Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Monday, January 16, 2012
Boudha, Sunday, Magh 1, 2068
One cannot help but be transformed by Boudha. Built more than 600 years ago, many regard it as the most beautiful and sacred stupa in Nepal. And thousands make the pilgrimage to circle the stupa—always clockwise. It is perfectly proportioned; perfectly purposeful. Plinth, kumbha, harmika, spire, umbrella: earth, water, fire, air, then 13 steps to nirvana before reaching the void beyond space.
Silently, Buddha’s eyes survey all that transpires below:
Tibetan drums thud
ceremonial horns bellow
monks’ throats rumble
the devout chant
bells clank
bronze bowls “sing”
fingered prayer beads click,
and I murmur “Boudha.”
Brightly attired, hundreds of Tibetans and Sherpas stream from
alleyways on every side. They quicken their step to keep pace with those already
circling. Birth and death each time a new one enters and an old one leaves. Those
orbiting closest to the dome do so more deliberately, cogs set to a slower
pace. A few—today’s most devout, clasp their hands in praise:
first at the heart
then from the head, and again at the heart
They salute the God within us.
Knees down
Body prostrate
Forehead to the ground
A clasping of hands
Then erect
Three steps forward.
And the entire cycle repeated until every inch of the temple’s
circumference is covered.
Thud, bellow, rumble, clank, sing, chant, click, murmur. Thud, bellow,
rumble, clank, sing, chant, click, murmur. From large to small, each sound
resonates the universe.
From outside in, each level a different speed until movement turns to a
crawl as the most devout prostrate themselves on the face of a stupa that spins
slowly, imperceptibly on the earth’s access.
Clockwise clockwork. Birth and death. One eternal round. One eternal
round.
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