-Lingyu He, MAPREP student from China

1. Back to the City

On my flights from Kathmandu back home, I often enjoy watching the neon lights divide the earth into pieces of puzzles with grids of electricity. I’m back to a place of modernization and urbanization, a city I’m familiar with – its people and places, lively. Streets busy and bustling, air hot and humid. Here, nobody talks about Buddhist soteriological liberation, or ancient Vedic studies, but ordinary souls searching up and down life itself, which is filled with temporary happiness and sorrow, sometimes for meals on plates, sometimes for sensory pleasures, sometimes for lonely hearts to be consoled by illusory, fast-food-style love.

I time-jumped from a religious hub to a concrete jungle of material reality, and the next moment found myself wondering whether I should devour another bowl of hot dry noodles or try some new signature dish at Nirvana, a famous local bistro. Sometimes, I think of impermanence, as Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche taught, and think to myself, “Hey, maybe we should make better use of our time! Did you wake up today knowing that you have an opportunity for liberation?” But most of the time, I fail to carry the teaching of impermanence – I fail to weave the teachings into my daily life. Each time I leave a religious site, I slip back into this concrete reality full of distractions, not recognizing that “I” is also impermanent, and like in a dream, death could happen at any moment.

Rinpoche said, “You become a grown-up when impermanence hits your heart, and your spiritual journey begins. More patient, wiser.”

OK, Rinpoche, I will try. Try hard by reviewing your teachings again and again, by revisiting that state of (semi-)knowing, again and again.

“The Nature of Impermanence” by Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6YET3aZM_S4

1. Dogs ♥

1. Champa (I named him Champa, though I have no idea if he has a real name) is our Ka-Nying monastery dog. He wanders around the Boudha area and comes back to Ka-Nying every day. He’s my source of consolation after I finish reading difficult texts like those of Yogacara and end up understanding absolutely nothing. LOL. Champa is such a gentle and free soul — he lets me into his presence but never grows emotionally attached to me. My love for him is thus unrequited. QAQ. The only ones he seems truly attached to are the monks in saffron robes. He sleeps beside them nearly every day while they debate the dharma, and the moment they leave, I seize my chance — I go over and sit near him for a while. It makes my days at school feel so much better. PS: Even when I push him, he flat-out refuses to wake up from his sleep, yet he’s been remarkably tolerant of my annoying behavior. What a wise, kind, but heartbreaking dog.
2. Laika. Laika is my landlord’s dog — or used to be? The puppy was brought down from upper Mustang to the valley by my landlord, who is in his early 70s. As Laika grew bigger, he refused to be cooped up inside and tried to escape whenever he got the chance. Once, after one of his breakouts, he went to play on the street and got hit by a car — and has walked with a limp ever since. But being handicapped couldn’t stop his pursuit of freedom. He hobbled out the door in great pain even right after a surgery at the vet’s office. My landlord eventually gave in and set him free, now only feeding him when Laika swings by his old home for short but frequent visits. Laika now lives near Shechen Monastery, and whenever he spots me, he leaps and spins with excitement to say hello.
3. Yuzu. Yuzu is my family dog. She was born and raised at home — her mother and grandmother were both our house dogs. Her mother ran away and abandoned her when she was exactly one month old, so I stepped in and raised her on goat milk. Compared to Champa and Laika, Yuzu is timid and deeply home-bound. She barks at anything that unsettles her, from giant trucks to tiny worms. When I’m away, I video call her every week. And if I ever dare pet another dog in front of her, she gets a little jealous and puts a stop to it immediately. She trusts me completely.

1. Social Life

            Well, I guess I’m the least qualified person to talk about social life at RYI. Let me put it in this way – I’m an introvert who might be too independent to feel the desire to share my time and presence with other human beings. Maybe I was a hyper-individualistic animal in a past lifetime, but I hope this habit of self-isolation can gradually give way to relationships that are nurturing and supportive. One thing I love about RYI is our cultural and ethnic diversity – you will never get bored by learning something new from someone new. Most people I know here have an open mind and great patience for people from different cultures, for which I’m grateful. I’m happy that I have a cohort of comrades with whom I won’t have to explain about my faith, my ideologies, my innate inclinations and passions. In Nepal, I met souls I never expected to meet (or reunite with). In Nepal, I experienced what I could not easily formulate with words, the great orchestra of the universe, the intricate weaving of aspirations and continuum.

• So… You want to become a translator?

Dear friend, being a translator of dharma is in no way an easy task…

I never claimed that I must become a translator. I always tell people that I am learning Tibetan and Sanskrit to enrich my own studies and practice, and that one day, if I am deemed qualified, the possibility of becoming a translator may present itself.

One of the major pitfalls on this path is the creeping arrogance that comes from being placed at a slightly elevated position among fellow students. Without diligent, stable practice and acute self-vigilance, things could go seriously sideways. One might even derail one’s entire spiritual journey in the pursuit of becoming Ms. Very Important.

And even if one successfully purges most of the afflictive emotions, there still looms the formidable challenge of linguistic precision and cultural sensibility. Linguistic precision may sound like the more manageable of the two, yet it demands lifelong refinement. Furthermore, translating with genuine understanding of both source and target languages — each within its own cultural context — requires continuous, immersive, and decidedly non-superficial engagement with people from those communities. Without real passion, dear friend, it simply cannot be done.

Not to mention the sheer volume of effort and time one must invest in preparing for each text, commentary, and teaching — all while living in quiet terror of making an error that could lead practitioners to think or act in ways that deviate from the authentic dharmic path. One shudders to contemplate the karmic consequences.

Oh, my buddha. I would very much prefer to remain a contented student and leave all of that to someone braver and rejoice in their merit.