Buttercupchappati Chronicles

I'll have the double decaf, skinny, vegan, paleo, gluten free one thanks, with a twist of lemon ...

Here I am, sitting at my gluten free desk, looking at my gluten free computer (Macs are gluten free of course), sipping gluten free Oolong tea. It's all very ... gluten free?

Whoever is in charge of signing off on my health (my money is on Loki) is not done with me just yet. Pending some results it looks like there may be a celiac diagnosis on the table.

Ok. That's far from the worst thing that can happen, especially if you do all the things you are supposed to. So being me, I plunge into a day or two of research and reading, only to emerge from the gluten free frenzy on the internet more than a little puzzled.

What's all the fuss?

Apart from pasta, and there are gluten free ones about, one of them must be palatable, ditto for bread which I can take or leave anyway, my pantry does not have to change very much. Not great eaters of cake or sweet biscuits, don't use packet or pre-prepared foods, and tend to eat mostly Asian foods at home and when we go out. Gluten free chocoloate abounds, single malt scotch is more than fine, and thank you Gods, Bhuja mix is okay!

It's more than a little horrifying how these growing health concerns turn into major industries over a very short space of time and how fear fear fear is the underlying push. I am sure there are a few bumps, am guessing they would be mostly eating out and in other peoples homes.

Food used to be our medicine, now it's our poison. If you have to read the back of every packet of food you buy looking for hidden ingredients that might harm you, you are buying the wrong food!

(And the family are already tired of me referring to every comestible, including hot water, as being gluten free. I'll get tired of torturing them ... eventually.)

Maybe if I had been more dilligent in my devotions to the Flying Spaghetti Monster, none of this would have happened. Argh, now I have gluten guilt!

It's not spring

Which is good, because I kind of despise spring in many ways.
It's energy is disruptive and unreliable.

But as the northern hemisphere does dominate our media, Spring and Easter and all the variants have been in my face for weeks.(So have the chocolate hot cross buns, but there is some good in everything.)

However, right here right now, it's Autumn moving into Winter and I am headed underground, going to the underworld, in full Demeter losing her beloved daughter mode.

No bunnies thank you.

Without the upsurge of Spring energies to sustain us, the whole Easter story is heavy enough plus the earth going into the dormant time.

It's too much in fact.

Like a full on traditional Christmas lunch when its "one hundred in the water bag" as my Dad used to say. Sadly the only alternative festivities seem to involve men running around kicking or hitting some kind of ball.

We have quiet carriages on the train now, can't we have a quiet month in the calendar? One where nothing in particular happens and the media leaves us alone and we are not required to gather with relatives, provide mountains of food and or gifts. Is that a possibility? Because I would really pack up and move to that place right now.

A few more pictures from yesterday

March 10 Uprising Day, Melbourne

just click on the link above to go to the album

March 10 Tibetan Uprising Day

and we borrow the voices of the dead.

The 54th anniversary of the first uprising against the invasion of Chinese forces into Tibet.

54 years of the world

• shrugging its shoulders

• turning its back

• making economic choices

• thinking someone else will help

• thinking that the United Nations might fix it

• going in droves to partake in the luxury of being able to attend teachings by His Holiness Dalai Lama without fear for our liberty and safety, and without giving any real consideration to  the plight of his people and his homeland

Today at Federation Square in Melbourne the Tibetan Community gathered as they do every year to mark this day.

It is far from a celebration. This year it is almost unspeakable. The tally of Tibetans who have chosen the path of death by self immolation is at an impossible to believe number of 107. It is a swelteringly hot day; a long weekend so the city is full of people. There are flags and umbrellas all emblazoned with the Tibetan flag.

Many of us have taken a laminated card, 107 of us in fact. We each wear around our necks a card with the name, picture and whatever details are available for every one of the 107 martyrs. As each name is called in a roll of honour, mourning and tribute, the person wearing that name stands up. It is powerful and humbling, and when its my turn to stand, it's overwhelming.

A desperation I pray I will never experience has put this name, all these names, in front of me and in front of the world. How is it that we are not hearing these voices? How is it that we are not feeling this pain? How is it that people in positions of power are hearing these stories and not doing something to stop it.

We can't say, oh it's nothing to do with me, or what can I do. We can't turn the paper to the next page and read something more cheerful. We just can't.

I go to these events to support the community, the Tibetan people have given me welcome, learning, hospitality, kindness and generosity without measure. Tibetan medicine is my livelihood and my life's work. The Tibetan people have given us His Holiness Dalai Lama and so many other great teachers. I go in hope that by being there it is some community support, that I may be that one extra person perhaps who bumps up the numbers enough that there is some news interest or someone talks about it somewhere.

And today for a moment I went as Yungdrung, a 27 year old man who took his life in Zatoe, Yushul on the 29th of the 9th 2012. Today I was silent but standing, I was honoured to carry his name and deeply sorrowing that I could only stand for him in his death.

There must be more we can do than mourn, there has to be a way to stop it, there has to be.

