amazing, stunning sight.
Scores of pilgrims crowded outside the doors, prostrating themselves again and again. They would fall forward--they
had little pieces of cloth under their hands.This allowed them to slide. Some were knocking their heads on the
ground each time they went down. We joined the mass of pilgrims going inside--jockeying for space. They were
chanting mantras as, slowly shuffling, they circled the rooms, entering the various shrines--each with a different
Buddha. Children were running around or timidly holding parents hands."
Shrine was founded in
the 7th century and is
the holiest in all of Tibet.
Inside is replete with
candles, buddhas,
shrines and dust.
Pilgrims leave yak butter
and yuan ($) at various
places. Monks carry on
with their activities. It is
absence of joy or sense of hope within it. As with the Potala Palace, the
roof has many golden spires and offers incredible views.
bewildering, bustling Barkhor Market--a maze of streets and alleys
selling a myriad of things. There are sections for meat (mostly
yak), vegetables, clothes, furniture, yak-butter, home utensils,
everything.
and looking--taking it all in. Monks wander the streets, often
asking for money. Pilgrims rest in the plaza; incense burns in a
large kiln outside the temple door; peddlers with their carts move
from place to place; shoeshine children beg for business;
well-dressed Lhasans walk with the purpose of business people
everywhere. Once a well-dressed woman asked if her friend
could take a picture of her standing with us--that was strange. I
guess she just wanted a picture of herself with Americans.
center of town. Once there were
many such nunneries and nuns; but
since the Chinese crackdown, most
of the nunneries have been
destroyed and there are not many
nuns left. The atmosphere here
was quite different than the monks'
monasteries. There was a light,
feminine quality to the yards and
buildings--quite peaceful and
serene.
who were rolling scriptures for prayer
wheels. They bashfully spoke English,
joked and played with us. There was a
lot of giggling and laughter. You felt
your spirits lifted here. Young girls are
"given" to the nunnery by parents when
they are between 9-11 years old. It is a
lifelong obligation but we sensed no
unhappiness on the part of any of
them, young or old. They seemed to be
very satisified with their lives.
