WHAT IS NEXT?

Dear Pantau

Next question: If one reaches God, what does one do after that? My whole life has been the journey, the travail to seek God, to seek peace, to convince myself that I am truly worthy of accepting this peace if I do find it. Is that the end? Isn't there more? Seems sort of like the end of the Kubrik film 2001: A Space Odyssey where, after returning to earth with almost god-like powers, the astronaut gazes down upon the planet earth, he doesn't know what he is going to do but is sure he'll think of something.

Joel.


Dear Joel,

Be in a state of Enlightenment. Start teaching others the way to Nirvana. After death, choose to stay in the realm of the gods (as one need no longer be reborn in a human body) or decide to return to Earth. This is what the soul of His Holiness the Dalai Lama has been doing for 14 lifetimes. He has the ultimate power to choose.

As the Tibetan astrologers in Dharamsala observed in my case, my previous god-being existence decided to return to Earth after two years and reincarnate in my human body, obviously to become a teacher and showing others the way. (please note I do not write this with an attitude of arrogance, it is merely an observation of the Tibetan astrologers of the Mentsekhang, see previous post with the statement of the Tbetan astrologers regarding my existance).

Those who die after finding Enlightenment have a choice; the choice to stay in the realm of gods, or return to earth to help others. The final goal: for all of us to reach Enlightenment and leave this planet in order not to return.

.

Pantau

PS

Joel, this is an answer to the question/remark you posted in your comment:

So you’re saying that you consider it more beneficial if an enlightened being would return in a human body to help others. Many do. The 14th Dalai Lama is one of many. Let me explain the difference between reincarnation and rebirth. Everybody is affected by Karma, the law of cause and effect. They will be reborn and their rebirth will be affected by karma. Thus if your previous body has done a lot of bad stuff, your next life might be full of trouble, however, you get a chance to improve, create good merit and hopefully do better this time, making your next rebirth a better one. Only enlightened beings are exempt from karma. They can choose to stay in the realms of the gods or return to earth. They reincarnate. So there is a difference between rebirth and reincarnation.
So regarding your opinion that it might be a wise decision to reincarnate, I kind of agree. Why stay up in the sky while there is so much good to do on Earth. That is why there are plenty enlightened Tibetan lamas, among many other western reincarnations that return to Earth (probably they are the people that make most sense to us when speaking....and are often ignored). The Dalai Lama recently asked his people whether they desire him to reincarnate into a human body after he passes away. He doesn’t have to. It has been known to Tibetans that the 14th reincarnation of Chenresig, the Buddha of Compassion (The Dalai Lama) would stop reincarnating after his 14th human body. But with the current situation in Tibet (respectively Tibet not having genuine autonomy), his people feel there is a need for him to come back. He stated that he is seriously considering coming back after his death as the 15th Dalai Lama.
The 17th Karmapa Lama, the boy who fled to Dharamsala at 14 in 2000, is an even older reincarnated being. He is now in his early 20th and it would make sense that he will play an important part in taking over many of the current Dalai’s tasks as a teacher, may the latter pass away. And of course, the Dalai confirmed he won’t be reincarnate in Tibet, but in a free country where he can grow up to adulthood without any problems. He will be found by his people, recognised and return to his people living in exile. He may not even reincarnate into a body of the Tibetan race. As you know, my previous body was Tibetan. The Tibetan astrologers like to believe that I have taken on a spiritual body for about two Earth years, perhaps some sort of deity-like being, and then returned to Earth in the Netherlands in a caucasion body. FYI, I do not myself believe I have been an Enlightened being exempt from Karma, just a deity that was reborn. It explains why the Tibetans added "Lhamo" to my new name Pantau Lhamo, meaning Helpful Deity, rather than Pantau Lama II. My previous Tibetan body wasn't a lama in the fist place, but a nobleman and freedom fighter. He never had a monastic lifestyle.

An awakened teacher will shared his insights to help sentient beings end their suffering by understanding the true nature of phenomena, thereby escaping the cycle of suffering and rebirth (samsara), that is, achieving Nirvana.

His attitude will be one of ethical conduct and altruistic behaviour, devotional practices, ceremonies and the invocation of bodhisattvas, renunciation of worldly matters, meditation, physical exercises, study, and the cultivation of wisdom.

You ask: Is there time enough? Please elaborate on that question. I don’t really understand want you mean, only guess.

GOD IN A NUTSHELL

Image of God

Pantau,

As far as free will goes, it may in and of itself be totally illusory. But if I think everything is predestined and foreordained then I take no responsibility for any decision nor do I even feel I need to actually make a decision about anything. So regardless of the religion, if God knows what I am going to do then She knows if I'm going to be saved or earn good Kharma before I do anything. Therefore why do anything at all? In order to act, I must at least believe that I have free will and that my decision matters. I have to believe myself to be more than a marionette.
Viewing it from another angle, how can we believe God to be fair and just if She has consigned so many to lives of abject misery? Poverty, disease are still so rife in this world. If everything is foreordained then what kind of a god have we created when so many people suffer? Why create so many to merely wail in suffering? Did God decree that so and so be born into a life of wealth and ease while this other person would know only poverty, hunger, and disease?
I guess the crux of the matter to me is that lack of free will must mean that God is cruel and thus is nothing more than the child who pulls wings off flies. I would rather see a benevolent God who has given Her people free will and then waits with open arms to comfort those who seek shelter from the misery created by the clashing and interaction of individual human free will. As a child is never free from a parent so we are never truly free from God. We may wander astray, deny Her, etc. but ultimately must return to Her to find peace. It is, I feel, what we have done to the world, each other, and to ourselves that makes this so arduous.
Thus the question of free will is moot. It may not truly exist but to find any peace, I have to behave as if it does just as I must believe that I am of some worth and my life of some value.

Joel
(Pubished with permission of the author)

Dear Joel,

I think your questions and train of thought are as old as civilisation itself. And yet, nobody really has a clear cut answer or at least not an answer that can be scientifically explained.
Interestingly, most wise people who were the source of world religions believe in life before death and something after death, whether it be heaven, limbo, hell, reincarnation, Nirvana, whatever. Hence if so many smart men think that there is more to experience after death, there might be some truth in it.
I have no clear cut answer. I just don’t know. Yet in the past, I have been meditating often on this matter, questioning myself first: Is there a God, if so, Why, and What is God, and What is it all about?

On Happiness.

Nobody enjoys suffering, everybody desires happiness.
Though my personal happiness is being caused mostly by the fact that I do (to a large extend) have full control over my life, I don’t feel bothered by the fact whether or not I have free will. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, I believe in God, but not as most people like to explain God. I see God more as the combined intelligence (and non-intelligence such as minerals, water, carbon, plastic, wood etc.) of everything in this Universe. In other words: we 6 billion souls make up a part of the entity we call God. Thus I am a small part of God. God created us in Her image: yes, I think that is a correct statement.
On Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, I don’t believe in God. I think it is all a bunch of crap.
On Sundays I take a rest.

Three days a week I like to see God as a chess game. She gave us a platform to play out a game. She created us a platform called Earth with the possibility to include all possible outcomes, all kinds of scenarios. Yes, She is like a writer who is in the process of writing and She doesn’t really know how the story will end. She makes things up whilst writing, creating.
The free will can be explained by the fact that we can do whatever we want, choose beneficial over non-beneficial, good over bad. She/We can choose to write about good things and bad things, enjoyable things or disturbing things.

Now, first I want something to explain why there is hunger and misery and violence and death in a nutshell. We wouldn’t understand happiness if there wasn’t the opposite of happiness. How can we feel happy if we never experienced grieve, sadness, boredom, pain?
It starts as a baby, feeling happy when being fed, crying when being hungry. So, obviously, human beings, have the ability to experience the entire spectrum of emotions (even my father). Even I am sometimes hungry, and not because I don’t have enough money to buy food. If I wouldn’t feel hungry, I would not enjoy the food presented to me.

I observe that my life is not all about happiness, there are periods of depression, loss, sadness, deprivation, followed by all good things. If I feel bad, I meditate on Elizabeth Taylor, and think: my life could have been worse. If I think I'd rather be a Hollywood star, I also think, well, they may have millions in the bank, but most of that money goes to their therapists and bodyguards, and they have problems holding on to their spouses. So perhaps not the greatest thing to be.
And when the good returns, I am grateful. For if I would never feel unhappy, I wouldn’t recognise and appreciate my fortune.

So God created Black and White and the entire spectrum of colours in between in order for us to experience everything possible on earth, and since the 1950s, even beyond.
If everything was White, we wouldn’t see it, recognise it. There’s a need for Black, for without Black we wouldn’t appreciate White.

