It's a pretty tough world and getting tougher all the time. So, who can blame anyone for extracting a drop of comfort, for placing any of what little hope they've managed to cling to, in a charm. A totem. An amulet.
Aw, shoot. I know those things can't do anything. Not on their own. But as humble symbols of connectedness, as small points of focus for good wishes, as reminders of the way everything comes and everything goes, why, they probably can't hurt.
Many years ago, when traveling in the Himalayas, around the time I was crushed under a jeep and killed there, I sometimes bought beads from Tibetan pilgrims. They would spread their wares on threadbare mats on the flagstone paths near the prayer wheels at the holy stupas they had trekked over the mountains to attend and then dispose of what little treasure was left to them in favor of raising a few rupees for their onward journey. Sometimes home. Sometimes to be homeless.
For all these years, these beads have rested in a bronze bowl - a singing bowl that, when rubbed just so, intones a song you might hear coming from one of those far temples. But now, as Rooki Kahoo and I prepare for another journey - a long one, I think, and one that suggests the need for a completeness of embarkation, a leaving behind of anything that can not come along, it is time to do what those Tibetan travelers did. It is time to spread our mat on the ground and place upon it our paltry wares so that they, and we, may continue our journey.
Roo, also known as World Bear because of the transformation that began in a terrifying kill-shelter cage and then saw her traverse this country many times,
to all its four corners, and some of Mexico to boot, on the way to becoming the fully-formed, happy dog she has succeeded in becoming, now has her collar adorned with a modest old piece of Tibetan coral and a dark bit of Tibetan turquoise.
Now, I don't know if it's true, but it used to be said that the reason pink and red coral was - and is - so precious to Tibetans (joyously unmaterialistic people) was because a degree of its beauty derived from its otherworldliness. There is no sea anywhere near Tibet, and so there is no native coral. The first coral was said to have been brought in on caravans, on the backs of camels and mules and horses, in wooden-wheeled carts dragged over ice tundra and rock in the days of Marco Polo and then along the subsequent Silk Road. That is not something that I ever cared to research. Some stories are like wildflowers. Better to have seen them in full bloom and move on than to wither them with the picking.
In recent times, of course, the traditional Tibetan appetite for coral has been satisfied by tons of new harvest, dyed beads and fakes. Every tourist shop from Darjeeling to Kathmandu to Leh (three of my favorite places, spread from east to west in a crescent-shaped line along the southern range of the Himalaya) is filled with baubles made from it. That coral, usually the perfect blood red of a chemical dye, machined to uniform dimensions not possible when hewn and polished by hand, or bamboo or sponge coral disguised as rarer species, is not the same.
The beads considered the more imbued predate the era of factory manufacture, the product of which had not yet swamped Tibet in the days when I sat with the pilgrims and picked these. Not that these were of any first water. They were just the best beads that a poor pilgrim carried - but carried over the highest mountains in the world. They are not of oldest, or even much older origin, jsut part of the baggage on a voyage of the soul over the world's most difficult terrain. Perhaps they had been in his family for some years. Or his family and friends pooled their money so that he would have them to trade. It was never about money in any sense beyond whatever was enough to move on.
Traditionally worn with coral in Tibet is turquoise. The turquoise beads came to me in the same way, and so now they go from me in the same way.
So. All that is on offer here are some loose beads. Every single one of them has been with me for 30 or more years. I offer them exactly as they were offered to me. Things being what they are, the internet is the blanket we spread on the ground. I imagine the dusty World Bear, lying beside where I sit, exercising the lesson in patience she learned in her puppyhood of imprisonment, but knowing, as she does, and glad, as I think she is, that another leg of her journey will soon begin.
We are in a maelstrom of moving and shedding possessions. The plan is to purchase a small trailer. My only worry is that the trailer is tiny and Roo may not find the hiding place she needs. But that is another story, one I will write to you all before long. I will write of the solution I am sure to find. I have always found ways to lessen Roo's fears and will keep finding them.
