{"id":2027,"date":"2016-12-05T08:26:18","date_gmt":"2016-12-05T08:26:18","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/mugwortborn.wpengine.com\/project\/episode-seven-loss-of-innocence\/"},"modified":"2020-09-30T23:48:04","modified_gmt":"2020-09-30T23:48:04","slug":"episode-seven-loss-of-innocence","status":"publish","type":"project","link":"https:\/\/mugwortborn.com\/pt-br\/project\/episode-seven-loss-of-innocence\/","title":{"rendered":"EPIS\u00d3DIO SETE: O Fim da Inoc\u00eancia"},"content":{"rendered":"\n[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ admin_label=”section” _builder_version=”3.22″][et_pb_row admin_label=”row” _builder_version=”4.4.8″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” width=”100%”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”3.25″ custom_padding=”|||” custom_padding__hover=”|||”][et_pb_post_title _builder_version=”4.4.8″][\/et_pb_post_title][et_pb_text admin_label=”Text” _builder_version=”4.4.8″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” hover_enabled=”0″ use_border_color=”off” border_color=”#ffffff” border_style=”solid”]

\"55f663868ac8aa6571ef87df9283cc77\"<\/p>\n

Quando eu era crian\u00e7a no But\u00e3o Oriental, havia falos exibidos publicamente em toda a parte. Mesmo em nossa casa havia falos esculpidos em ma\u00e7anetas, adornando conchas de sopa e corrim\u00e3os. Pintados nas paredes internas e externas, em v\u00e1rios tamanhos e formatos. Havia tantos que ningu\u00e9m sequer dava aten\u00e7\u00e3o. Meninos e meninas, irm\u00e3os e irm\u00e3s, monges e monjas, ningu\u00e9m se incomodava de parar bem em frente a um s\u00edmbolo f\u00e1lico pra conversar casualmente sobre um assunto qualquer.<\/span><\/p>\n

Os butaneses tamb\u00e9m gostavam de fazer falos e vaginas de massa; talvez a \u00fanica forma de arte na qual eu tenha maestria. Admito ter feito incont\u00e1veis \u00f3rg\u00e3os sexuais de chiclete e t\u00ea-los grudado embaixo das mesas de incont\u00e1veis restaurantes ao redor do mundo. N\u00e3o eram s\u00f3 s\u00edmbolos, esculturas e pinturas. A atitude com rela\u00e7\u00e3o ao sexo em si era muito mais aberta l\u00e1 quando eu era crian\u00e7a. Flertar escandalosamente com algu\u00e9m n\u00e3o era considerado de mau gosto como em outras sociedades. Uma mulher convidar um homem para ir pra cama com ela era t\u00e3o comum quanto se convidar algu\u00e9m pra tomar ch\u00e1. S\u00f3 mais tarde fui perceber que a sociedade “civilizada” tendia a considerar tal comportamento b\u00e1rbaro, primitivo e pouco sofisticado.<\/span><\/p>\n

Com o tempo, eu mesmo acabei incorporando esse modo limitado de pensar. Ap\u00f3s ter sido rotulado como tulku, era comum que as mulheres viessem at\u00e9 mim e abrissem a blusa revelando o peito nu para que eu assoprasse sobre seus seios, j\u00e1 que se acredita que faz\u00ea-lo aliviaria qualquer dor que sentissem. Anos mais tarde, quando retornei ao But\u00e3o Oriental e as mulheres vieram abrindo as blusas, me vi incapaz de sequer olhar para elas. No entanto, ap\u00f3s alguns dias, minha antiga qu\u00edmica de inf\u00e2ncia se reinstalou e me senti \u00e0 vontade novamente, a mente julgadora que considerava tais a\u00e7\u00f5es como primitivas tendo se aquietado.<\/span><\/p>\n

Seja para o bem ou para o mal, a perda da inoc\u00eancia, caso isso exista, \u00e9 inevit\u00e1vel. A inoc\u00eancia perde sua pureza em meio \u00e0 nebulosidade da educa\u00e7\u00e3o e do trato, que conduzem \u00e0 hipocrisia. Essa \u00e9 a minha experi\u00eancia de vida pessoal.<\/span><\/p>\n