Rickie Lee Jones - my musical BFF

Went to see Rickie Lee Jones perform last night. Wonderful!

This woman has been in my life forever and I have a deep and abiding love for her music, her poetry dressed up and sent out as lyrics, and that crazy, swooping, soaring and then suddenly whispering or crooning voice.

She was relaxed, clearly having a good time and sang old favourites with pleasure, not the "oh I have to sing these crowd pleasers AGAIN" ennui you sometimes see on stage. I am sure that after singing Chuck E's in Love for 34 years that yes, from time to time she gets tired of it. And I am really positive that she gets tired of people leaving her at that point in time, not going further and discovering the paths and convergences her music has taken.

But not everyone can be a fan, I get that.

It was an intimate venue, sadly not full - really poor promotion this time. The music gods smiled and put me centre front row which was startling when I sat down but then just lovely when she came on stage and sat right in front of me, like a friend just playing for me after dinner.

It's a real gift when a performer can share in this easy relaxed way. Another time the music gods were generous saw us in the perfect seats to watch Wynton Marsalis and the Lincoln Centre Jazz Orchestra. Now apart from the genius and gorgeous Wynton, the rest of the group were none of them under 70 years of age. Not only were these fine fine gentlemen amazing muscians, they were having the best time ever! It was a party up there and we were allowed to be there for it.

Anyway, back to my girl.

She is funny, tender, bawdy, generous, humble and ever so cute. The little girl still shines and comes out to play. I have always maintained that her writing is extraordinary. She has shared without flinching all that her world has been through words and music, the joyous and the not. Never self indulgent no matter how heart wrenching. Always evocative.

Haunting and poetic ...

Where the Lord's face
Is an all-night cafe
There's a woman who will wait on
What you have to say
And your dreams are like marbles
In the pocket of a little boy
And they whisper when you hold them
Like a beautiful girl

right on through to hilarious ...

he's got all those guys with him
from that town where they all look like Frankie Valli
they speak fluently blonde
from her legs to her cigarette

I am trying to count (it's been a long love affair), I think this is the fourth time I have seen her perform live. Each time there are both surprises and fond wishes granted. The lady sitting next to me had come from Tasmania to see her. We were all happy, left wanting more, but mostly I feel lucky to have been there, grateful for the generosity of musicians yet again. And am going to wear my red beret all day today - because I can.

 

 

 

 

Losar, Guru Rinpoche, momo's and butter tea

I think that covers all the major bases.

Tomorrow (February 11th) is Losar, or the Tibetan New Year. But as the 11th is a Monday and most of us have to work, many celebrations are being held today. Including the one I went to at a friends home. She hosts a regular small dharma gathering, and the monk who so very kindly gives us teachings and blessings at these days wanted to celebrate Losar with us all today with a "feast" - his word - and an invocation to Guru Rinpoche to bless us for the new year and to sweep away all the obstacles from the old.

Excellent idea.

Soooo looking forward to the new year ...

I love the new moon celebration of new year. To me January always feels more like putting the old year to bed anyway. There is potency and wisdom in harnessing that waxing moon energy for the year to come, rather than a stale date on a calendar fixed forever in the bardo of bad parties and "do I stay up until midnight or just go to bed?"

Therefore this morning saw me up and about early making momo's for Losar.
(*momo = tibetan dumpling = delicious and addictive)
This means happiness all round -

• Everyone loves momo's, so it's going to make people happy, including me!

• It is a great memory for me to cook this food because I always remember the friends in Tibet who have shown me so patiently how to cook them, and fed me so well over the years!

(And not strictly a food thing, but it was a lovely opportunity to get out one of my Tibetan chubas and dress up for Losar!)

So much food was eaten, blessings given and Venerbable Khedup also made us a special sweet dish of rice, and Tibetan butter tea.

 

Khedup La making sure the tea will be strong enough ...

... because he likes really strong tea!

And just to make my Losar perfect, a great song I discovered this week, all about Momo's - what else!

 

So, Singapore ...

What an amazing place this is. I have to confess it is my first visit outside of the airport, usually passing through on the way to somewhere else.

But the lure of starting the new year with some special teachings from my Tibetan Medicine teacher Dr Nida Chenagtsang was a strong one and a wonderful Christmas gift from PRS in the form of an air ticket sealed the deal.

It was the usual thing for me, arriving in a new city sometime in the middle of the night. It is always a fantastic spectacle to fly into a major city in the dark, the lights are better than any fireworks you can imagine. Then coming into town from the airport looking across the water to some truly amazing and fantastical buildings magically lit up and glowing in the dark.

In the daylight it is less mysterious and magical but just as amazing. My first night I stayed in a little hotel in Chinatown. (I am staying with a lovely couple now, but as my plane arrived at such an unfriendly hour I was not going to inconvenience my generous hosts by lobbing up to their door at that time of night.) The upside of that was dumplings for breakfast! Always a win.

Now I am in a beautiful apartment around the corner from the magnificent botanical gardens and just a stroll from the Orchard road shopping precinct.