Is everything predestined? No. I don’t think so. Things are happening now, created now. By us. And it is up to us what we want to experience. That I would call free will. There need not be wars and hunger. We decide to experience violence and hunger and wars and all the bad stuff. That is not something forced on us. We create global warming, not God. She probably shakes her head when observing the decisions we take and the way we live our lives. We just make bad decision. There are only few people who know exactly how we could live in a world with lives worth living, despite the fact that some unpleasant things such as disease and death are unavoidable. Rather than loving and playing with each other in beautiful, simple townships surrounded by agricultural lands with organic food, we create disturbing cities, dirty air and water, and plastic use-it-once-and-throw-it-away-products "Made in China". Rather than observing the beauty of nature and be part of it, we destroy it and sit in office cubicles. We have created a world like a one-room house containing a dysfunctional family that shits in it own kitchen. Some children get fed, others not, some children are loved, others raped, while the father and mother are fighting wars. But we know better, we don’t have to live like that. It is our choice what we experience. Thus, I say, yes, it is up to us what we want to experience, we have free will.

Every day I can decide what I want to experience. Pineapple with yoghurt for breakfast or an omelet with cheese. Do I want to stay home and watch TV or write on my 5 year old laptop, or do I want to walk on the beach, meet my friends, see the sunset, have dinner with my loved-ones, dress in Tintin-style shorts and a black poloshirt, or dress in white as a Yogini, have 4 hour sex at night or 1 hour sex before breakfast, or no sex at all. It’s up to me. I can beat my children for no reason and make them hate me, or I can teach them, stimulate them, help them, play with them, make them laugh. I can smile at people I do not know, or look angry at them. If I smile at them, they smile back, which in return gives me a nice feeling. I can shout, and people will feel disturbed by me, but I could also choose to speak softly and beautifully and people will take a liking for me. I can choose to eat like a pig and become a fat blob of human, or can choose healthy food, exercise, swim, practise yoga, walk on the beach and keep my aging body similar to what it was when I was a model at age 21. So, I have free will, and I can choose everything I want.

But now you can say: do people who live in certain countries where there is no freedom of speech, no human rights, can they experience the same freedom, the same ability to choose? You, Pantau, you have money and a passport that allows you to travel to any country in the world. But what about that little girl in Isaan, Thailand, that serves as a hooker for western pigs to provide money for her entire family? What about the Nepalese girls that are locked up in closests in Mumbay, India, to serve as vaginas for middle class Indian men? What about people who are born with birth defects, one leg, cerebral palsy, cancer at 6?
Yes, Joel, that is a tough one to answer. The 6 year old boy didn't choose to get cancer, but maybe his soul did, in order to experience cancer at 6. Perhaps his soul had a fabulous previous life and now the soul wants to experience pain and death at a young age. In his next life, the soul may choose to have the life of a happy wife of a doctor, or be a truck driver in Texas with a very nice wife and who lives a long and satisfying life. Here, I don't even consider the workings of Karma.

I know girls who were able to escape their predicaments. I know Tibetans who crossed the highest mountain passes in the world on foot, being shot at by Chinese border patrol, at night, in freezing conditions, to experience some sense of freedom in India. I think even in the worst cases, we have a choice, we can run away, go somewhere else, conquer our fear, say no. Perhaps not always easy, but everybody must have free will, the choice to experience what they want to experience, or change their lives, even if it were just a little, move on, choose something different, slightly better.
It may not be easy, perhaps it requires leaving behind family, friends and country (which I did), but everybody has a choice.

A person in a desert doesn’t dream of a Ferrari but a bottle of water. A Hollywood star with 200 million in the bank and 10 room house dreams about a 50-room mansion, an Oscar an Emmy and no longer a need for a therapist.

So why does God have some children born in poor starving families and others in rich business families? Well, as I said before, it’s up to us what we make of this world. God has given us the freedom to choose. So we need to take some distance from individual sad cases and look at the bigger picture, look at Governments and Companies, look at how we as a whole play the Game. We can change this world into a better place, provided that we understand what is beneficial, and what is not, and it also requires enough people to shift the balance, to change Back into White.

However, bare in mind the symbol of Yin and Yang. The White body contains a dot of Black and the Black body contains a dot of White. In Asia they refer to this symbol as Tao, or Nature, or God. Interestlingly, this is the name I am refered to in Thailand, an abbreviation of Pantau. And that is really how the game is set up for us. It’s not static, it can change. In the Yin Yang symbol, both bodies are equal, but we can choose to make it alive, to make it change, to alter the size of the White body, make it bigger, make the black dot smaller. But even when the White body of Yin is 99% it will still contain 1% of Black. We will still age, we will still die, we will still feel moments of sadness, depression and unhappiness. If we wouldn't and couldn't feel that way, we wouldn’t recognise our state of Contentment.

So, I hope I have proven to you with the above that even with all the sadness and hunger and war, We have free will and God is not cruel. Whatever we experience is being created by us, 6 billion people in this world. We have all the tools, the voices, and the brains to change things, choose things, choose White over Black, Good over Evil. It’s up to us as individuals, and as world at large.

Now, having said that, I have some of my own ideas that I want to present in a nutshell. Nothing is real. Earth doesn’t exist. The Universe doesn’t exist. There are no such things at atoms, neutrons, electrons, and photons. Everything within the confines of the Universe doesn’t exist. It’s all an idea. One big invisible brain made of non-matter. Everything is an idea. That is God at work.

Love… Pantau

THE LIFE OF THE BUDDHA

This is the centre panel of my three-panel cardboard travelling altar. In the centre (top) a young Dalai Lama XIV, shortly after arriving in India. On the right, the previous Panchen Lama of Thashilumpo monastery, Shigatse, Tibet, who was allegedly murdered by "Beijing". His reincarnation was abducted as a young boy in the mid-1990s by "Beijing", and replaced by their own Chinese version of Panchen Lama. On the top left, H.H. the 17th Karmapa Lama, shortly after fleeing from Tibet to India. On this picture he is 14 years old. I had the honour of meeting him and being blessed by him in 2000 as part of the first group of people allowed to meet him by the Indian authorities. Since then I have met him several times in his new monastery outside Dharamsala. He is considered the most important lama after H.H. the Dalai Lama, and the missing real Panchen Lama. In the centre, a picture of various Buddhas, given to me by a Tibetan lama whom I ran into at Singapore's International Airport in 2007. Centre left, an image of White Tara, given to me by my dear Chinese friend Chen Hao. Bottom left, a Chinese brush calligraphy of the Chinese version of my Tibetan name Pantau. The coin on the right is a Hong Kong Dollar I received as change at Starbucks at Hong Kong Airport, after being expelled from Mainland China in 2008.

Dear fellow sentient beings,

I received an email from a reader with the request as to whether I could explain a little about Buddhism to you American folks. I will try to do so in my very own words. Please note that I am just a simple Dutch girl and far from a Buddhist scholar. Let me start by telling you a little about the Buddha himself and his life (and how my life relates to his). In later posts I will elaborate on his teachings and how I implement them in my worldly life. I intend to start off seriously and try to end as secular as possible because I know that religious stuff can be quite boring, even to me.

Life of Siddhartha Gautama (better known as the Buddha).

Long time ago (when Europeans were still swinging from tree branch to tree branch), there was a guy called Prince Siddhartha Gautama. He was born in the city of Lumbini (near today’s border between Nepal and India) around the year 485 BC. (Just rereading this second sentence the Buddha’s predicament suddenly dawns when people asked him: ‘When were you born?’ He must have answered: ‘Yes indeed, I was born, and I predict I was born 485 years before the Jesus is expected to be.’).
Shortly after his birth, a wise man visited his father, King Śuddhodana. The wise man said that Siddhartha would either become a great king or a holy man, based on whether he saw life outside of the palace walls. Determined to make Siddhartha a king, his father shielded his son from the unpleasant realities of daily life. Years after this, Siddhartha married a woman, with whom he had a son who later became a monk. (So far so good nah?)
At the age of 29, Siddhartha ventured outside the palace complex several times, despite his father’s wishes not to. So as a result, he discovered the suffering of his people through encounters with an old man, a diseased man, a decaying corpse, and an ascetic. These are known among Buddhists as ‘The Four Sights’, one of the first contemplations of Siddhartha. The Four Sights eventually prompted the prince to abandon royal life and take up a spiritual quest to free himself from suffering by living the life of a begging ascetic (an ascetic is a person who doesn’t do the sex and alcohol-thing and walks around in skimpy clothes without shoes or something like that). Siddhartha found companions with similar spiritual goals and teachers who taught him various forms of meditation.
Ascetics practised many forms of self-denial, including severe under-eating. One day, after almost starving to death, Siddhartha concluded that ascetic practices such as fasting, holding one’s breath, and exposure to pain brought little spiritual benefit. He abandoned asceticism, concentrating instead on Awareness of Breathing, thereby discovering what Buddhists call the Middle Way, a path of moderation between the extremes of self-indulgence and self-mortification (take note of this as it is a very important discovery, I must say).
After discovering the Middle Way, he sat under a sacred fig tree, also known as the Bodhi tree, in the Indian town of Bodh Gaya, and vowed not to rise before achieving Enlightenment. At age 35, after many days of meditation, he attained his goal of becoming a Buddha (One who is enlightened). After his spiritual awakening he attracted a band of followers and instituted a monastic order. He spent the rest of his life teaching and travelling throughout the north-eastern part of the Indian subcontinent. He died at the age of 80 (405 BC) in Kushinagar, India, from food poisoning. (Food poisoning? Oy vey, poor fellow!).