Houve uma mudan\u00e7a de 180\u2070 em tudo pra mim quando entrei no \u00e2mbito “mais sofisticado”, “decente” e “culto” dos Tibetanos que vivem em <\/span>labrangs<\/i><\/span> rodeados por monges, rinpoches, khenpos, tulkus etc. e tais. Como muitos jovens rinpoches, fui criado quase exclusivamente na companhia de celibat\u00e1rios. Era raro que se passasse um \u00fanico dia sem que algum de meus tutores, que eram em sua maioria monges com ordena\u00e7\u00e3o completa, fizesse men\u00e7\u00e3o \u00e0s mulheres como criaturas sedutoras, obst\u00e1culos no caminho. Eles diziam: \u201cSe voc\u00ea considera as garotas atraentes e belas \u00e9 apenas por que est\u00e3o bem lavadas e bem cuidadas. Caso n\u00e3o cortem as unhas por uma semana, todas terminam parecendo bruxas. Se n\u00e3o escovarem os dentes, suas bocas ir\u00e3o cheirar como outros orif\u00edcios; se n\u00e3o lavarem os cabelos, v\u00e3o criar dreadlocks\u201d. Anos mais tarde, aprendi que esta atitude machista n\u00e3o se deve em absoluto ao Darma, mas \u00e9 um fen\u00f4meno cultural mundano, particularmente no caso da cultura asi\u00e1tica, onde se encontra escamoteado sob v\u00e1rias camadas de ensinamentos do Vinaya.<\/span><\/p>\n

Em p\u00fablico, meus tutores eram como esposas ciumentas, sempre conferindo em que dire\u00e7\u00e3o eu estava olhando. Ningu\u00e9m jamais sonharia em me deixar desacompanhado com alguma garota, especialmente se ela fosse do But\u00e3o ou uma ocidental, porque, na opini\u00e3o dos tibetanos, as garotas do But\u00e3o e as ocidentais eram prom\u00edscuas e perigosas. Havia tantos hippies no Nepal naquela \u00e9poca que “ocidental” virara sin\u00f4nimo de “hippie”, que era sin\u00f4nimo de “usu\u00e1rio de drogas” e, possivelmente, de \u201cmentalmente inst\u00e1vel\u201d. As garotas ocidentais n\u00e3o se curvavam escondendo os seios nem cobrindo o traseiro como as tibetanas que escondiam tudo. Meus tutores n\u00e3o sabiam o que fazer dessas exibi\u00e7\u00f5es. Quando viam uma mulher ocidental vestindo jeans, que em geral nem eram dos mais apertados, murmuravam\u00a0<\/span>um “tsc, tsc” de desaprova\u00e7\u00e3o e ficavam de olho em mim com vigil\u00e2ncia redobrada.<\/p>\n

Eles n\u00e3o pareciam fazer a menor ideia de que sua vigil\u00e2ncia de 24 horas n\u00e3o s\u00f3 n\u00e3o estava impedindo minha curiosidade mas, na realidade, tinha o efeito contr\u00e1rio. No entanto, como eu era um grande fingido, conseguia faz\u00ea-los crer em meu desinteresse, da mesma forma que eu fingia n\u00e3o ter interesse em filmes. Felizmente, meus tutores confiavam em Kyabje Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche. Assim que eu estivesse sob seus cuidados, eles reduziam a vigil\u00e2ncia, confiando que eu estivesse em boas m\u00e3os. Mal sabiam eles que assim que iam embora Rinpoche come\u00e7ava a me perguntar se alguma garota bonita tinha me chamado a aten\u00e7\u00e3o. S\u00f3 recentemente me apercebi de que a abertura e a confian\u00e7a de Kyabje Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche figuram dentre os mais incr\u00edveis meios h\u00e1beis para se treinar seres selvagens como eu. De outra forma, talvez eu tivesse adquirido maestria na arte do fingimento. Fingir ser sereno, puro, virginal, inocente e casto, enquanto por dentro ardendo de desejo, enlouquecendo com a altern\u00e2ncia entre a atitude de pureza e a batalha interna pela supress\u00e3o de minhas erup\u00e7\u00f5es hormonais.<\/span><\/p>\n

