Let's Go Mad

by Rob Binkley

  By early evening, the grass field was full of running horses and drunken Tibetans falling all over themselves. I knew I needed to hightail it before I got locked up so I went looking for Brian, who I found on the other side of the grounds leading a table full of blasted Tibetans in song.

  “Dude, you’re supposed to be keeping a low profile!” I shouted. Brian didn’t hear me, he was overjoyed and completely in the moment. It sounded like he had them singing Billy Joel but I must have been hearing things.

  I finally got Brian’s attention, “Party’s over, we gotta blow … now!” He got up from the table laughing, but the crowd of revelers kept pulling him back. Eventually we made our escape; we smiled and thanked everyone for their hospitality, and they gave us hugs.

  Near the fairgrounds exit, we passed Dawa sitting with an old Tibetan woman who was rubbing his head. They looked very cozy. His greasy black hair was standing on end; he looked happy for the first time.

  “Look … Dawa’s got a lady!”

  We laughed like two drunken parrots then stumbled our way back to the hotel, weaving through the village while repeating “Namaste, baby” to everyone we passed who were all as drunk as we were. I finally asked Brian, “Were you singing ‘Piano Man’ with a table full of Tibetans back there?!”

  He laughed. “They taught me the song!”

  We sang “Piano Man” all the way home.

  The next day we treated our hangovers with some spiritual medicine. We forced ourselves to get out of bed early so we could tour every temple and monastery in town. It was ambitious, but Brian was on a mission. He even shaved his head to get into character.

  “Dude, you’re not kidding around,” I said when he appeared from the bathroom looking like David Carradine in TV’s Kung Fu. He dried off his head.

  “You shaved your melon looking for sexual pleasure … I shaved mine looking for enlightenment.”

  “Geez, you don’t have to make me feel bad about it.”

  “I do not judge, I only point out that this is not a fashion choice.”

  “Yeah, okay. Out of respect, I won’t mock you incessantly.”

  Our first stop was the Jokhang Temple, a four-story wooden complex with a golden top in the center of town. The ultimate spot for Buddhist pilgrims, it was founded in 639 during the Tang Dynasty. We stood in the center of its square and saw the entire complex. We followed a row of flickering votive lights that led to the main hall, which housed the oldest shrine in the temple that was over thirteen hundred years old. Above the main entrance hung a dharma wheel flanked by two golden deer. “The dharma wheel represents the unity of all things,” Brian pointed out.

  While we were admiring the golden bejeweled statue of a twelve-year-old Buddha that sat in the middle of the hall, an old Buddhist monk named Da Shin struck up a conversation with us after he heard us talking about California.

  “California, eh? Do you surf?” he stopped to ask.

  “I tell all the girls I do, but I’m embarrassed to say not really,” I said.

  “The Beach Boys, I love them,” he laughed. “I see you have shaved your head very recently.”

  Brian smiled sheepishly, “I think I want to become a monk.”

  “And I want to be a surfer when I grow up!” he replied and laughed. “Seriously, I suggest you rub Tiger Balm on your head so you don’t chafe.”

  Da Shin introduced himself and we all hit it off, which was great; we had an expert mentor and a guide for the day. Da Shin toured us around the Barkhor that circled the Jokhang. He stopped to talk to all the beggars, touts, and hawkers, calling them “sir” and “madame.” Da Shin blessed them all.

  “Do you bless all the touts and beggars you see?” Brian asked.

  He smiled. “I do not judge. They are, how you say in California, ‘making lemonade out of the lemons’ that life has given them.”

  “But many do not work, they beg when they are able-bodied,” I said.

  “If you walked a day in their shoes, you might find their circumstances to be more complex … In this life, the tragedies one endures don’t always show on the faces of men.”

  He began to tell us “the story” we had traveled all the way to Tibet to hear: the story of Siddhartha Gautama, or the Buddha.

  “Siddhartha was born in India in 566 BC. He was the only prince in a royal family who married by arrangement at age sixteen. Siddhartha had all of life’s earthly pleasures, but he chose to leave his palace in search of spiritual knowledge at age twenty-nine.”