Okay, very interesting nah?

So where are the similarities of the Buddha’s life to mine? Here we go:
I was born 2450 years after the Buddha, not to a royal family but to a business family, consisting of a bunch of fallen Catholics (mother and her family, except one cousin who believes he’s the reincarnation of Jesus), and a bunch of atheists with allegedly a bit of Jewish blood (father and his family) in a small town of fine God-fearing Christian farmers in the Netherlands. No wise man ever visited my father at our brick house; instead we had a lot of business people coming over talking money, sales and marketing and other stuff. However, my mother always found me a precocious child, despite my dyslexia and disappointing marks at school, especially in Conduct and Social Etiquette (I assume because I was a brutally honest person who spoke her mind and still does). Mother was so totally xenophobic (still is) that she has never eaten a pizza, let alone travelling among very foreign cultures. There were initial ideas that I would take over Papa’s company, but I, as a child, showed more interest in smoking cigarettes, chatting with my girlfriends, and teenage sex with boys. My mother always hoped I would develop into a good girl with a respectable job and a fine husband, at least before the age of 34. Sorry Mama, but the Lord had other things in store for me, at least after the age of 34.
I ventured outside my parents’ home long before Siddhartha did at 29. I was already cruising at 14 in foreign countries. A wise man told Siddhartha’s father that his son would either become a king or a wise man; likewise, some smart friends of my parents told them I would either become a queen, a princess, a good office worker, a painter, a Barbra Streisand or Bette Midler-impersonator, or a novelist-cum-stand-up-comedian. And yes, I kind of became all of the above at one point in my life, though I only impersonated The Barbra in the confines of my own home standing in front of a mirror with a hairbrush in my hand.
Like Siddhartha, I travelled through India, not at 29 but at 34, despite my mother’s wishes not to do so. So as a result, like Siddhartha, I discovered the suffering of those Indian people through encounters with an old man, a diseased man, a decaying corpse, and an ascetic. Thus I too had the ‘The Four Sights’, one of the first contemplations of Siddhartha. The Four Sights eventually prompted me to abandon my materialistic lifestyle in the West and take up a spiritual quest to free myself from suffering by living the life of an ascetic, and yes, I did a bit of begging in the process as well. I found companions with similar spiritual goals (a bunch of hippies in the Himalayas) and teachers (such as H.H. the Dalai Lama and other lamas) who taught me various forms of meditation among many things.
Now regarding living as an ascetic I can say I did deny myself sex and alcohol for over 4 years, practised many forms of self-denial, including severe under-eating (49 kg in 2002). Like the Buddha, one day, after almost starving to death, I concluded that ascetic practices such as fasting, holding one’s breath, and “exposure to pain” (by just being in India) brought little spiritual benefit. I abandoned asceticism (though I still refrained from sex and alcohol and remained living in India. I did smoke some pot, which is actually acceptable and legal behaviour for holy people in India when trying to get into a trance-like-meditation-state. FYI: I confess that I wrote my bestselling autobiography Pantau in India entirely on cannabis, and, thank you Jesus, when my publisher read it he said that it was my best work so far).
So I concentrated instead on Awareness of Breathing as a Yogini, thereby discovering what Buddhists call the Middle Way (not bad; it really works if you avoid extremes); a path of moderation between the extremes of self-indulgence and self-mortification. I will elaborate on this in future posts.
After discovering the Middle Way, Siddhartha sat under a sacred fig tree, also known as the Bodhi tree in the town of Bodh Gaya, India, whilst I sat under a coconut tree until I realised that coconuts tend to drop from time to time and can fall on your head; causing not enlightenment but severe death or a very bad headache. I practised sitting under a coconut tree not in Bodh Gaya but Varkala and I wasn’t really sitting all the time, but more like in horizontal position in my hammock. I hate sitting. I like to believe that the human body didn’t evolve to do so. We should either walk or lay down.
Siddhartha vowed not to rise before achieving Enlightenment, while I vowed not to get out of my hammock until I would do so. At age 35, after many days of meditation, Siddhartha attained his goal of becoming a Buddha. At 36, I found some form of Enlightenment, because I have become a rather happy girl ever since. Now how to maintain that state of contentment or happiness is an important thing I will scribble more about in future posts.
After Siddhartha’s spiritual awakening he attracted a band of followers and instituted a monastic order. After my awakening I attracted a bunch of fans that enjoyed reading my books and I also founded the Pantau Foundation to help Tibetan children in need.
Siddhartha spent the rest of his life teaching, travelling throughout the north-eastern part of the Indian subcontinent, whilst I spent another 6 years in India doing pretty well spiritually, and then moved to Thailand to (incidentally) both live as a Yogini between sunrise and sunset and, at night, live a more worldly lifestyle. I do tend to teach people the way to happiness in various forms, some of them having a very secular character. I stick to a lifestyle of healthy food, 100 laps in the pool each day and one hour of yoga, as well as sexual intercourse twice daily (if possible and/or available).
Siddhartha died at the age of 80 (405 BCE) in Kushinagar, India, from food poisoning, whilst I am still alive and kick’n. Interestingly, I have a feeling I might die one day, not in Thailand but in India, and very likely after suffering from malnutrition (I am completely serious about this). If not, I may not wake up out of anaesthesia after a full facelift at 98 in Thailand, or I might get fatally hit by a tuktuk in Bangkok at 56 or die during my sleep after a beautiful life at 92, leaving behind my 3rd husband who will be 72 years my junior.

So far, so good nah?

Soon more on the teachings of the Buddha.

THE KING AND HIS WISE MINISTER

One day in 2003 I was having breakfast at the Om Hotel in McLeod when my dear friend Sacha Faller walked in. He was a young Swiss guy with a perfect American accent who took his Buddhism very seriously and attended classes on Buddhism at Kangchen Khishong every weekday. That morning he told me a story that I thought was so interesting, I asked him to type it down for me. Now, many years later, I have the pleasure to share it with you.

Sacha (L) and an unnamed Tibetan (C) looking fascinated at an unnamed "table illusionist" (R) in Rewalsar.

Hi there... I hope you are doing fine. So the deed is done. I've tried to put down in words my little story. I do hope you like it. Concerning copyright and bla bla - this is a story which was given freely to me. You may use the text at you discretion. If you want, you can quote the whole text verbatim in your book (although I'm not quite sure my literary style is all that good)...

Take care... Love

Sacha (February, 2004)

Sacha standing next to my Japanese friend Hiroshi near my home in McLeod

.

THE KING AND HIS WISE MINISTER

Once upon a time in a small kingdom not far from here there lived a king. Although his kingdom was small, the king and his subjects lived in peace and harmony. Their lives were simple and there had been no wars or famines for generations.

Even though the king wasn‘t very rich he was in possession of ‘a very precious jewel’ as he liked to call it. This jewel wasn‘t a stone or any other type of ornament. As a matter of fact; it wasn‘t a thing at all but a person. This person was his first minister. Having met this extraordinary wise person many years ago, the king had decided to make him his first minister and personal counsellor. Himself being quite experienced he nevertheless knew how important a wise counsel could be and over the years this decision proved to be one of the best the king had ever made. The minister was humble and loyal. In questions regarding state affairs as well as in more personal affairs he proved invaluable. He was trustworthy and completely confident about all things entrusted to him. Most astonishing; his advice, if properly followed, always led to the desired results without causing any harm or other kinds of disturbances.

As every year, so this year too the king gave the yearly celebrations commemorating his accession to the throne of the kingdom. One week of festivities and sporting events to which he invited all the nobles of the surrounding countries. As was tradition this week was ended by a great banquet in which the king served exquisite dishes to his guests.

After the king had given his annual speech and the main course had been served, the servants brought the dessert which consisted of various rare delicacies from far away countries.
As the king was trying to peel an exotic fruit with a small knife he unfortunately slipped and cut his hand. After having been taken care of by his physician he leaned over to his minister who was sitting to his right side and said: “What do you say?”
“What do you mean?” his minister inquired.
“Well I could have cut myself pretty badly. And even though it is not quite that bad, I do feel very uncomfortable with this accident,”
The minister answered. “Everything that happens happens for a reason and, therefore, is good.”
The king was completely taken aback with this reply. And even though he would have liked to continue his discussion with his minister, he had to put this off until a later time, since he was expected to take care of his guests.

After the festivities had ended and the king had retired to his quarters he had time to think about the minister’s words. ‘What did he mean with these words?’ he questioned himself. ‘Does he not care if harm is done to me? Is he still to be trusted? And if I were being attacked by an assassin would he still agree that this is a good thing? Might he himself harbour the idea to cause me harm?’
In all these years the minister had been most loyal and trustworthy to him, yet still, the king did not want to take any chances with a person that had such an important role in his kingdom and was always close by his side. Of course he did not want to ask his minister straight out if he had evil intentions towards him, for if he did, he would surely deny and on top of this, he would be warned about the king’s suspicions. Although he didn‘t quite know how, the king decided that he would have to test his minister on this issue. In time, was his reasoning, favourable conditions would surely present themselves for such a kind of test.