Devo dizer que a disciplina de fachada tem o seu valor. Ap\u00f3s um certo tempo, quando se \u00e9 bom em fingir pureza, acaba-se amadurecendo e uma certa atitude indiferente se instala, o que \u00e9 bom; os objetos do desejo sexual se tornam apenas parte do cen\u00e1rio. Conhe\u00e7o pessoalmente alguns rinpoches que estiveram sob muito escrut\u00ednio quando \u00e9ramos jovens, sempre sob o olhar vigilante de seus tutores. Esses tulkus, assim como eu tamb\u00e9m, aprenderam a agir com pureza, embora eles \u00e0s vezes me confessassem suas fantasias e desejos. Os anos se passaram e eles se tornaram praticantes disciplinados, por isso n\u00e3o t\u00eam mais necessidade de fingir. Ent\u00e3o, n\u00e3o dever\u00edamos descartar completamente todo esse processo da vigil\u00e2ncia e da falsidade. Enquanto isso, n\u00e3o fingir \u2013 simplesmente ser direto e aberto com rela\u00e7\u00e3o a suas prefer\u00eancias e desejos o tempo todo \u2013 pode estragar a pessoa. Esse tipo de comportamento demonstra certa falta de responsabilidade e pode causar nos outros a perda da inspira\u00e7\u00e3o.<\/span><\/p>\n

Por outro lado, o fingimento irrestrito pode ocasionar uma perda de contato com a qualidade fundamental e genu\u00edna da exist\u00eancia humana. Pode criar inseguran\u00e7a e pode-se acabar achando que ningu\u00e9m \u00e9 genu\u00edno. Quando se est\u00e1 fingindo, se acha que os outros provavelmente tamb\u00e9m est\u00e3o. \u00c9 poss\u00edvel que nos tornemos orgulhosos e pretensiosos, tudo vira teatro, at\u00e9 pra n\u00f3s mesmos. Creio que os mestres que n\u00e3o sejam habilidosos em conduzir seus alunos moral e eticamente enquanto insistem na pureza acabam criando dem\u00f4nios de hipocrisia.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Kyabje

Kyabje Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche com Ugyen Shenpen.<\/p><\/div>\n

Quando eu tinha cerca de sete anos visitei o grande Mosteiro de Rumtek, em Siquim, a sede do XVI Karmapa, para receber de Kalu Rinpoche os ensinamentos e inicia\u00e7\u00f5es completos da escola Shangpa Kagyu. Estava na companhia de meu tutor Ugyen Shenpen e de Sonam Tashi. Praticamente todos os tulkus conhecidos da Karma Kagyu estavam l\u00e1, incluindo Shamar Rinpoche, Situ Rinpoche e Jamgon Kongtrul Rinpoche.<\/span><\/p>\n

Durante esse ensinamento e inicia\u00e7\u00e3o em particular, recebidos de Kalu Rinpoche, duas coisas me deixaram uma impress\u00e3o marcante. Em raras ocasi\u00f5es, o Karmapa vinha at\u00e9 a varanda e olhava pra n\u00f3s atrav\u00e9s das vidra\u00e7as. Ele era sempre t\u00e3o magn\u00edfico e majestoso e ao mesmo tempo muito intimidante. Era uma alegria tamanha v\u00ea-lo, mas tamb\u00e9m era assustador. Se detectasse at\u00e9 mesmo o menor movimento vindo daquela dire\u00e7\u00e3o eu ficava de olho, na esperan\u00e7a de que fosse ele.<\/span><\/p>\n

A outra impress\u00e3o marcante foi a de uma mulher que provavelmente era mais velha do que a minha m\u00e3e. Ela foi minha primeira paix\u00e3o. Sendo humano e tendo estado sob o controle de incont\u00e1veis vidas feitas de h\u00e1bitos, inevitavelmente preso a dezoito <\/span>dhatus<\/i><\/span> e doze <\/span>ayatanas<\/i><\/span>, minha atra\u00e7\u00e3o foi incontorn\u00e1vel. Acontece que o objeto da minha paix\u00e3o era a m\u00e3e de um dos mais bondosos jovens rinpoches, ent\u00e3o a situa\u00e7\u00e3o era delicada. Ela estava recebendo os ensinamentos junto com o marido. Se eu tivesse de hierarquizar as emo\u00e7\u00f5es \u2013 ignor\u00e2ncia, desejo, raiva, orgulho \u2013 eu elencaria o ci\u00fame e o orgulho como as mais rasteiras. Dizer que o ci\u00fame n\u00e3o serve a nenhum prop\u00f3sito seria uma gentileza. No entanto, imagine um menino de sete anos com ci\u00fames do marido de uma senhora mais velha do que sua pr\u00f3pria m\u00e3e. Eu jamais tinha sequer me dirigido a ela. Minhas emo\u00e7\u00f5es deviam estar evidentes na forma como eu a olhava, mas eu sendo uma crian\u00e7a t\u00e3o pequena, imagino que para ela eu fosse s\u00f3 um garotinho de olhos grandes. Eu ficara t\u00e3o apaixonado que \u00e0 noite nem conseguia dormir. Por horas a fio, enquanto todos dormiam, eu ficava imaginando todas as coisas que eu faria com ela \u2013 nada sexual \u2013 casamento, passear nas montanhas nevadas, andar nos \u00f4nibus de dois andares, colocar uma flor no cabelo dela, todas essas cenas cuja refer\u00eancia eram fotos dos filmes de Bollywood. Se eu ouvisse uma can\u00e7\u00e3o de Bollywood, imaginava a n\u00f3s dois cantando. Anos mais tarde, quando fui para Londres, Nedup Dorjee me levou a passear pela cidade em um \u00f4nibus de dois andares e a lembran\u00e7a desses dias de Rumtek me deixou bastante constrangido.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Photo