  “That’s my age,” Brian interjected with a smile.

  “Will you please let him talk?” I said. Da Shin smiled then continued:

  “Siddhartha went into the streets to meet his people. He had never seen poverty or sickness before, and it made him very sad. Before he left the palace, no one had told him that humans must die one day. Realizing his ignorance, he began searching for truth. He became a student of yoga under two hermit teachers where he sought enlightenment through deprivation.

  “He ate one leaf or nut per day in his search for truth—but became so weak he collapsed in a river and nearly drowned. Near starvation, he looked up and saw a beautiful village girl offering him milk and rice pudding, which he accepted. Her name was Sujata.

  “At that moment, he had an epiphany. He realized the road to enlightenment could not be found by severe asceticism—but somewhere between sensual indulgence and deprivation. Somewhere in the middle … He called it ‘The Middle Way.’”

  I said, “So that is why Buddhists believe it’s good not to get too high or too low.”

  “That’s right, good. The Middle Way consists of Four Noble Truths. Buddha taught that through the mastery of these four truths, a state of supreme liberation, or nirvana, is possible for any being,” Da Shin said. “Nirvana is the perfect peace of mind that’s free from ignorance, greed, and hatred.”

  “We’re quite familiar with Nirvana,” I said.

  “It’s not the band, you know,” Da Shin said as he laughed. “Though I love Kurt Cobain.”

  “It’s when no personal identity or boundaries of the mind remains,” Brian added.

  “Yes, you two have been studying!” Da Shin said.

  “We don’t just surf back in California,” I said. Da Shin continued.

  “So. When Buddha discovered the Middle Way, he became known as ‘the Enlightened One,’ but he had yet to discover the ultimate truth, so he sat under a Bodhi tree in India to meditate. He vowed not to rise until he had found it. Then, on the forty-ninth day, at the age of thirty-five, Buddha attained full enlightenment … He had complete insight into the cause of suffering, and the steps necessary to eliminate it. Buddha spent the rest of his life teaching this wisdom, which are the same lessons that we as monks pass down to future generations. And that, my friends, is Buddhism in, how you say … a nutshell?”

  “Can I have an application to join the priesthood?” Brian asked.

  “Monkhood.”

  “Sorry, right.”

  “We don’t take applications, but you can join us anytime. And contrary to popular belief, a shaved head is not necessary. We only do it because it is one less thing to attach yourself to.”

  It was starting to get dark. We talked with our friend Da Shin a little longer and told him about our yearlong journey for self-discovery, then said our goodbyes. “Thank you for sharing your knowledge with us,” I said.

  “Anytime, my friends. May your quest for meaning bear fruit.”

  Brian asked him for a hug. Da Shin laughed and gave us both one.

  “Enjoy the California surf. You are privileged to live in such a beautiful part of the world. Don’t ever forget, with great privilege comes great responsibility.”

  I looked at Brian. “Where have I heard that before?”

  Da Shin gave us one final wave and walked back into the main hall.

  We left the monastery. Brian said, “That was the coolest monk I’ve ever met … even cooler than Thelonious Monk.”

 
“I don’t know who that is,” I said.

  “Of course you don’t. And that’s okay.”

  I punched him in the arm playfully like we did when we were twelve years old wrestling on the Santa Cruz beaches with our junior high girlfriends. We walked back to our hotel that night and my myriad of earthly problems seemed small when compared to the steps we were taking on our spiritual path.

  But when all can seem at its best, you never know when life will take a turn for the worst. My fate was about to change and I wasn’t prepared. I had forgotten the old adage Jack taught me: “When you least expect it, expect it.”

  I had no idea the next sunrise would be my last in Tibet.

  It seemed unfathomable at the time. We were so close to achieving our spiritual goals—then the “ghosts of our past sins” and the magnetic force of our fatal flaws pulled us back into the eternal samsara and doomed me to hell.

  The day started early and we were full of life. We woke for breakfast then took a bus to the Potala Palace, which overlooked all of Lhasa. A huge monastery that was built in the seventh century, it was the spiritual headquarters of Buddhism right up until it was taken over by the Chinese.