A few days later the king decided to go on a small excursion to the borders of his kingdom. Accompanied only by his minister he set out on horseback early in the morning. Towards noontime the small party had decided to rest in a village that had been abandoned for a long time. Most of the township had already fallen apart and therefore there wasn’t much to see. After eating lunch close to a dried out well in the centre of the place the king suddenly found a solution for how he could test his minister’s ‘odd’ views on what had previously happened during the festivities. The king called his minister over to the edge of the well and had him look down into it. As the minister was bent over the edge the king suddenly pushed his friend over into the hole.
Looking down upon his minister after his rather rough landing, the king said: “My dear friend, you seem to be in quite a predicament there. Without my help you will never be able to get out of this hole again. Tell me; do you still think that everything that happens, happens for a reason and, therefore, is good?”
Without hesitation the minister answered: “Yes my lord, that is still my opinion.” Irritated by the seemingly complete disregard of the seriousness of the situation on the side of his subject, the king voiced himself firmly: “You seem to need some time to think about your rather obscure thoughts about the matter at hand. I‘ll return back home now. Maybe I‘ll be back to save you, maybe I won’t.”
“I wish you a safe journey then my liege,” was the only reply coming from the minister.

The king took the horses and set out on his way home. As he was on his way back, the king thought: ‘I must say I give the man quite some credit for his reaction. He seems to act in conformity with his beliefs. Nevertheless, I want to know if his opinion will remain the same after having waited in that hole for some time. If he turns out to be in desperation upon my return I‘ll have him evicted from this country for the rest of his life; if he still has the same attitude he will have truly proven his worth and integrity to me once and for all.’

While reasoning in this way, being distracted, the king took a wrong path into unknown territories and subsequently got lost. Unfortunately he came into the territory of a primitive forest tribe and, being a trespasser, was arrested by a group of their soldiers. He was then taken before the pagan leader for questioning.
As it turned out the king had entered sacred grounds without permission. As this tribe was very superstitious it was decided that he would have to be sacrificed to their dark goddess whose sacred grounds he had desecrated with his presence in order to prevent her wrath, which in their belief, could destroy their whole tribe. He was then put into a cage where he was to await his death the next morning.

Needless to say the king didn‘t sleep that night. Just as the minister in the well, he now too had time to ponder upon his counsellor’s convictions.
How could a small journey end in such a disaster? From the time he left his minister things seemed to get worse. Although he was aware that all of this had nothing to do with what happened at the well, he couldn’t avoid the feeling that, in some way, all that happened seemed to be connected in a way he couldn‘t readily comprehend. Thinking about the minister’s viewpoint concerning bad circumstances and misfortunes he still failed to understand how such things could be seen as ‘good’.

After a dreadful night at last the king was taken out of his prison in the morning. He was then brought to the sacred grounds of the bloodthirsty goddess of the tribe. In the presence of the chief and the assembled tribe their high priest had prepared everything for the sacrifice. After having taken off the robes of the king, the priest proceeded to have a closer look at the king’s body. He seemed to notice the bandage on the king’s hand which covered his cut. Having removed it, he suddenly started to scream around: “This individual is unfit as an offering to our exalted goddess. He has a wound and is therefore impure. If we offer him to Her we all will surely come to regret this action. She will doubtlessly destroy us all for such blasphemy!”

After some deliberations it was decided that king was to be freed since he was of no use for their ritual of atonement. In his stead they offered another tribe’s member who had committed other sinful actions. The king was given back his robe and horses and was lead to the edge of the tribe’s territory. There he was told to consider his good fortune and to never come back for next time he would surely be put to death.

With an intense sense of relief the king went back to the deserted town in order to free his friend. After he arrived he went to the well and related the minister the story of his latter adventures.
Before getting his companion out of the well, the king still had a last question: “My friend you see I now understand the meaning of your reasoning. Yet, still, I feel some reluctance in freeing you. Tell me honestly; after having put your life into danger with my actions will you hold this against me? Will you still be loyal to such an unworthy patron?”
Astonished the minister answered: “What do you mean with putting my life in danger? As a matter of fact your actions put me out of harms way. If you hadn’t thrown me into this well and I would have been captured with you I would have surely died. There wouldn‘t have been a cut in my hand to save my life! You have saved my life and for this I‘ll be grateful until I die.”
Amazed with this answer the king uttered: “I think I now have my answer; you falling into the well happened for a very good reason and the outcome of this incident is indeed very fortunate.”
Then the minister said to him: “My king, before you help me out of this well, I have more good news. As I was waiting for you to come back I discovered a big treasure at the bottom of this well. Someone must have hidden it in here in former days. Failing to be reclaimed by its rightful owner, it has been here waiting for another to discover it. Let us get it up first.”
After the treasure and the minister had been taken up the two friends went on their journey back home.
From that time on the king and his minister lived happily ever after with all the new riches they had gained from their trip.

Moral: Everything that happens happens for a reason and, therefore, is good.
We might not always understand the things that happen to us (the way they do) and why they do. Having faith we should understand that everything happens to us for a certain reason and no matter what, we should try to accept them as part of our path in this life.
Every occurrence in our lives helps us to progress on our path and although we might not understand its proper reason right away, we should trust it to have meaning for us (and our lives) and therefore we should make an effort, no matter how awful things might seem to be at the moment, to view them as positive for our own evolution.

Sacha Faller

Sacha preparing for meditation inside the cave of Padmasambhava above the Tso Pema lake in the Himalayan town of Rewalsar.

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Dear Sacha,

This story never found its way into any of my books, but I hope you will be pleased to see it online. I have taken the liberty to do a little editing. Thank you once again for the time and energy you put into writing down this story for me.

With love… Pantau.

TEN THOUSAND FLIES OF PANIPAT P.P.

One day in 2001 a person came up to me when I was replacing a wheel of my jeep near the Indian town of Panipat. I recognised him vaguely and vice versa.
“Are you that Pantau-woman from Dharamsala?”
I looked at him and saw a dirty old hippie standing in an aura of visible smelly odour.
“No, it’s not me, you’re just seeing a spiritual apparition,” I replied.
Now in the west you cannot get away with such quips and you would only elicit strange looks, but (thank you Jesus) in India people immediately get it and have a good laugh.

I had been talking to this guy once before, and, if I remember correctly, it was at the Om Hotel in McLeod. We engaged in a conversation about Barbra Streisand. He told me he had been working as the personal cook of Barbra Streisand for a short period of time. It was somewhere in the early 90s; a period when The Barbra was eating nothing else but healthy food, and she and her body looked fabulous. One night, the hippie had told me, after a health-food dinner party at her Malibu mansion, he had woken up, as he heard some stumbling in the kitchen. Despite Streisand’s armed security personnel, he feared someone had broken into the house. Arriving in the kitchen, there he found Ms. Streisand on her knees on the floor in front of the double door fridge gobbling up leftovers; a bowl of greasy fruit-soup and some very fatty fibreless food products as if there was no tomorrow.

To be honest, I never believed he worked for Ms. Streisand, and he never found her on her knees in front of the fridge eating fruit-soup. Many foreigners in India are on drugs and many enjoy making up new histories, sometimes to impress people, other times because their past reality is so ugly, they can’t go back to their countries. They need to hide in places such as India, Thailand, Cambodia etcetera.
“What are you doing in Panipat?” he asked me.
Panipat is about the dirtiest place in India and famous for its flies. According to legend there are 10.000 flies for every Panipattian. Panipat is located along the highway N.H.1 between Delhi and Chandigarh. At Chandigarh the highway ends and for the next 8 hours you need something with four-wheel-drive in order to cross the Shiwalik Mountain Ranges before you get to the Himalayas. During the previous week I had had a few meetings with a Delhi publisher and was on my way back home. The driver-cum-bodyguard I had hired for the 16 hour trip had fallen ill when we were staying in a cheap hotel in the Tibetan refugee camp of Majnukatilla on the outskirts of Delhi. Rather than finding another driver, I decided to drive back home myself. I always observed I was the better driver when being driven by professional drivers in India, thus I would often have them sit next to me on the passenger seat anyway. Indian drivers are too lazy to use the stick-shift, trying to drive in second gear all the time, while I would change to the 5th gear already at 65km an hour on long straight highways, saving much on petrol.