Foto de SHARUKH KHAN e PREITY ZINTA, para o filme de Bollywood\u00a0<\/i><\/span>VEER-ZAARA<\/p><\/div>\n

<\/a> No entanto, aos 16 anos de idade, a hist\u00f3ria foi outra. E mais uma vez meu encontro com uma mo\u00e7a n\u00e3o se dera na cantina do col\u00e9gio ou num bar duvidoso, mas num evento do Darma. Desta vez, o foco da minha aten\u00e7\u00e3o fora uma francesa ruiva de seus quarenta anos. Ela viera de Paris para receber ensinamentos de Kyabje Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche no Nepal e a cada dia vestia algo diferente. \u00c0s vezes, uma saia at\u00e9 o joelho. Ela n\u00e3o estava acostumada a se sentar de pernas cruzadas, de forma que continuamente as cruzava e descruzava e, se eu olhasse no momento exato, conseguia ver suas pernas e a meia-cal\u00e7a. Ela usava de v\u00e1rios tipos, meias arrast\u00e3o, meias de seda. Minha atra\u00e7\u00e3o se deveu principalmente ao seu estilo. Poder\u00edamos dizer que foi minha apresenta\u00e7\u00e3o \u00e0 moda francesa. Eu n\u00e3o sabia que essas coisas eram tipicamente francesas \u2013 batom, sombra, echarpes. O som do seu sotaque franc\u00eas tamb\u00e9m me encantava. Sua chegada era sempre denunciada pelo marcante perfume. Eu n\u00e3o tinha ideia de que fossem coisas sedutoras por desconhecer o que fosse sedu\u00e7\u00e3o.<\/span><\/p>\n

Lembro de tudo isso, mas n\u00e3o lembro o nome dela, que talvez at\u00e9 j\u00e1 tenha morrido a esta altura. Nos dias em que ela n\u00e3o vinha aos ensinamentos eu me pegava procurando por ela, mas precisava ser cauteloso. Eu tinha n\u00e3o s\u00f3 os meus pr\u00f3prios atendentes me vigiando, mas tamb\u00e9m havia v\u00e1rios outros jovens rinpoches que estavam sempre de olho em mim. Por sorte, devido a minha localiza\u00e7\u00e3o na sala pr\u00f3ximo a uma janela, eu conseguia ver o seu reflexo sem precisar olhar abertamente em sua dire\u00e7\u00e3o. Ela, contudo, deve ter percebido que eu a observava. <\/span><\/p>\n

\"lady\"<\/p>\n

Contei apenas a um \u00fanico amigo, cujo nome n\u00e3o devo mencionar, e ele ficou muito surpreso que eu tivesse achado as sardas dela atraentes. Ele simplesmente n\u00e3o conseguia entender o que eu via de interessante numa doen\u00e7a de pele. A \u00fanica pessoa em quem eu podia confiar era esse amigo, porque ele era muito compreensivo; exceto por ele, confessar a qualquer outra pessoa em minhas rela\u00e7\u00f5es que eu estava interessado numa garota, especialmente uma ruiva com a cara sardenta, seria como confessar que eu pretendia me alistar num esquadr\u00e3o suicida de homens-bomba. Era indispens\u00e1vel manter total sigilo. Por sorte os tibetanos n\u00e3o a consideravam bonita em absoluto, assim eu podia facilmente fingir desinteresse. Era necess\u00e1rio mascarar minhas emo\u00e7\u00f5es e por sorte \u00e0quela altura eu me tornara um mestre no assunto. O desafio era manter a apar\u00eancia de bom e disciplinado rinpoche e ao mesmo tempo buscar alguma intera\u00e7\u00e3o com essa ruiva de roupas multicoloridas.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"freckles\"<\/p>\n

