Dating : Mountainous Empathy

Last night I sat on a couch with three super smart Tibetan teenagers.

I am jokingly their ‘bubble aunty’. During UK lockdown we can form a support bubble with another household so mine is three minutes away in a tall house with a teal painted door and the teenagers.

Their mother is a close friend and currently in South India visiting her elderly parents for two months, who live on the edge of a town with other Tibetans. As is often the case refugees formed their own mini town out of the camps.

As the brood and I talked politics and watched ‘The Social Dilemma’, I snuggled up with Kiga, the second eldest, and thought about their mum far away.

I miss our discussions. I miss her blunt forthright kindness. I miss her tough jokes about Tibetan nannies being a premium product abroad.

And I miss her perspective.

I remember when I travelled to Dharamsala in 2001 (literally flew back into London on 9/11) and spent two weeks in the village of McLeod Ganj, the home of the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan Government in Exile.

I was 20 years old and travelled on my own because my friend broke her right tibia two months before. We were planning to go to Tibet trekking.

I was bricking it (Brit slang for shit scared) but still flew to Kathmandu and then gave up on my plans because I was student budgeting — the Chinese Government were only allowing one week pricey package tours being stalked-shepherded around Lhasa.

I was very stubborn back then, convinced I was right about everything, and kinda naive.

I was also utterly fascinated by the Dalai Lama and his teachings. So I ended up in North India after an immense journey across land — alone.

I experienced the full range of human behaviour, lecherous harassment to radical kindness in action. Real ‘help the stranger in our midst’ angels helping me out of vulnerable scenarios on the night train.

And then I made it to the place often known as the ‘Little Lhasa’.

No one in my family, let alone the women, had gone to university or travelled afar like this. When I stepped off the bus from Delhi, stretching my legs and ears, all I saw was the gliding illustrious clouds of the high Himalaya.

Saffron robes and friendly faces. Chai stalls and the just arrived internet cafes.

The energy felt hopeful and electric. His Holiness would be teaching at the monastery during August. All I needed was to find a pocket radio and a set of headphones so I could listen in. Oh and be on time…

So of course I was late.

It started at midday and I trotted in at five past — the Dalai Lama’s teachings FFS! — but as destiny would have it it turned out perfect.

Where I was sitting — because I was late — was the exact place he walked past when security cleared a path. And I’ll never forget the feeling when he smiled and reached out his hand.

To know someone had spent their entire life with one primary focus — to develop compassion for all living beings — was one thing and how many gurus have trotted across the spiritual stage.

But to feel the incredible energy…

Forget PHD’s and making a billion by thirty, he had geared all his intentions towards developing his own humble human heart…and I felt it.

I’ll be honest, it wasn’t until a decade later that I really immersed myself in Buddhist teachings and meditations.

What drew me there and made me skip back to my hostel and ring my mum at 5am UK time to tell her I’d met this amazing man with incredible energy (poor mum!) was the non-denominational wisdom of his writings.

It was pure heart. And deeply practical.

It was the kind of spiritual discipline that comes from sitting in meetings with oppressive bullying psychopaths telling you (with a smile) your country is nothing but a subsidiary backwater and all religion is poison.

It’s an ancient tradition knowing what hatred does on the quantum level.

Through life I often reflect on what are healthy forms of empathy. I am an Empath which means I have a nervous system that ‘over feels’.

It’s crucial that we move from co-dependent to healthy forms of helping others, respecting their sovereignty and not rushing in to ‘fix’ or control.

One of the reasons why I love and value meditation so much is how it helps me practice what Tara Brach calls ‘RAIN’ — Recognise, Allow, Investigate, Nurture.

I can see, soothe and ground the parts of me that react, check out, and feel rage, for to practice loving kindness we must break the trance of our own unjustified and often imposed feelings of unworthiness.

To gently do this requires a compassionate turning towards.

That comes first — a soft yet mountainous commitment.

After that encounter at the monastery I spent the rest of my time exploring and observing Dharamsala.

I walked up long hills with older Tibetan women and watched the fire and passion of the dialectical debates of the monks.

I sat with senior Tibetan ministers over porridge in cafes talking about geopolitics (my degree was IR at the time).

I experienced community and kindness and resilience.

I saw a people violently kicked out of their own country carry the spirit of compassion with them.