After I finished replacing the flat tire with a new wheel, the hippie and I sat down in a little dhaba next to the road to take a breather. A nearby street vendor sold us some fresh pressed sugarcane juice with lemon for 10 rupees per pint, while I ordered a Coca Cola at the dhaba as well, as the drink tends to kill all stomach bacteria as effectively as the best pharmaceutically produced antibiotics.
The hippie, who was missing a few front teeth and one finger, told me he had converted to Buddhism. “What about you? You’ve been living in Dharamala for nearly a year; do you have any plans to become a Buddhist?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I am not a religious person really and I don't believe in GOD. I don’t want to be told by some other people what I can’t and can do. It’s always the same stuff with those religions. You get a whole list of things you cannot do anymore. Don’t do this, don’t do that and if you do you go to hell: that wouldn’t make me feel good, just deprived…and finally really hot in hell.”
“So why did you come to live in Dharamsala?”
“Well, I was depressed in the Netherlands and travelled to India to find a cure. Looking at all those poor Indian people that crossed my path, some dying right in front of me, I started to feel a lot better about my own life. Within weeks I didn’t feel depressed anymore. After some time I ended up in Dharamsala and I thought it was such a lovely little town surounded by a ghastly country that I thought that, if I would live there, I would feel pretty good every day. I would be able to see the beautiful Himalayan Mountains with snow on its peaks, breath in the clean crisp air, and gaze at the Dalai Lama and thousands of Tibetan monks that roam the few streets. I can sit in petit cafés talking to hippies and backpackers and other creatures that always have some interesting stories to tell, so I would never feel alone and lonely. I also met a Tantric Yoga-master who is teaching me to become a Yogini. As there is no gym in the Himalayas, I thought yoga is a good alternative to sports. I like to keep my body in good condition and shape. Also, I need to climb 200 rocky one-foot high steps to my room three times a day that lead from the road to my room higher up the mountain. Great work-out. I am fitter than when I was an athlete. A workout at an altitude of 10.000 feet is pretty good; my red bloodcell count is going off the charts.”
The hippie nodded.
“O, and I was able to write a little book about my first year in Dharamsala. It’s about to go to press and will be sold in India and Nepal.”
“Congratulations. But Buddhism is not really a religion. It’s more like a philosophy. The Dalai Lama and all the lamas and Buddhist scholars focus on teaching the path to happiness. Buddhism is all about Enlightenment. It is about learning how to overcome suffering. Because if you wouldn’t suffer anymore, you would feel good. The next step is about gathering wisdom, so you would get a greater understanding of the workings of the universe, and with the knowledge and wisdom you have discovered, you can start helping other people; and THAT is really fulfilling and it keeps you in a state of happiness.”
I nodded.
“Where are you headed?” I asked the hippie.
“I am going back to Dharamsala. I have no money and have been hitchhiking from Delhi to get to the Himalayas. The truck-driver who gave me a lift fell asleep behind the wheel between Sonipat and Panipat. The truck hit a buffalo that was about to cross the highway, then the truck and buffalo hit a tractor and then the truck, the buffalo and the tractor fell over on the other side of the meridian. Thank God we both survived, but the Buffalo is dead and the tractor driver broke his arm after flying through the air for 50 yards, landing in a heap of dirt. Poor bloke. About a million flies descended upon his open wounds. I fled the scene as you know that Indian police will arrest anyone involved in an accident and I have spent too many days in Indian prisons already. No fun.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Sitting in the back of your jeep with the windows open so you wouldn’t smell me.”
I turned into a salt pillar for a few moments. “Okay, but you need to sit on a plastic bag, because I don’t want you to shmutz the fabric of my seats. This jeep is practically brand new and looking at you, it appears that the rear end of your trousers is full of dried-up diarrhoea.”
“Fair enough.”
“And while I am driving I want you to keep me awake with some smart talk about Buddhism. Tell me more about it. If you can convince me that I should have a look at the teachings of the Buddha, I’ll offer to buy you some new clothes, a meal, and give you 5 rupees so you can have a good wash in the public bathroom in McLeod. You should also consider a haircut. I can see the lice falling out of your dreadlocks.”
“I am sorry. I can’t accept that offer,” the hippie told me.
I looked at him surprised.
“Why not?”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind the new clothes, the meal, the wash and the haircut, but it is not the right thing to do for a Buddhist to force his believe onto someone else. Buddhists do not convert others, especially not by means of force. We’re not Christians.”
I took in his words.
“But I can ask you to tell me more about it and you would be allowed to give me some information, right?”
“If you phrase it that way, I think it is alright.”
I opened the backdoor of my hardtop jeep, put the plastic car cover over the backseat and offered the hippie to get in. I was looking forward to getting an explanation on Buddhism, despite the fact it would cost me 60 rupees to have my car seriously disinfected at the end of the journey. Perhaps one day in the future I would be able to talk to other people and tell them what I have learned about Buddhism.

DRESSED IN WHITE

Struggling with my shawl in the wind.

Finally a recent experience, rather than something I experienced during my years in India (February 2000 – October 2006).

Please note that if you find the first paragraphs a bit boring, be aware that it gets funnier towards the end.

(Some background information first, please stay with me).

In Thailand lay people (often) dress in white on special occasions, exempli gratia when they are going to a temple for a special ceremony. This is also (often) the case in India. It might be a white polo shirt and white trousers, a long white skirt and a white blouse. However, no one really dresses in white during other occasions. I guess white is difficult to keep spotless, especially in India where mud, dust, vomit, feces and urine tend to fly through the air and shmutz your clothes.

White expresses the concept of purity. In Thailand Buddhist monks dress in a kind of orange habit (I’m colour blind), leaving the naked right shoulder exposed. Their robes are often torn, expressing the fact that they do not care about impressing people with a perfect new outfit. New habits are often damaged before they start wearing them.
Thai nuns dress in a white skirt, a white blouse with long sleeves and a white shawl, wrapped around their body covering the left shoulder and back, pulled underneath the right armpit, covering the chest and then thrown over the left shoulder again. Both Thai monks and nuns have shaved heads, including facial hair, including eyebrows, yes, I say again: including eyebrows. This unlike Tibetan monks who often allow themselves to grow their hair a bit longer (perhaps 5 mm to 1 cm, especially in winter when one does not want their heads to freeze off their necks). They don’t have to shave their eyebrows and some even sport a beard or moustache.

Now the idea of ridding oneself of hair has all to do with becoming less attractive (id est: in a sexual way). Ordained Thais are supposed to have no physical attractiveness. A man or woman without hair and eyebrows doesn’t look sexy (at least that is what one thinks overhere and I must say; I agree). When I lived in the Himalayas, I often encountered hot-looking Tibetan monks with beautiful eyebrows. Unlike with Tibetan monks, as a woman you cannot touch Thai monks or invite them into your room for a conversation. Thank you Jesus that I got that information on Thai-monk-customs shortly after arriving in Thailand, as I am a very touchy person. I hug and kiss, hold hands, put my hands on people’s legs, ruffle the hair on their scalps, to name a few means of my touching behaviour. In Thailand it is not even an acceptable thing to touch anyone’s scalp, unless you’re a physician or a hairdresser. You don’t even pat a cute little kid on the head. The crown of the scalp is considered the most sacred part of the body; the feet the least. When I am upset with a Thai person I love to say: "Be careful, pumpkin, I feel the need to touch the crown of your head with the sole of my left foot!"
In the Himalayas, I had often Tibetan monks coming to my room for spiritual or other types of conversations (without a chaperone present). It wasn’t a problem in Tibetan Buddhism for a lay woman to be friends with Tibetan monks, to shake their hands or briefly touch them on the shoulder. However, sex is not allowed for ordained Tibetans, not with each other, nor with lay people, nor by means of the do-it-yourself version. Also, not all monks live in monasteries and I was allowed to visit them in their rooms too. Please note that I, of course, never had any inappropriate relations with ordained people.

Me sitting totally inappropriately dressed next to a befriended Thai monk

in the holy city of Ayuttaya.
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Ordained male and female Tibetans dress in the same style maroon-red robes, including a skirt, a vest, and maroon or yellow shawl. They even have their accessories in maroon, such as their shoulder bags, bagpacks, suitcases, their socks, their mobile phones, Ipods, etcetera. If you know the Dalai Lama and recalls how he dresses, you know what I am talking about. I especially loved it when he showed up at the White House to meet Mr. Bush, walking up the steps on some old plastic flip-flops (very likely 'Made in China'). Love it! Ain’t the Dalai Lama a wonderful man? Love him!

Tibetan Monks debating ouside the Dalai Lama Temple

In India, most yogis (male) and yoginis (female) aspire to always dress in white. At this point I am surprised that I spend so many words on looks and clothes. Oy vey! People who experience me in real life know that I don’t give a holy coconut about my own or other people's appearance, unless I desire (or am expected) to look fiercely hot when I go out dancing at some fancy gay club in Silom, Bangkok.
I am a yogini, and a yogini has a steadfast mind, cultivated by the disciplined pursuit of transcendence through Yoga. Tantric scholars have written about yoginis as independent, outspoken women with a gracefulness of spirit without whom Yoga can fail in its purpose and remain sterile. So, I consider myself a yogini, even when I am dancing in a pair of low-waist skinny jeans and black bra on a gay gogo-stage in Bangkok.

In a 2001 newspaper interview I stated that, despite my interest in Buddhism and living in a mostly monastic Tibetan community, I didn’t feel the need to convert to Buddhism. However, shortly after the interview was published, I decided to change my mind and take my vows. I wasn’t ordained as a Tibetan nun, but I did take my 5 basic Buddhist (Bodhisattva) vows: no killing, stealing, lying, sexual misconduct, drugs and alcohol.