Era um cortejar deveras interessante, pois n\u00e3o compartilh\u00e1vamos de nenhuma l\u00edngua. Eu praticamente n\u00e3o falava ingl\u00eas e ela tampouco. Eu podia dizer \u00e0 minha comitiva que estava com Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche enquanto estava tentando conversar com ela, mas isso me exigia uma s\u00e9rie de truques e mentiras. Das poucas vezes em que nos comunicamos \u2013 ela usando seu limitado Ingl\u00eas e eu m\u00edmica e gestos \u2013 precisei abreviar nosso encontro e sair correndo sem maiores explica\u00e7\u00f5es. Eu realmente precisei agir com presteza. Ela deve ter ficado muito intrigada. Totalmente desconhecedora da minha situa\u00e7\u00e3o, ela me convidava para ir a sua casa para tomarmos ch\u00e1 ou para passearmos juntos, o que imagino fosse o equivalente de me convidar para sair com ela. No entanto, simplesmente n\u00e3o me era poss\u00edvel aceitar nenhum desses convites. Eu n\u00e3o tinha como me ausentar nem por uma hora. Para mim, at\u00e9 uma conversa de dez minutos era praticamente imposs\u00edvel. Ela at\u00e9 me convidou para fazermos montanhismo juntos. Ela n\u00e3o entendia que o \u00fanico lugar que me era permitido ir sozinho era ao banheiro; em qualquer outra circunst\u00e2ncia haveria atendentes, monges ou lamas seguindo cada passo que eu desse. E eu nem era um lama de alto escal\u00e3o. Imagine o que os lamas de alto escal\u00e3o devem ter passado. No entanto, creio que lentamente come\u00e7amos a entender as inten\u00e7\u00f5es e a situa\u00e7\u00e3o um do outro. Como ela era uma mulher adulta sabia reconhecer uma paix\u00e3o e por ter a mente aberta n\u00e3o tentara me dissuadir.<\/span><\/p>\n

Ent\u00e3o numa certa noite v\u00e1rios de n\u00f3s fomos convidados pelo embaixador da Fran\u00e7a ou por alguma organiza\u00e7\u00e3o francesa para uma recep\u00e7\u00e3o formal. N\u00e3o na embaixada, foi em um restaurante ou talvez em algum tipo de clube privado. Havia muita gente nessa recep\u00e7\u00e3o, inclusive essa ruiva. Em vez de ir ao jantar, os outros tulkus todos haviam ido ao cinema, ent\u00e3o acabei indo sozinho. Esse tipo de evento com servi\u00e7o de buffet foi uma experi\u00eancia totalmente nova pra mim. A maioria dos convidados foi servida do lado de fora da casa por rapazes nepaleses carregando bandejas de <\/span>hors d\u2019oeuvres<\/i><\/span>. Todo mundo ficava circulando pra cima e pra baixo. A mo\u00e7a se aproximou de mim; devia estar ligeiramente b\u00eabada, embora naquela \u00e9poca eu provavelmente n\u00e3o soubesse reconhecer os sinais de algu\u00e9m ter bebido. Nenhuma garota tibetana ou butanesa jamais teria se atrevido a me abordar se estivesse bebendo. Mas agora, em retrospecto, penso que ela deve ter bebido.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"garden-bench-surrounded-by-catmint-beautiful-high-impact-and-virtually-no-maintenance\"<\/p>\n

Sentamos juntos num banco pr\u00f3ximo a uma grande cerca viva. Todos estavam ocupados socializando, servindo-se de bebidas ou aperitivos nas mesas do buffet ou do outro lado do jardim pouco iluminado; n\u00f3s no entanto permanecemos onde est\u00e1vamos. A falta de luz e de linguagem deve ter auxiliado em nossa comunica\u00e7\u00e3o, pois ela precisou chegar cada vez mais perto de mim. Ela olhava pra mim com mais frequ\u00eancia do que eu pra ela, j\u00e1 que toda a vez que ela me olhava eu precisava desviar o olhar.<\/span><\/p>\n

