DEVIN’S JOURNEY ~ PART 7

Story by Linda S Barth     Artwork by Carole W

~ Shigatse, Tibet ~

Turquoise

Devin squinted in breaks of sunlight as he stood outside Lhasa Gonggar Airport, scanning the road for the jeep and driver he’d hired to take him to Rongbuk Monastery at the base of Mount Everest. He’d been traveling for nearly a week in a convoluted route starting in Delhi, and, if he were completely honest, he was beginning to question if this had been one of his smarter moves.

He huffed an exasperated sigh and wondered when he’d conveniently managed to forget the lesson he’d learned in Morocco. Look before you leap. Seriously, what had he been thinking? Of course, it had all sounded very intriguing when he’d met up with some Australians in Agra a few months ago… 

The upsurge of tourism in India had given him opportunities that might have been impossible a few years earlier. He’d enjoyed each one, experiencing extraordinary sights and settings. Yet, a disconcerting realization traveled with him, nipping with insistently familiar teeth even as he ventured into places he’d never been. The Indian stretch of The Hippie Trail with its cafes, tie-dyed shirts, searches for spiritual enlightenment along with inspired, irreverent rule-flaunting, all kindled sweet memories of his time in Toronto’s Yorkville. The tropical, twenty-four hour party atmosphere of the palm-fringed, white sand beaches at North Goa echoed his days in Rio. Weekend hikes through lush pine forests on the way up the mountain to Prashar Lake conjured images of Jelenia Gora, and he found himself scanning the ground for the gleam of moonstone.

He’d savored the similarities while at the same time finding them disturbing. After only seventeen years, was he already running out of new experiences, fresh discoveries, uncharted adventures? The prickling thought followed him to Delhi, skittered through his dreams at night, tugged at him during breaks in his job as a foreman in a textile factory.

He worked hard to stifle the whispers but soon found he could not. Still, he knew there was a solution waiting for him, and he vowed he’d have the wisdom to see it when it made itself known.

And he had. One weekend at Damdama Lake, rock-climbing with friends from the factory, he’d struck up a conversation with a pair of tourists who’d told him of their hiking experiences back home in Australia. They’d intrigued him with their descriptions of Mount Bogong, Mount Stirling, Mount Palmer and the training they’d done for an attempt at Mount Everest. While they’d never reached that summit – maybe some other year – they had benefitted from four weeks spent at a monastery guest house, taking day trips farther and farther up the mountain to acclimate themselves to high altitude, low air pressure, and bitter cold.

Not long after that serendipitous encounter – and armed with a bit more information – ‘Max Robinson’ was on his way to Tibet.

A jeep splashed to a stop in front of him. After following the driver’s instructions to stow his gear in the back, he settled into the front seat and they were off.

“So, Max, you ready for two days on the road? It takes most people three, but I’m not most people.” The driver grinned. “Name’s Tak. Means tiger.” He flexed his forearm and stretched it toward Devin to give him a view of a vibrant tattoo of his favorite apex predator. “It’s a symbol here, ya know – means untamed power transformed to wisdom.”

“Impressive.” His entire body jolted as Tak took a curve in the road as if he were his namesake chasing down a roe deer for dinner. “You know, we don’t have to get to Rongbuk tonight.”

“Good one!” Tak laughed as he stepped on the gas a bit more. “Guess it’s a bad habit I haven’t shaken yet. Probably from back home.”

Warm moisture-laden wind whipped Devin’s hair back. “Where’s home? Let me guess. LA?”

“Right the first time. You?”

“Nowhere in particular. New York but that was a long time ago.”

“I hear ya. Me and my old lady, we came to Tibet about five, six years ago. Thought we’d stay for a while, get enlightened and all, then take off for parts unknown. Now, two kids, a house, a growing business, and we’re still here.” The jeep splashed through a massive puddle. “What made you decide to show up at the end of monsoon season?”

Devin shrugged. “Just seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Yeah, actually it’s not bad. You’re just ahead of the autumn climbing season. Plenty of time to get acclimated. That why you’re here?”

“No. I’ve had…some things going on. I think some spiritual guidance could help.” He shrugged. “Rongbuk Monastery sounds like it might be a place where I can find what I’m looking for.”

“Well, it’s gonna be basic. They’ve only been rebuilding for a year or so. But a dude I know got a job up there a while back, cooking for the community. Said the whole vibe was pretty mellow. But it got too quiet for him, so he quit.” He glanced at Devin. “Hey, maybe the job’s still open. Could you do that – the whole vegetarian and Vinaya thing?”

“Yeah, I probably could. My resume is about as diverse as they come.”