Donate what you like. There are no set prices.
There are only 16 of the coral beads, so 16 pairs is the limit of what I will be able to send, one coral bead paired with one turquoise bead. Don't be disappointed when you receive them. They are not precious. Never bring one to a pawn shop unless you want to be laughed out the door. Know that no matter how securely you attach them to your dog's collar, they will, as a matter of course, be knocked off one day and lost, but that, too, is fitting. When that happens, it will be better to turn from the field where they lie and forget them.
Each set of beads will come with a print of the Tibetan pilgrim above. I was never able to make a print in which it did not appear that he has an aura. I tried to make such a print because the whole idea of auras seemed like nonsense to me, but no matter how much I tried to alter it artificially, there always appaeared to be a cushion of light surrounding that face, lined by a lifetime of prayer and meditation.
I'll send the beads to those who have contributed the most at the end of a week, along with a picture. To everyone else, a picture and great thanks. If we get bogged down it might take some time to send the pictures, because time is running out and conducting this move while sick and gimpy, with a dog who needs to hunt mouses every single day of her life and who thinks about it the rest of the time - and can drill you to the center of your being with the look of the very Devil herself if she is made to wait - is proving challenging. The beads will mail right away.
Those two little strings of beads that you see on either side of the coral and turquoise will go, in addition to the pair, to the top two contributors. One is a collection of tiny, old pink coral beads that remain dulled by the dust that blows on the high plateau and the smoke of yak butter lamps. As objects, they are nothing special. Just beads on old twine, probably collected by a poor person over time. They are scraggly. Not one of them would be credited on a throw of the dice. Maybe they were handed over in the hope of an exchange for a bowl of hot butter tea in a tent besude a mountain pass. They have no value; they are only priceless. The other one is, I suppose, a mini-set of prayer beads, a malla of some sort. People wear them on their wrists all the time. Those insignificant keepsakes are all we are able to offer, though we'd like to offer something in return.
We go humbly, Roo and I, and with thanks.
Aw, shoot. I know those things can't do anything. Not on their own. But as humble symbols of connectedness, as small points of focus for good wishes, as reminders of the way everything comes and everything goes, why, they probably can't hurt.
Many years ago, when traveling in the Himalayas, around the time I was crushed under a jeep and killed there, I sometimes bought beads from Tibetan pilgrims. They would spread their wares on threadbare mats on the flagstone paths near the prayer wheels at the holy stupas they had trekked over the mountains to attend and then dispose of what little treasure was left to them in favor of raising a few rupees for their onward journey. Sometimes home. Sometimes to be homeless.
For all these years, these beads have rested in a bronze bowl - a singing bowl that, when rubbed just so, intones a song you might hear coming from one of those far temples. But now, as Rooki Kahoo and I prepare for another journey - a long one, I think, and one that suggests the need for a completeness of embarkation, a leaving behind of anything that can not come along, it is time to do what those Tibetan travelers did. It is time to spread our mat on the ground and place upon it our paltry wares so that they, and we, may continue our journey.
Roo, also known as World Bear because of the transformation that began in a terrifying kill-shelter cage and then saw her traverse this country many times,
to all its four corners, and some of Mexico to boot, on the way to becoming the fully-formed, happy dog she has succeeded in becoming, now has her collar adorned with a modest old piece of Tibetan coral and a dark bit of Tibetan turquoise.
Now, I don't know if it's true, but it used to be said that the reason pink and red coral was - and is - so precious to Tibetans (joyously unmaterialistic people) was because a degree of its beauty derived from its otherworldliness. There is no sea anywhere near Tibet, and so there is no native coral. The first coral was said to have been brought in on caravans, on the backs of camels and mules and horses, in wooden-wheeled carts dragged over ice tundra and rock in the days of Marco Polo and then along the subsequent Silk Road. That is not something that I ever cared to research. Some stories are like wildflowers. Better to have seen them in full bloom and move on than to wither them with the picking.