Okay, to make a long story short, after taking my initial 5 vows, a Tibetan monk handed over to me a book with about every Buddhist vow one can vow. I believe there were over 250 things that one can vow. Studying the book and all these vows, I thought, “I could do that. I could aspire to act according to at least 168 of these 250-plus vows. The first 10 vows being:

1. Not to kill any living creature
2. Not to steal anything
3. Not to engage in any form of sexual misconduct
4. Not to lie or use false speech
5. Not to consume or distribute intoxicants
6. Not to discuss the faults and misdeeds that occur by any Buddhist
7. Not to praise oneself or disparage others
8. Not to be stingy or abusive towards those in need
9. Not to harbor anger or resentment or encourage others to be angry
10. Not to criticise or slander the Three Jewels: (Buddha, Buddhist teachings (Dharma) and Buddhist community (Sangha).

Believe me, the other 158 vows are way more intricate and difficult to adhere to. They are more about what TO DO, rather than what NOT TO DO.

So I shlepped myself back to the Tsuglakhang (Dalai Lama Temple) with the intention to take 168 vows as a lay-person. And believe me, my dear reader, ever since, I have taken my vows very, very seriously. This doesn’t mean I am always able to adhere to every single one of them, but at least I try my utmost to do so. I confess: I have killed Thai ants and Indian malaria mosquitos, but I always apologised immediately. I have had a few beers in Bangkok, but I always looked up to the sky with the pint of beer in my left hand and my right hand on my heart and said "Cheers" to the universe. I have smoked cigarettes in India, even a spliff or two (okay maybe three or four), and I have accidentally stolen plastic lighters from friends (Why do people's lighters always end up in my handbag?). But I do not lie and use false speech and I never engaged in sexual misconduct, as far as I am aware of. My lama doesn't really like to talk about sex, so I have no idea what is considered inappropriate. However, as long as I see a big smile on my sexual partner's face and his penis looks happy, I think I am not misconducting anything.

But seriously, my vows are at the centre of every thought I have, every word I say, every action I take. Having taken these vows and living the life of a Bodhisattva is not for selfish reasons. These vows are made out of compassion for others. The Bodhisattva devotes his/her powers to helping others attain enlightenment. (Boring? Well keep on reading, it gets better).

In India I practically always dressed in my white yogini robe, but in the streets of Bangkok, I hardly ever do so. However, since Monday I dress in my white yogini outfit between sunrise and sunset. In Thailand, this yogini robe is actually considered the habit of an ordained Theravada Buddhist nun. Thai people tend to be a little surprised to see me (a westerner) dressed in such a nun’s-robe, especially when they notice that I haven’t shaved my head, nor my eyebrows. I have long hair, and whenever I wear my habit in Thailand, I will pull my hair up and make a knot on top of my scalp. Good enough for me.

But why do I feel the need to dress like that? Well, I’ll explain. I have had a few rough weeks behind me dealing with some nasty people. During this period I sometimes felt the urge to express myself with angry words (but didn't). When you’re dressed in jeans and T-shirt and you’re having a dispute with an arsehole, it is easier to use the Fuck-word, or say 'bloody Jesus' than when you’re having the outer appearance of a Bodhisattva (in other words: when you’re dressed as a nun). It just doesn’t appear correct if a monk, nun, priest, pope, lama or yogi goes about the streets shouting and swearing. I must say I never shout, I am never angry at people, but people sometimes disappoint me, including myself. But I hate to admit that I love the ‘bitch’ and ‘fuck’-words, which I really, really attempt to replace with the words 'pumpkin' and 'coconut' as often as possible. For example, I would say: “What the coconut was he thinking when doing that?” instead of: “What the fuck was he thinking when doing that?” or: “I cannot believe that that coconutting rectum dares to treat me so badly!” instead of: "I cannot believe that that fucking arsehole dares to treat me so badly," or: “Oh, coconut Lord, I can’t believe he’s such a pumpkin!” instead of: “Oh, fucking Jesus, I can’t believe he’s such a bitch!”

One thing I need to explain to you: Like Kathy Griffin, I am a fallen Catholic. She (quote) fell so far, she woke up in Beijing (unquote), and I myself fell so far I woke up next door to the Dalai Lama atop a mountain in the Himalayas. And, as Kathy Griffin said in her show (I believe it was Suck it Jesus); “No one swears or uses the Lord’s name in vain more than Catholics.”
This is actually something written in Exodus 20:7: “Thy shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain, for the Lord will not leave him unpunished who takes His name in vain.”
And believe me, there where moments in olden times that I would rant things such as: "Goddammit, son of bitch from hell, Jesus Holy Christ hanging on the cross. Pontius Pilate Peter Paul Mary Magdalene and the Holy Ghost and all the other apostles etcetera etcetera!"
(Yeah, I know; I am losing some fine God-fearing readers at this point, but what the coconut; I can’t please every pumpkin).

Now I have my own ideas about God and how we talk about Her. Personally, I believe that when one uses the Lady’s name in vain, She’s laughing her head off, because it is the Lord herself that is speaking in this manner. Why? Well, I believe that all of us combined make up the thing that we call God. We are small pieces of intelligence or consciousness making up that bigger smart entity that many people refer to as God. Thus, if I say Fuck, it is a part of God saying Fuck. I sometimes disappoint myself too, thus it is God who feels disappointed about himself as well. Because our dear God is Everything and we are God. God is not separate from us, a seperate entity that is angry and revengeful and punishes human beings whenever they do something that is not permitted in the Bible. No, God is US and, like us, It has many faces; She is good and evil, She is male and He is female, It is transgender, a cross-dresser, gay and straight, human-like, animal-like, plant-like, and mineral-like. God is Everything. And as God created us in Its likeness, I assume that whatever it is we think, feel, say or do, it is God-like, no matter what. That is just the way things are. It just is. Whether some thoughts, words and actions are beneficial to the world is a different story. And that is why I love God. Amen.

Leading a group of elderly women in Surat thani, Thailand with Yoga exercises

These days I wear white shawls, but not when giving Yoga classes.

Hence, when I dress in white and go about in public as a yogini, I am aware that people view me as a Bodhissatva. More than at any other time I am completely focused on what I think, say or do. My white outfit helps me to be aware that I need to be a compassionate, wise and a helpful living sentient being and should not go about in public, or even in the privacy of my own home, swearing and being angry or acting not as a Bodhisattva. So my white outfit helps me to be good.

One more thing.
Some people, especially those who do not know me very well, sometimes tell me that they experience me as a self-centred person. I do agree to a certain extend that this is one of my many flaws. Especially when I don’t know people very well I tend to talk more about myself, rather than showing interest in the other person. Perhaps this has more to do with my being an anti-social geek, rather than self-centred. I don’t understand why my brain has been wired in this particular manner; why I have to a certain extend developed into a self-centred person. I assume it has to do with the fact that I was an only child for most of my childhood and, as a child, had very few friends in the Netherlands. In China one calls this behaviour The Little Emperor Syndrome.

However, I know that I have warm, intimate, close relationships with platonic friends that are completely the opposite; that I am the one who’s always listening, showing interest, asking questions, gathering information, and talking practically never about myself. Interestingly, I often listen a lot better to folks that are interesting people who can actually teach me something, or at least entertain me. Every day I tell myself I am just a simple and humble person (but) with exceptional experiences.
Some time ago I saw an old interview with Barbra Streisand, who is, next to the Dalai Lama, my main role model. The interviewer told Ms Streisand that he didn’t like her very much, as he thought she was self-centred and self-absorbed. Ms Streisand started crying and asked the cameraperson to stop filming her. She later responded to the interviewer on camera that he was asking her personal questions about her and her work and that she was just answering those questions. She found his remark not fair and resented the fact that he had called her self-centred and self-absorbed. I cried when seeing that interview and related to Ms Streisand’s pain.
As a writer who has been asked to publish two autobiographic novels with about 800 pages of personal experiences, and being interviewed over and over again about those books and my personal experiences, it is hard not to talk about myself. I even think I actually tried my best in my autobiographies to often shift the focus from myself towards the people that I encountered during my life, presenting myself as the observer rather than the object of interest.
I am the first one to admit that I am not perfect. I have my flaws. I am highly self-analytical and I do meditate on my flaws, my shortcomings, and I do so on a daily basis. I often speak with other people who are part of the Sangha-community, discussing how to better myself, how to improve myself, how to become a better Bodhisattva.

I often apologise to people for my flaws. In return I always forgive people if they ask me to forgive them. Likewise, I forgive myself too, because I do love myself unconditionally, with flaws and all.

I would like to conclude this monologue with my favourite prayer. I heard it the first time spoken by His Holiness the Dalai Lama's interpreter in English at the end of one of many Buddhist teachings he has been giving in the USA. The thousands of people in the stadium prayed along with the Dalai Lama and, as is tradition, the prayer was repeated three times.

Here we go.