“Cool. And it’s not like you can become an actual monk.” Tak snorted a laugh. “No disrespect or anything, but they don’t take just anybody. And it’s a tough gig. You know, all those vows.”

Devin started to grin. “Which I’m guessing both of us have already broken – more than once.”

Tak slapped his new pal on the arm. “You got that right!”

“So, maybe I’ll check out that cooking job.” Devin forced himself to refrain from reminding Tak to keep his eyes on the road. “We’ll see how it goes.”

“I’ve been up there a few times. Nice folks.” Tak frowned. “But they’re not big fans of ink. No tats, no piercings. They believe the body’s a sacred temple. Think that’s gonna be a problem for you?”

His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Why? I don’t have any piercings or tattoos.”

Tak stared and pointed at Devin’s face. “Yeah, you do.” He spun the steering wheel to straighten their trajectory. “I was thinking it was some kind of tribal symbol or something.”

Devin ran his fingers along parallel lines of faded scars. “I’ve had these so long, I’d almost forgotten about them.”

“Don’t sweat it. If anyone says anything, you can tell them it’s for your sacred animal.”

“Which would be what?”

“Gangs seng ge – the Snow Lion. You’re gonna see them all over the place. Well, not real ones – statues, flags, that kind of thing. You can’t miss them. Pretty rad – white body with turquoise colored mane.” He nodded in agreement with himself. “Yeah, those guys would make for an amazing tat.”

Devin was quiet for a few moments, a swirl of emotions settling over him like a prayer cloth. “And what does the Snow Lion symbolize?”

“He’s totally brave – fearless – and he’s supposed to be the protector of his home and people. But he’s one of the good guys. It’s not like he’s some vigilante or soldier or something. He’s disciplined and finds happiness with the life he’s been given.” Tak shook his head. “Not sure I could do that, you know, have my role in life all mapped out for me. Could you?”

“No,” Devin said quietly. “Never could, never will…but I know…others who’ve found a way to make it work.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I’m beat. Think I’ll try to sleep until we get to tonight’s b&b.”

“Sure. I’ll wake you then.”

Shaken to the core, he knew he wouldn’t get any sleep, but he’d heard enough for one afternoon to know some troubled dreams waited for him in the nights ahead.

Devin soon found all of Tak’s information proved accurate. The monastery, housing nearly thirty Buddhist monks and nuns, was still partly in ruins. Rising well before dawn for prayers and meditation, the members of the community interspersed their periods of spiritual practices with the grueling work of restoring and rebuilding their main shared hall and simple, segregated residences. The guesthouse, where Devin stayed, had been the first to be completed, providing a small but much needed income for the monastery.

Even in such a desolate, stark setting, there was a constant atmosphere of peace and purpose. As the eternity of Mount Everest shadowed and shielded them, life flowed in a predictable current, establishing a serene but steadfast strength that shaped their lives. In the quiet of the isolated place, at once austere and nurturing, Devin found he’d been given a gift of time. Time to assess where he’d been and what he’d done; time to look back and gaze ahead; time to deepen his understanding of the boy he’d been and the man he’d become.

In his job as the community’s cook and as a volunteer construction worker, he became part of the residents’ daily life, eventually being allowed to observe prayer sessions. He began to look forward to each hour spent floating in the soothing sound of chanting voices and immersing himself in periods of personal meditation. Adapting to the constancy of days consisting of spiritual introspection and physical labor slowly brought a sense of peace and purpose to his soul.

When he looked back on his months at Rongbuk, he saw them not as a turning point but as a respite. It was a breathing space where he became more grounded, growing stronger emotional roots which secured him not to a place but more deeply to a purpose. He knew he had no chance of ever coming close to attaining Nirvana, like his Buddhist companions, but he was well on his way to achieving greater personal enlightenment, and he was profoundly grateful for it.

On a breezy, unusually warm day in April, Devin stood outside a nearly finished section of the main hall and leaned back against the grey stone wall, his head tilted back and his eyes closed to let the sun warm and soothe his windburned face. At the crunch of footsteps on the rocky ground, he opened his eyes to see the monastery’s Kenchen, approaching him.

In a gesture that had become natural to him, Devin placed his hands together at his heart and bowed slightly, murmuring “Bhante” as a greeting to the senior abbot.

In the practice of humility, the Kenchen mirrored the anjali, then smiled at Devin. He shifted the folds of the patched woolen zhen draped over his left shoulder and reached into a pocket of his robe that had been concealed by the voluminous shawl. When he opened his hand, he revealed a stone the color of sky and sea. Cerulean, peacock, teal with the faintest webbing of ebony and gold.