In recent times, of course, the traditional Tibetan appetite for coral has been satisfied by tons of new harvest, dyed beads and fakes. Every tourist shop from Darjeeling to Kathmandu to Leh (three of my favorite places, spread from east to west in a crescent-shaped line along the southern range of the Himalaya) is filled with baubles made from it. That coral, usually the perfect blood red of a chemical dye, machined to uniform dimensions not possible when hewn and polished by hand, or bamboo or sponge coral disguised as rarer species, is not the same.
The beads considered the more imbued predate the era of factory manufacture, the product of which had not yet swamped Tibet in the days when I sat with the pilgrims and picked these. Not that these were of any first water. They were just the best beads that a poor pilgrim carried - but carried over the highest mountains in the world. They are not of oldest, or even much older origin, jsut part of the baggage on a voyage of the soul over the world's most difficult terrain. Perhaps they had been in his family for some years. Or his family and friends pooled their money so that he would have them to trade. It was never about money in any sense beyond whatever was enough to move on.
Traditionally worn with coral in Tibet is turquoise. The turquoise beads came to me in the same way, and so now they go from me in the same way.
So. All that is on offer here are some loose beads. Every single one of them has been with me for 30 or more years. I offer them exactly as they were offered to me. Things being what they are, the internet is the blanket we spread on the ground. I imagine the dusty World Bear, lying beside where I sit, exercising the lesson in patience she learned in her puppyhood of imprisonment, but knowing, as she does, and glad, as I think she is, that another leg of her journey will soon begin.
We are in a maelstrom of moving and shedding possessions. The plan is to purchase a small trailer. My only worry is that the trailer is tiny and Roo may not find the hiding place she needs. But that is another story, one I will write to you all before long. I will write of the solution I am sure to find. I have always found ways to lessen Roo's fears and will keep finding them.
Donate what you like. There are no set prices.
There are only 16 of the coral beads, so 16 pairs is the limit of what I will be able to send, one coral bead paired with one turquoise bead. Don't be disappointed when you receive them. They are not precious. Never bring one to a pawn shop unless you want to be laughed out the door. Know that no matter how securely you attach them to your dog's collar, they will, as a matter of course, be knocked off one day and lost, but that, too, is fitting. When that happens, it will be better to turn from the field where they lie and forget them.
Each set of beads will come with a print of the Tibetan pilgrim above. I was never able to make a print in which it did not appear that he has an aura. I tried to make such a print because the whole idea of auras seemed like nonsense to me, but no matter how much I tried to alter it artificially, there always appaeared to be a cushion of light surrounding that face, lined by a lifetime of prayer and meditation.
I'll send the beads to those who have contributed the most at the end of a week, along with a picture. To everyone else, a picture and great thanks. If we get bogged down it might take some time to send the pictures, because time is running out and conducting this move while sick and gimpy, with a dog who needs to hunt mouses every single day of her life and who thinks about it the rest of the time - and can drill you to the center of your being with the look of the very Devil herself if she is made to wait - is proving challenging. The beads will mail right away.
Those two little strings of beads that you see on either side of the coral and turquoise will go, in addition to the pair, to the top two contributors. One is a collection of tiny, old pink coral beads that remain dulled by the dust that blows on the high plateau and the smoke of yak butter lamps. As objects, they are nothing special. Just beads on old twine, probably collected by a poor person over time. They are scraggly. Not one of them would be credited on a throw of the dice. Maybe they were handed over in the hope of an exchange for a bowl of hot butter tea in a tent besude a mountain pass. They have no value; they are only priceless. The other one is, I suppose, a mini-set of prayer beads, a malla of some sort. People wear them on their wrists all the time. Those insignificant keepsakes are all we are able to offer, though we'd like to offer something in return.
We go humbly, Roo and I, and with thanks.