Num movimento r\u00e1pido ela pegou minha m\u00e3o e a colocou dentro da sua blusa. Fiquei chocado pelo gesto inesperado e n\u00e3o soube o que fazer para disfar\u00e7ar o nervosismo. Meu instinto me disse pra tirar a m\u00e3o e cheir\u00e1-la. Ela achou isso muito divertido, ent\u00e3o pegou minha m\u00e3o e a p\u00f4s dentro da blusa novamente e me disse pra fazer de novo. Naquela noite, ao voltar pra casa, eu ainda sentia o aroma de seu creme de rosto na minha pele. Nos ensinamentos, no dia seguinte, o cheiro permanecia, embora eu tivesse lavado o rosto cuidadosamente, e me senti muito desconfort\u00e1vel, preocupado que algu\u00e9m descobrisse. Senti seu perfume em mim por muito tempo.<\/span><\/p>\n

Como escreveu Arundati Roy “Nos primeiros amorfos anos em que a mem\u00f3ria era incipiente, quando a vida era repleta de come\u00e7os e sem nenhum fim e tudo era pra sempre…” o fen\u00f4meno da atra\u00e7\u00e3o e a necessidade da exist\u00eancia de um outro algu\u00e9m tivera in\u00edcio.<\/span><\/p>\n[\/et_pb_text][et_pb_divider _builder_version=”4.4.8″][\/et_pb_divider][et_pb_post_nav _builder_version=”4.4.8″][\/et_pb_post_nav][et_pb_comments _builder_version=”4.4.8″][\/et_pb_comments][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Quando eu era crian\u00e7a no But\u00e3o Oriental, havia falos exibidos publicamente em toda a parte. Mesmo em nossa casa havia falos esculpidos em ma\u00e7anetas, adornando conchas de sopa e corrim\u00e3os. Pintados nas paredes internas e externas, em v\u00e1rios tamanhos e formatos. Havia tantos que ningu\u00e9m sequer dava aten\u00e7\u00e3o. Meninos e meninas, irm\u00e3os e irm\u00e3s, monges […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":2029,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"