It stirred remembered images in Devin – blossoms of the Blue Puya in Chile, sunlit waters of the Aegean,  wing feathers of an azure-shouldered tanager near Minas Gerais. The color was at once all and none of these, it was something different, something more, and he blinked as it gleamed softly in the sunlight.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured. “Is it turquoise?”

The Kenchen’s smile widened. “Yes, it is turquoise – Tibetan turquoise.”

“I thought that’s what it might be, but the color is so vivid.” He tilted his head to one side and then the other. “Sometimes it looks almost entirely green, but from another angle the green and blue blend into another color entirely. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It is a very special stone, found only in this place of our ancestors.” The Kenchen stretched his hand toward Devin. “Please honor us by accepting it as our gift.”

To refuse would be a deeply demeaning insult. Devin opened his hand and waited for the stone to be dropped onto his palm. “Thank you, Kenchen, for your kindness.”

“Come, let’s sit on the wall and I will tell you about our turquoise.”

In this interlude of peace and gratitude, Devin learned that to Buddhists, the sacred stone represents the infinite life source of sky and sea, and the wisdom and protection these divine realms offer. The bright coloring of Tibetan turquoise promises the wearer good fortune manifested in health, peacefulness, and spiritual healing, as well as protection from evil influences and dark forces.

This stone would find the home it was meant to have with the others Devin had collected. At one time, he could never have imagined such seemingly simple objects would help guide him through his journey like small but significant companions, sparking insights, helping heal hurts, voicing words only his heart could hear.

The Kenchen’s voice gently merged with his reverie. “Before you leave us next month, you might visit a place nearby that, like turquoise, is sacred to us. I will arrange it with one of the Lamas if you like.”

“Thank you, Kenchen,” He felt something both bright and dark stir within him. “I think I would like that very much.”

Three weeks later, a Lama to whom he had several times turned for spiritual guidance, told him of Padmasambhava – Guru Rinpoche, the Precious Master – who had encouraged the growth of Buddhism throughout Tibet in the eighth century. Padmasambhava had centered his work at Rongbuk, practicing in an ancient meditation cave, still accessible near the monastery. The Lama explained that after subduing dark forces, the Precious Master retreated to this cave, hidden behind waterfalls and cliffs, to meditate and gain further enlightenment, and in some ways, both physical and ephemeral, he had never truly left. His aura, his spirit, and his hand and footprints in the rocky surfaces attested to his eternal presence.

Suppressing his premonition about this place and instead embracing its allure,

Devin asked if the Lama might guide him to the hidden site in the mountains. An arrangement was agreed upon, and because of the generosity and dedication Devin had shown to the community, he would be allowed to enter the site for an hour, to meditate and find peace. When that day soon arrived, It took only the heartbeat of moments to explain his compulsion to venture into this small, darkened cave, lit only by candles and oil lamps, their light reflected in faceted crystals set in stony walls.

He felt a pressure envelope him, leaving him lightheaded and gasping for breath. He sank to his knees on a frayed silk cushion before an altar strewn with flowers and turquoise, and clenched his hands into trembling fists. He wanted to shut his eyes tight and then open them to find himself somewhere else, anywhere other than this chamber that was trying to take him…home.

Unaware his sobs echoed in ragged waves, he felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder for no more than a heartbeat. But it was enough. He turned to see the Lama crouching next to him, his eyes filled with compassion, his voice a soothing balm.

“Drokpo Max, may I speak to you the words of blessing the Guru Rinpoche wished all who come to this cave to hear?”

Devin wiped a rough hand across his face, gentling his fingers as they smoothed away tears tracing his scars. He had no words and could only nod his assent.

In soft melodic tones, the Lama repeated the Precious Master’s pledge, a gift of promise and protection offered now just as they had been centuries earlier. “To those with devotion, this place will grant swift realization. Even in future dark times, whoever prays here with pure heart will receive my blessing as if I am present.”

Although the air in the cave was still, the candle flames swayed and seemed to burn brighter, allowing their light to transform the crystalline walls to a shimmer of stars and small bursts of sunlight.

“So you see, my friend, here you are not alone. If you believe, if you embrace the Precious Master’s words, he will hear you, he will see you. Even if you cannot see him with your eyes or hear him with your ears, he will speak to you here.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “You will receive his blessing. You will have the answer you seek. Are you willing to try?”

Devin looked away for a moment at things only he could see and then gazed ahead with clarity, with hope. “I am ready.”

“Then I will leave you. I will wait for you on the mountainside until you are ready to continue your journey.”

The words Devin spoke that afternoon in secret, in silence, and the words he heard in promise, in pledge would stay with him forever, long after he left Tibet, long after he found his way home.