  We toured Norbulingka first. It was the summer palace of the Dalai Llamas and was founded by the seventh Dalai Lama in 1755. They call it the Jeweled Park for its sublime beauty. Legend has it the fourteenth Dalai Lama made his escape disguised as a Tibetan soldier from Norbulingka in 1959 to save himself from the invading Chinese.

  Something seemed off with Brian while we toured the Jeweled Park. Maybe it was just me but he felt far away, deep in his own thoughts. His freshly shaved head and face made him seem like a different person. With no wild hair and scruffy stubble, his coarse Neanderthal side was long gone. He seemed to be evolving into some spiritual alien presence before my eyes.

  Brian and I spent the morning praying with the monks. We would pray in one prayer hall, then walk to another and do it again. At around eleven o’clock, we were on our way to another prayer hall that was at the top of this huge staircase.

  Brian was carrying this kid on his back (who he picked up after seeing he was out of breath walking up the stairs). I commented, “Walking through here makes me want to become a born-again Buddhist,” I said, trying to tap into his mind game.

  He didn’t respond, so I just kept climbing the stairs. “Do they have born-again Budd—”

  I turned around and Brian and the kid had vanished before my eyes. It stopped me in my tracks. “Whoa! How’d you do that??” I did circles on the stairs like a dog chasing his tail.

  My logical side was malfunctioning. This could not be happening. There was nowhere they could have gone—we were in the middle of the stairs, the only way was up or down and each had about a hundred stairs to go before you reached the top or the bottom.

  Was this magic? Is there a trap door I’m not aware of? Was I having some mind-altering flashback? Was that kid the future incarnation of the next Buddha? Was Brian ever even here?

  I walked around the palace looking for him, calling out his name, until it occurred to me that maybe he didn’t want to be found. Maybe he planned this escape just like the fourteenth Dalai Lama did back in 1959. But who were the invading Chinese in this scenario? Who was he escaping from? Me?? My mind was entering rational meltdown.

  I gave up looking after an hour. I bought a Tibetan bracelet and prayer wheel and left.

  I walked alone to the Sera Monastery talking to myself. I tried to learn about the monastery like nothing had happened. I learned five thousand monks used to live here back in the days before the imperial overthrow. After the Chinese invaded, most of the monks were murdered, castrated, and tortured, and the ones whose lives were spared weren’t allowed to worship here anymore until recently.

  The Chinese did anything they could to sweep these poor people under a rug. Just like Brian is trying to sweep me under the rug.

  I couldn’t stay Zen anymore. My mind was racing with questions:

  Why did Brian ditch me? Does he think I’m dragging him down? Is he really better off without me, or did he just get lost? Couldn’t he see by going to all these monasteries and learning their way of thinking I was trying to be a more perfect person by increasing my virtues, perfecting my intellect, and meditating along with him? I was learning their Four Noble Truths!

  While I was walking and ranting to myself like a crazy person, something compelled me to stop walking. I was in the middle of a large open area. The sun was setting and only a few rays of sunshine were piercing through the lattice of the complex wall. I looked down; the last rays of sunlight were still warming the grass. I saw a cricket hopping in front of me. Suddenly a boy’s hand grabbed the cricket and picked it up.

  I looked up at the boy’s face. It was the same Tibetan kid Brian was carrying on his back. How did he get here? He certainly didn’t walk; he could barely make it up the stairs of the Norbulingka palace.

  While I pondered the re-emergence of this little boy, he gently lifted the cricket up to his face with an open palm then he blew it a kiss and the cricket hopped away. The kid looked at me. Then he extended his palm toward the right part of the monastery where I heard a loud bell ringing in the distance. He motioned for me to go to the sound of the bell. So I did.

  I walked past the bell that was calling monks into prayer. Some were already kneeling in deep meditation. I kneeled down to pray and noticed that at the front of the hall there he was: Brian, praying with the monks in the Sera Monastery. It was hard to miss him—sunlight was reflecting off his extremely white shaved head and he had his T-shirt wrapped around him like a Buddhist robe. He appeared to have been meditating here for a while. Had he teleported with the kid from Norbulingka?