The city is a cross between the more colonial old parts of Delhi with the buzz of Hong Kong. Lush, green and well cared for, the feel is like the leafy old suburbs of Melbourne, but tropical. And oh my it is hot! If this is winter, not sure if I could cope with summer!

There are temples everywhere of every possible faith you can think of, there are blissfully air conditioned shopping malls on every block and lots and lots and lots of places to eat.

Everyone and I mean everyone is passionate about food, and there is such an amount to choose from. Of course the five star places abound but for the most part you an eat out very cheaply and it's all delicious! The supermarkets are an eye opener however, very costly indeed, of course everything is imported ... But $38 for a single packet of oxtail for example, or $4 for a tub of yoghurt, one we we can buy for about $1!

The course is going great. So good to see Dr Nida again, and everyone here is so kind and welcoming. The ladies chatter at top speed in "Singlish" and laugh all the time.

So, Singapore, having a great time! Very fortunate indeed.

my year of living dangerously

... dangerously close to becoming a world champion complainer!

There is nothing like a bad year, it's delicious really. Endless fodder for complaining, moaning, feeling very sad and sorry for yourself. It is almost worth the suffering  you have to go through to get to this wonderful pay off.

Almost.

Normally this is my best time for list making. (I LOVE a list).

I list the things I want to be grateful for, the things that I want to remember, the people I am holding in my heart. I make lists of all the things I plan to accomplish in the coming year, and lists of the things I want to remove from my life.

I journal endlessly. Right at this moment my desk is home to at least three different notebooks, all half filled.

But here and there in conversation with friends or family, the complaints drift and sprinkle in, and inside there is a torrent. The whinging you might hear is only a taste of what I am doing inside my head. And I have realised, yes a slow learner clearly, that among the many useless and toxic emotions we so love to play with, self pity is right up there as a team leader.

And its best friend is complaining.

So no lists this year, if you are special to me, then you know it already. If you know me at all, then you know the things I have been dealing with this year. My aspirations for my future are mine. The broadcast positive must sit quietly next to the internally negative. They can hold hands.

It is a blessed silence and peacefulness that is the crucible for moving forward.

 

Tenzin Gyatso - one of the mysteries of my life

I keep bouncing between these two pictures of His Holiness Dalai Lama

Here he is, one of the first photos ever taken of him, so small and serious. And lets be honest, so cute! But you can see him there, he is shinning out of that tiny face. And it is a sad photo now, all that has happened to this small being and his people. Yet he still takes time to travel and teach and show the rest of us what compassion is.

And here, the smiling face that so many people around the world know even if they do not have a strong awareness of Buddhism or Tibet, His Holiness connects with every one. I love this picture, you cannot look at it without smiling back. The impish sparkle gets me every time. And to me, its a very Tibetan smile.

Whether or not you believe that Tenzin Gyatso is the 14th reincarnation of this long lineage of leaders and teachers, whether or not you believe that he is the worldly incarnation of Chenrezig, the Buddha of Compassion; he is and always will be Tibetan. And Tibetans, even with every terrible thing that is going on and has been going on for them for so long, are people who love to smile and have some of the best ones you will ever see!

I can't even really remember when I first saw a picture of His Holiness. I was quite young when I read Seven Years in Tibet for the first time, and then Dads' copy of Lobsang Rampas' The Third Eye. (Wow, how we all loved that book). So this awareness of Tibet and the Dalai Lama was always present in my subconscious somewhere.

And I don't know logically why a middle class western woman would feel such a strong connection to this person and all he represents. I am not alone in that, there must a be an army of us. And to explain it without a belief in Karma, positive imprints and reincarnation would seem to me to be impossible. I am not going to go on about the mass marketing of His Holiness as a product, or the effects of multimedia and all that jazz because I don't believe he was injected into my mind stream in that way. He was already there.

On the day I stood in front of him for the first time, not in a crowded auditorium, but right there with him holding my hand, he knew me and it was a great and very complete happiness.

The best one for last, here, a blessing for you, for me, for every sentient being on this beautiful but challenged planet from one of the most special beings who walks with us.

Travels with my Norton

Well I say travels, but in fact it is too big and heavy to take with me when I travel, my only complaint! But this beloved book - all 1344 pages of it - has traveled with me for so many years - since 1978 when I started to study Arts and Literature at Melbourne University.

It's an unashamedly academic collection with annotations, line numbers, footnotes, a glossary, scholarly explanations of iambic pentametre, prosody, scansion and all the other poetic terms you are dying to learn about. The first five pages alone are lists of copyrights and there multiple index listings; including first line - which I love!

While it was used for study, since those days it is often my first book off the shelf when looking for something in particular. It rarely lets me down.

But, my favourite thing is to open at a random page see what is waiting for me. Even after all this time I find new-to-me poems.

Today was perfect, Walt Whitman - Leaves of Grass.

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is, any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer, designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say, Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.

 

I give you here a little taste, if you have never read it or any other Whitman, go forth and find books!

Read more poetry, it makes the world turn.