“With the wish to free all beings, I shall always go for refuge to the Buddha, Dharma and Sangha, until I reach full enlightenment.
Enthused by wisdom and compassion, today, in the presence of the Buddha, I generate the mind for full awakening for the benefit of all sentient beings.
As long as space remains, as long as sentient beings remain, may I too remain, and dispel the miseries of the world.” (x 3)

May peace prevail on Earth and may all sentient beings find happiness.

I bless you all.

Pantau

PS. (When I say or write: "I bless you", some people consider me arrogant. They say: shouldn't you say: "May God bless you?". I always explain to them that I never do so for three reasons:

1. I am not the spokesperson for GOD.

2. As a third degree Reiki Master, my Grand Master has initiated me and given me the power to bless.

3. As a yogini and bodhissatva I have the power to bless.

A WALK IN THE PARALLEL UNIVERSE (Part 4 of 4)

It took only a few minutes to arrive at Saji’s home; a simple brick bungalow with a tile roof, a granite floor and a typical local garden consisting of decades-old palm trees planted in a dry grass-covered ground.
Most Kerala families make a little extra money by harvesting the coconuts and produce home-made coconut oil that gets collected by a local coconut-oil factory. I was introduced to her husband and children and offered a glass of cold water from the fridge. A little later an elaborate dinner was served. Half of the dishes were brought in by neighbours and nearby living family members. They were obviously warned about my arrival by word of mouth, and requested to prepare some food for me. An hour later I told Saji I felt exhausted and really wanted to go back to my hut on Papanasam Cliff. A rickshaw was arranged to pick me up and deliver me back to my home.

The next day the anesthetics had worn off and my foot had swollen to the size of a coconut. It was impossible for me to stand on it, let alone walk on it. My foot didn’t even fit into my sandal. Some friendly locals soon offered me to pick me up at my hut and take me on their scooters over the footpath to nearby eateries, or pick up food for me and deliver it to my home. The next evening I had someone drive me to the little dhaba of my friend Manesh on North Cliff, as I needed to confer with him. He had both a guesthouse and eatery. While I was sipping from my masala tea and talking about reserving 8 rooms in his guesthouse for some friends who were expected to arrive in a few weeks, I told Manesh about my recent experiences; my dream about a young man called Steven from Sydney, Australia, who somehow fell unconscious and tumbled off the cliff, the next afternoon’s strange vision of a sleeping dog and falling coconuts, the strange manifestation of circles in the red volcanic gravel near the helipad, and the real-live encounter of an injured young man called Steven from Sydney who had indeed fallen off the cliff.
“Yes,” Manesh reacted. “I know. I saw that happening.”
“You did?”
“Yes. It was about 11 o’clock in the evening and I had closed my dhaba and turned off the lights. I took a chair outside and sat there in the dark enjoying the beautiful moon and the stars and the lights at the sea’s horizon of all the fishermen’s boats. It had been a busy day and I wanted to wind down, relax in the darkness with my own thoughts. I was smoking a beedi and I saw this guy with blond hair walking on the footpath on the cliff. He stood still, about 50 yards from my dhaba, staring out at sea and the moon. I thought he was enjoying the darkness and silence of the night and take in the view, relaxing. Though it was fairly dark, the moon was bright enough for me to see he was a westerner, as the moon shone some light on his blond hair. After a minute or 10 his head suddenly tilted backwards. He went down on his knees and suddenly tumbled forward off the cliff. I thought: holy cow what is happening to that man! I rushed to the cliff’s edge and shouted at the man who had landed some 30 metres below me on the rocks. He appeared to be dead. Who would survive a fall from such a height? I saw some fishermen sitting around a little bonfire a little further down the beach so I shouted at them that a man had fallen off the cliff. I ran back to my dhaba to get my big Magnum flashlight, ran back to the cliff’s edge and guided the fishermen with my light to the place where the man had landed on the rocks near surf. The fishermen picked him up and took him away. They had to carry the guy all the way to Beach Road and I assumed they put the poor fellow in a taxi or auto-rickshaw and had him sent to a hospital. I hope he didn’t die.”
I took my last sip of my masala chai. “Well, I met him the next day, Manesh. He had been released from hospital with a broken leg and lots of injuries. I couldn’t believe he was walking on crutches from Beach Road up the cliff towards the helipad. I guess he was going back to his guestroom.”
“You had only seen him in your dream. You never met before, right?”
“Han-ji, that is correct,” I answered.
“Did he explain to you why he had fallen off the cliff?” Manesh asked.
“Yes, he thought someone had knocked him on the head and pushed him off the cliff for some reason, but I had a premonition and told him he had a ruptured artery in his brain which had made him fall unconscious. I told him he should be examined by a neurologist in Thiruvananthapuram. I put him in a taxi and send him to the KMI. However, I had only received this information in a dream, so I couldn’t be completely sure. But with you as a witness I can now be completely sure that Steven wasn’t a victim of a crime but that he indeed had suffered an aneurism.”
I put my empty glass down on the plastic tablecloth. I stared at Manesh and then looked out at the dark horizon of the Arabian Sea. For some unknown reason no fishermen were out at sea today.
“Life is never dull, Manesh,” I said, contemplating.
“It surely isn’t, Madam.”
“You know, people always expect me to have some sort of enlightening or paranormal experience in Dharamsala in the Himalayas, as that is where the Dalai Lama lives, but I rarely do so. I don’t know why. I appear to have more unusual spiritual experiences here in Varkala. There is something special about this beach. Perhaps this place will be turned in a ghastly tourist place within a few years or so, but I wonder if the holiness of this blessed beach will ever be affected by it. I wonder whether the gods will be angry, whether the local spirits will leave Papanasam Cliff and go somewhere else.” I looked at Manesh. “What do you think, Manesh-ji? Will tourism ever affect the holiness of this special place?”
Manesh frowned. “I do not know, Madam-ji. I do not know. I hope not, but only time can tell whether we will be losing the holy energy that has blessed Papanasam Cliff and Varkala Beach for thousands of years.”
Manesh and I both remained silent and stared at the sea’s dark horizon.

A WALK IN THE PARALLEL UNIVERSE (Part 3 of 4)

I gave Saji a hug and felt the shoulder of my white cotton yogini habit getting wet. I kissed her on her cheek and lay the palm of my right hand on the crown of her head. “I bless you, Saji, and I will send a prayer into the universe tonight to ask the gods to help you on your path to become a great politician. The only thing you need to do is to really believe in yourself. And remember, there is a formula to attract the things you desire. When you pray: don’t ask the gods: ‘I WANT to be a mayor.’ You should pray: “I am grateful and thankful to have the passion to be a mayor.’ I looked into her eyes. “Because when you want something, you keep pushing your dream away from you as you keep telling the gods that you WANT something. So the gods will respond to that and leave you in a state of wanting, rather than making that desire come true. If you desire something, you need to thank for it in advance. Then the law of attraction kicks in.”
Saji looked at me. “Thank you.” And after a pause she said, “What is your name?”
“My name is Pantau.”
“Pantau? What kind of a name is that? It sounds like a Hindu name. It means ‘The Way’. Is it Hindi?”
“No, it’s Tibetan. It means ‘To be helpful. It is the name of my previous body, a Tibetan freedom fighter who was killed by the Chinese. The Dalai Lama bestowed this name on me when I met him a few years ago. He actually renamed me Pantau Lhamo, or ‘Blessing Deity.’”
Saji took this information in but a few moments later she suddenly got up from the taqat, positioned herself at my feet and touched them with her hands and forehead.
Though feeling completely uncomfortable with this kind of appreciation, I didn’t want to insult her by pulling her up from the grey concrete floor.
“Pantau-ji, is there something I can do for you?”
“Well, actually, yes. Forget about my eyebrows, I’ll come back for that another time. Now that you’re down there at my feet, have a look at the ball of my left foot. I have been walking around on my broken sandals for ages and I have grown a nasty corn in the ball of my left foot. It troubles me when walking.”
Saji had a look at my foot and started rubbing it with her thumb. “O dear! That is a very big deep corn that I cannot just cut out. You need to see a doctor for that.”
“Oy nicht gitt. There are no doctors here in Papanasam and I have no idea where to go.”
“I have an uncle who lives some 10 miles from here and he’s a doctor. I could close my shop now and take you to him. I am sure he’ll be able to help you.”
Suddenly I saw an image of a grey concrete box-like doctor’s practice in my left eye and an exceptionally old man with thick spectacles and some suspicious looking 18th-century’s physicians’ tools spread out on a shmutzig-looking grey piece of cloth that used to be sparkling white some 300 years ago.
I held my breath for a second or 30 while gazing at Saji. Finally I uttered the words: “Okay.” I sighed. “Okay, that is very kind of you. I would really appreciate your help.”