Crush<\/p>

When I was growing up in East Bhutan, there were phalluses on display everywhere. Even in our home, you'd find phalluses carved into doorknobs, adorning soup ladles, and on banisters. They were painted on the walls, inside and outside, in different sizes and shapes. There were so many that no one even took notice. Boys and girls, brothers and sisters, monks and nuns, would have casual conversations right in front of these phallic symbols and paintings.
Bhutanese also liked to make phalluses and vaginas out of dough; this may be the one art that I have mastered. I admit I have made countless sex organs out of chewing gum and pasted them under the tables of countless restaurants around the world. It wasn't just symbols and carvings and paintings. The whole attitude around sex was much more open in this place where I grew up. Outrageous flirting was not considered unwholesome like in other societies. A woman inviting a man to spend time in bed together was as ordinary as inviting for tea. Only later did I realize that \"civilized\" society might find this behaviour barbaric, primitive, and backwards.
Eventually I myself started to think in this limited this way. After I was labeled as a tulku, it was common for ladies to come to me and open their shirts to expose their bare chests so I could blow on them, because they believe it would ease their pain. Years later, when I returned to East Bhutan and these ladies came with their open shirts, I found myself not being able to look at them. But after a few days, my old childhood chemistry set in and I once again was at ease, the judgmental mind that considered these actions primitive was quieted.
For better or worse, loss of innocence, if there is such a thing, is inevitable. Innocence loses its purity amidst the murkiness of education and grooming, which leads to hypocrisy. That has been my experience in my personal life.
Things changed for me 180 degrees when I entered the \"more sophisticated,\" \"decent,\" \"cultured\" realm of the Tibetans, living in labrangs surrounded by monks, rinpoches, khenpos, tulkus, and so on. Like many young Rinpoches, I was raised in the company of mostly celibates. Hardly a day went by without my tutors, who were mostly ordained monks, depicting women as temptresses, obstacles on the path. They would say: If you think girls are appealing and beautiful, it's just because they've washed and groomed themselves. If they stop clipping their nails for a week, they will all look like witches. If they don't brushed their teeth, their mouths will smell like other orifices, if they don't wash their hair, they will grow dreadlocks. Years later, I learned that this male chauvinistic attitude is not rooted in the Dharma, it is a worldly, cultural phenomenon, especially Asian culture, that has been lacquered with the teachings on the Vinaya.
In public, my tutors were like jealous wives, always checking the direction of my gaze. They would never dream of leaving me alone with a girl, especially if she was from Bhutan or the west, because, in the Tibetans' opinion, girls from Bhutan or the west were promiscuous and dangerous. There were so many hippies in Nepal at that time and \"westerner\" began to mean \"hippie\" which began to mean \"drug taker\" and possibly also mentally unstable. Western girls didn't hunch over, hiding their breasts and covering their behinds like the Tibetans who hid everything. My tutors didn't know what to do with this display. If they saw a western woman wearing jeans that weren't even that tight, they would make disapproving tsk tsk sounds and watch me with extra vigilance.
They didn't seem to have a clue that their 24-hour surveillance wasn't stopping my curiosity, in fact, it had the opposite effect. But I was such a good pretender, leading them to think I was uninterested, just like when I pretended I didn't like movies.
Fortunately, my tutors trusted Kyabje Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche. The moment I was in his care, they would stop guarding me, resting assured I was in good hands. Little did they know, as soon as they left, Rinpoche would start asking me if any beautiful girls had caught my eye. Only recently did I realize Kyabje Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche's openness and trust was one of the greatest skillful means to train wild beings like me. Otherwise I might have mastered the art of pretense. Pretending to be serene, pure, virginal, innocent, chaste, while inside burning with desire, going crazy alternating between the act of purity and the inner battle to suppress my hormonal eruptions.
I should say fake discipline has some value. After a while, if you are good at pretending to be pure, you become more mature and an indifferent attitude sets in, which is good; sexual objects become part of the natural environment. I personally know a few rinpoches who were under a lot of scrutiny when we were growing up together, always under the ever watchful eye of their tutors. These tulkus, just like myself, learned to act pure even though they sometimes confided to me about their fantasies and desires. Years have passed and now they have become disciplined practitioners, so they no longer need to pretend. So you can't just write off the whole process of surveillance and fakery.
Meanwhile, not pretending\u2014just being direct and open about your preferences and desires all the time\u2014can spoil a person. There is a lack of responsibility and this kind of behavior can cause others to lose inspiration.
On the other hand, out of control faking can lead one to lose touch with the fundamental genuine quality of being human. It can create insecurity, and you end up thinking others are also not genuine. If you are faking, you think others are probably faking. You become proud and pretentious, everything is a show, even to yourself. I think teachers who are not skillful in guiding a student morally and ethically, who insist on purity, end up creating demons of hypocrisy.
When I was about seven, I went to the grand Rumtek Monastery in Sikkim, the seat of the 16th Karmapa, to receive the complete Shangpa Kagyu teachings and initiations from Kalu Rinpoche. I was accompanied by my tutor Ugyen Shenpen (PHOTO WITH WIFE) and Sonam Tashi. Almost all the known Karma Kagyu tulkus were there, including Shamar Rinpoche, Situ Rinpoche, and Jamgon Kongtrul Rinpoche.
During that particular teaching and initiation from Kalu Rinpoche, two things left a big impression on me. On rare occasions, the Karmapa would come to the balcony and look down at us through the glass. He was always so magnificent and majestic and at the same time very intimidating. It was such a joy to see him but also so scary. If I detected even the smallest movement I would watch that spot with the hope that it would be him.