  Now I felt like I was the one in the dream. I stopped trying to understand.

  I prayed a few feet behind him for at least two hours. If he would just open his eyes he could see me, but he never did. I started to get restless; I tried to use telepathy. And suddenly it worked. He opened his eyes and smiled at me.

  When night fell, most of the monks left the prayer hall. Brian was still in there with a few others. I moved up and sat down quietly beside him. He didn’t seem to notice I was there. Either he had experienced total consciousness, or he had gone insane … I couldn’t tell which.

  Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at me. I tried to interject, “Dude, where did you go? Do you want me to leave you alone? I don’t want to bother your frame of mind, but you can’t just ditch me like that.”

  He smiled and took my hand, “I wish I were me all the time, Rob. Did you know Tibetans never divert their eyes?”

  He began speaking in proverbs. I just let him talk. “If I see you all at once … can you handle it?”

  “I … think so.”

  “Is there ever a moment in life where you can only be awakened by the beauty of the rain?”

  “… Yes?”

  “Whoever taught me to look down when I walk never saw my face …”

  He seemed to be having multiple satoris, multiple spiritual kicks in the head. It may have given him a cosmic concussion. He kept going with his proverbs for a while. Then he closed his eyes and went back to meditating, totally ignoring me.

  After a half hour of silence, I said, “I think I’m going to go back to the room for a while.”

  He just nodded with his eyes closed, “Hear much, speak little.”

  “Okay …” I left Brian to meditate in peace. I was happy for him; I really was. He seemed to have gone to the other side and reached some kind of ultimate nirvana. He was out of his body without the use of drugs or alcohol. How that is possible long term still escapes me, but I figured he would be okay by himself.

  Walking out of main hall to catch a rickshaw is when evil incarnate appeared out of the miasma. He came up from behind, his huge paw grabbed my back. “You asshole, I told you I’d kill you!”

  The big hand shoved me hard. Off-balance, I stumbled down a few stairs and banged my head i
nto the giant gong by the prayer wheel. All the tourists and monks suddenly stopped to look; the sound of my head hitting the gong reverberated through the monastery.

  Embarrassed, I rubbed my head and turned to get a glimpse of my assailant. It was not Satan, it was bloody Ted—the crazy chain-smoking Brit who we’d lost on the Annapurna Trail. He was smiling a big devilish smile, just like he did after banging that Nepalese mountain cougar. I had a feeling I’d see him again. It’s a pretty common occurrence to meet backpackers in one part of the world then run into them somewhere else since everyone’s on the same world walkabout.

  “You again. Did your friend die on the mountain?”

  Ted was smoking inside the monastery and was clearly very, very drunk. “You wanker! Where’s your little friend!?” He slurred, “Tonight I’m gonna drink you faggots under the table. C’mon, let’s get outta this shithole. This is no place for us hellbound blokes. Let’s go grab us a couple of jars!”

  While this was happening, I thought, who is he talking about? I’m not hellbound. Am I?? Is that why Brian ditched me?

  Ted was causing a scene. I shot up and tried to wrangle him, “Shhhh man, calm down, this is a sacred place of worship and you’re being very uncool.” I pointed to the room Brian was praying in. “Brian’s in there becoming a freaking monk.”

  “Monk? They don’t let party animals like you sots become monks! Where’s that SOB?!” Ted gave me another shove and went rambling up the stairs toward Brian, “He promised me some of that good dope he stole from that plantation!”

  It all happened too fast for me to stop it, all I could do was say, “No-no-noooo!” I ran after him but it was too late.

  Ted barged into the prayer room, saw Brian kneeling and lunged at him like an inebriated bear, bowling over a few old monks who were deep in prayer. Ted pancaked Brian, exactly like he did his buddy on the trail whenever he was out of breath, cursing up a storm. “You wanker!” He shouted.

  Brian never knew what hit him. By the time I got in there, Brian was buried under two hundred and fifty pounds of smoked English brute. A few monks rushed into the room to help the three old monks who had been knocked silly.