Five minutes later we boarded a tuk-tuk (a three-wheeled scooter rickshaw) driven by the only female driver in Varkala and perhaps in India at large. Well, she wasn’t really trying to be a woman. During our 45-minute drive the driver explained to me that she wanted to be a boy and tried to look as masculine as possible when driving his tuk-tuk but that he would dress as a women when she would visit her parents in some upcountry village. She hadn’t had her hair cut short, but he would manage to make it look more like a masculine hairstyle and he would also dress in male trousers and shirts and bind her breasts. He would also lower her voice to sound like a man. The way he moved his body was convincingly masculine.
“Well, very interesting. How do the other tuk-tuk-drivers feel about you?”
“They’re okay with it. Keralites are tolerant people and they are in awe with the fact that I am the only female tuk-tuk driver in Kerala.”
While she was speeding to our destination through the wetlands of Kerala, passing temple elephants, groups of totally naked holy Saddhus smeared from head to toe by ashes, and other things that I will cover in future stories, she showed me a newspaper clipping of an article of her standing in front of his tuk-tuk, accompanied by a story and the headline: FIRST LADY TUKTUK-DRIVER.

Amina Aliyar
The sole “female” rickshaw driver in Varkala


He delivered us at the doctors’ office which was a grey concrete box-like accommodation with inside an exceptionally old man with thick spectacles and some suspicious looking 18th-century’s physicians’ tools spread out on a shmutzig-looking grey piece of cloth that must have been sparkling white some 300 years ago. I swallowed. There were about 30 sick men, women and children waiting outside on the floor, but they were all made to wait for me, as I (for some inexplicable reason) always tend to receive priority in India.
The old doctor was very friendly, spoke perfect English (as all educated Indians do) and installed me on a table that must have been once used to serve food at Malayalam wedding ceremonies. He had a look at my foot, disinfected the area, materialized a glass syringe in a metal frame from thin air and filled it with anesthetics from a small bottle. He shot the stuff in my foot and after talking chitchat for a few minutes he suddenly took out a scalpel and cut the corn with root and all out of the sole of my foot in one perfect maneuver. I didn’t mind the blood that started jetting all over the place, which stopped the moment he had put one stitch in the little wound. He wrapped my entire foot in sterile gauze and, to prevent the gauze from getting dirty, he covered it with a plastic shopping bag. I got off the table, was able to stand on both feet and felt very relieved. He gave me some antibiotics and painkillers and told me I could expect my foot to swell up and I would be unable to use two feet for walking for at least a week or two. I saw in my left I that the doctor was absolutely right about that prediction.
“Thank you, doctor. How much do I owe you for the surgery and medication?”
“Madam, it’s my pleasure that I was able to help you. You don’t owe me anything.”
“O doctor-ji, I can’t accept that. I insist on paying you.”
“Madam-ji, really, you don’t owe me anything.”
I kept silent for a few moments, contemplating. “Doctor-ji, are you a Hindu or a Muslim?”
“I am a Hindu, Madam.”
“Would you accept a few hundred rupees from me and donate that to the temple that you go to, spend it on firecrackers to ward off angry spirits or anything else you feel conducive?”
The doctor smiled. “Madam-ji, that is very nice of you. Yes, I will accept such donation.”
I handed him 400 rupees which was generous as the treatment wouldn’t have cost me more than perhaps a 150 rupees with any other village doctor.
I boarded the tuk-tuk and Saji offered me to drive me to her family home and introduce me to her husband and children. I was exhausted by now and desired to go straight back to my home and relax in my hammock. Nevertheless, I felt I couldn’t reject her offer.
“That would be lovely,” I said with a tired smile.
“You must be hungry by now. It’s nearly 8 o’clock. I will prepare for you a nice meal and make sure you will get home safely after dinner.”
I put my palms together in front of my forehead and bowed my head. “Thank you, Saji. You’re a very good person.”

A WALK IN THE PARALLEL UNIVERSE (Part 2 of 4)

Papanasam Beach Varkala

I sat down next to Saji on the taqat in her very little beauty parlour. It wasn’t more than a grey concrete box with some basic beauty parlour products, but if you know how beautifully Indian girls have their eyebrows modeled by means of threading, you accept the concrete box and appreciate the beauty-parlour-threading specialist and her basic accommodation.
I explained to Saji what had just happened between my room and her beauty-parlour, and she listened to me with much interest. I kept it brief, as not to overwhelm her with my parallel-universe-chitchat.
I held her hand in mine and looked into her dark brown eyes. She was an extremely pretty girl, perhaps in her mid-twenties.
“I don’t know anything about you, but there is a lot on your mind,” I said. “You worry about what’s happening to this fishing community.”
Saji’s eyes became moist and tears started flowing over her dark complexion. “You feel the need to do something about it. You want to become the mayor of Varkala, right? Or even president of India.”
Saji nodded in agreement.
“Because then you would be able to help the people you care for and talk some sense into them.”
Saji nodded again.
“You come from a poor family and have a husband who beats you. You worry about the safety of your children. You always dreamed of becoming a beauty queen, but you never got the chance because you’re from a low cast. I am so sorry, Saji. But I have a feeling you might become successful in politics. I think you should consider getting elected as a mayor.”
“Madam! How do you know all this? You don’t know me.”
“I know, but something strange is happening with me these past weeks and I have premonitions and dreams and I sometimes feel I can read people’s minds.”
Saji just stared at me.
“So Saji, talk to me. Why do you worry so much about the local people?”
Saji took a deep breath. “Before the tourists came, life was good. The men would go out to sea with their boats and canoes to fish. They’d come home with their catch at sunrise. They were strong men, healthy and happy, beautiful strong bodies. The women would receive the fish from the men and sell them at the market in the afternoon. The men would rest and talk and laugh and relax in their beach huts. They would tend to their fishing nets and enjoy the silence and beauty of the holy Papanasam White Sand Beach and Black Sand Beach. They would climb the palm trees and collect coconuts. The women would wash the laundry by hand and cook and take care of the children. But everything changed these past ten years. It all started when a few western tourists came to our holy beach and stayed for a while because they didn’t like the tourist places in Goa. They would eat masala dosa in our local dhabas and sleep on the beach. And the Varkalayans thought that it was good because there was some foreign money coming into our little community and they were able to build a better school for our children and improve the roads. And then more and more tourists started coming and they needed places to stay. So some of fishermen started to build simple guesthouses from volcanic rock with palm leaf roofs and sit in front of their new properties on a chair doing nothing else than letting these tourists in and collecting the money. And the men soon started to feel bored and started drinking and smoking ganja to feel better. More and more tourists started to come and people started to cut down the palm trees on their land to build more guesthouses. They earned enough money to buy washing machines so the women no longer needed to do the laundry by hand and they started to grow fat and develop heart problems. Less and less men would go out to sea and they started to grow fat too and more and more people started to die of heart attacks. Now there are fewer men than women in Varkala. You have no idea how many men have become drug and alcohol addicts, feeling bored and unhappy by sitting in front of their guesthouses and beating their wives and children because they feel frustrated. The municipality has decided that the remaining fishermen are no longer allowed to tow their wooden boats onto Papanasam Beach as they want it to look better for the tourists now. There’s so much competition between the guesthouse owners that families start to have disputes with each other. They build high walls around their properties and don’t talk to each other any more.”
I nodded understandingly and wiped away some tears from Saji’s face with a piece of her toilet paper. (Toilet paper in India is a luxury product and serves as Kleenex and not to wipe the bum, but that is a totally different story).
“How many years will it take before Black Beach will be turned into a tourist place? How many years will it take before all the other beaches in the area will turn into tourist places? What will happen to Kappil Beach? This is a Muslim community. We used to pray five times a day to Allah. The men would go to the mosques, but I wonder what they pray for these days. More money? Bigger guesthouses?”
I observed Saji’s worried expression on her face.
“More and more tourists are coming to our beaches to lay half naked in the sun and shock the men, women and children in our community with all that exposed skin. The tourists don’t understand that the way they dress on the beach in those little swimsuits comes across to the local people as pornographic garments. I have heard stories that some of our men became so excited that they raped some of those tourists. So… to make a long story short, I am not sure whether economic development is actually beneficial to our community. In the past, we were happy. But now…. well, I guess now we are as unhappy as many of those tourists. Did you notice how many of them complain about everything? They think our toilets are dirty or primitive, the mattresses too hard, the Indian food too spicy. So they want French fries and hamburgers and spaghetti. They rather drink water from plastic bottles that the Coca Cola Company delivers in trucks. Did you know that Coca Cola is pumping up groundwater from underneath the nearby farmlands? That water is full of pesticides but the tourists think that water in a plastic bottle is clean. And the rubbish of plastic is piling up as we don’t have a garbage collection system. They refuse to drink the holy water that is coming from the spout of Papanasam Cliff, though the local authorities have tested that water over and over again and proven that it has special healing minerals and no bacteria. Another branch of that well leads to a nearby hospital and they use that water to heal their patients. For hundreds of years every generation of Keralites know that the water from Papanasam Cliff is holy. But give it some time and the Coca Cola Company will put a plug in the spout or put the water in plastic bottles to sell it to tourists in the shops for 20 rupees per litre.”
“And that is why you want to become a mayor? To stop all this insanity?”
“Yes. My people are going crazy, just because of all this tourism. We may have more money, but the more money we have, the less happy we become.”

This is me.

I dedicate this story to the people of Papanasam Varkala Beach, Black Beach, and Kappil Beach and hope that my love for them reflects in the above photos.

End of Part 2 of 4