The other big impression was from a woman who was probably older than my mother. She was my first crush. Being a human who was under the control of countless lifetimes of habit, stuck with eighteen dhatus and twelve ayutanas, my infatuation was insurmountable. The object of my crush happened to be the mother of one of the kindest young Rinpoches, so it was a delicate situation.
She was attending the teachings with her husband. If I have to rank the emotions\u2014ignorance, desire, anger, pride\u2014I would rank jealousy and pride as the lowest. To say that jealousy has no point, is putting it mildly. But imagine, a boy of seven, jealous of a husband of a woman who is older than his mother. I had never even spoken to her. I am sure I must have looked at her with unveiled emotion, but because I was such a young boy, in her mind I was just a kid with big eyes. I was so infatuated with her that at night I couldn't sleep. For hours, while everyone slept, I laid there imagining all the things that I could do with her\u2014nothing sexual\u2014but marriage, walking in the snow mountains, riding double-decker buses and putting a rosebud in her ear, all these scenes I'd referenced from still photos of Bollywood films. If I heard a Bollywood song, I would imagine we were the ones singing. Years later when I went to London, Nedup Dorjee took me on a double-decker tour of London and thinking back on those Rumtek days made me so embarrassed.
But when I was 16 years old, it was a different story. Yet again my encounter with a lady wasn't in a high school cafeteria or a sleazy bar, but in a Dharma gathering. This time the focus of my attention was a red-headed French woman in her forties. She had come from Paris to receive teachings from Kyabje Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche in Nepal, and every day she would wear something different. Sometimes she would wear knee length skirts. She wasn't used to sitting cross legged so she was always crossing and uncrossing her legs and if I glanced at the right moment I could see her legs and stockings. She had so many different kinds, fishnets and silky hose. My infatuation with her was mostly about her style. You could say it was my introduction to French fashion. I didn't realize it was a French thing\u2014the lipstick and eye shadow and scarves. Also her French accent sounded good to my ears. You could always tell she had arrived by her distinctive perfume. I didn't realize it was seductive because I didn't know what seduction was.
I remember all this but I don't remember her name, she might even be dead by now. On the days she didn't come to the teaching, I found myself looking for her but I had to be careful. Not only did I have my own attendants watching me, there were many other young Rinpoches who were ever watchful. But luckily, because of my position in the room near a window, I could see her reflection without looking directly at her. Nevertheless she must have noticed that I was paying attention to her.
I only confided in one friend, whose name I cannot mention, and he was so surprised that I found her freckles beautiful. He just couldn't understand what I liked about this skin disease. I could only confide in this one friend because he was very understanding, otherwise, confessing to people around me that I was interested girls, especially a girl with red hair and a freckled face, would be like confessing that I wanted to join a suicide bomb squad. It had to be kept absolutely confidential. It was good that the Tibetans didn't think she was beautiful at all because I could easily feign disinterest. I had to really conceal my emotions and luckily by then I had become a master at this. The challenge was to look like a good disciplined rinpoche while arranging interactions of any kind with this redheaded, multicolor dressed woman.
It was a most interesting courtship because there was no shared language between us. I hardly spoke English and she also spoke very little. I could tell my retinue that I was with Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche while I was trying to have a conversation with her but it required a lot of tricks and lies. The few times we communicated\u2014her using her limited English and me using mime and hand gestures\u2014I had to cut short and run off with no explanation. I really had to act quickly. She must have been so puzzled. Completely unaware of my situation, she would invite me to her house for tea or to go on walks, which I guess was kind of like asking me on a date. But accepting such an invitation was just not possible at all. I couldn't take leave for even an hour. For me, even to have a conversation for 10 minutes was almost impossible. She even invited me to go trekking with her. She didn't understand that the only place I was allowed to go alone was a toilet, otherwise there were either attendants, monks, or lamas following my every movement. And I wasn't even a high ranking lama. Imagine what the high ranked lamas were going through.
But I think we slowly began to understand each other's intentions and situations. Because she was an adult, she knew how to recognize a crush and because she was open minded, she didn't try to dissuade me.
So one night, many of us were invited for a formal dinner by the French ambassador or some French organization. It wasn't at the embassy, it was a restaurant or maybe some kind of private club. There were many people there, including this redhead. Instead of coming to the dinner, the other tulkus all went out to a movie so I had to go alone. This buffet style event was a totally new experience for me. Most of us were served outside by Nepali boys holding trays of hors d'oeuvres. People were roaming around in and out. The woman approached me, she must have been a little bit drunk but I didn't even know what the signs of alcohol were back then. No Tibetan or Bhutanese girl would ever have dared to approach me while drinking. But now that I think back, she must have been.
We sat together on a bench near a big hedge. Everyone was busy socializing, going for drinks and food at the buffet tables, on the other side of the dimly lit garden, but we didn't get up. The absence of light and language must have helped us to communicate because she had to she move closer and closer to me. She looked at me more than I looked her because the moment she looked at me, I had to look away.
Suddenly she took my hand and placed it down her shirt. I was shocked by this unexpected gesture, and I didn't know what to do to conceal my nerves. My instinct told me to remove my hand and sniff it. This amused her, so she took my hand and put it down her shirt again and told me to do it again. That night when I went back home I could still feel her face cream on my skin. At the teachings the next day, still it was there even though I had thoroughly washed my face, and I felt so uncomfortable and worried that people would find out. I could smell her perfume on me for so long.
As Arundati Roy wrote: \"In those early amorphous years when memory had only just begun, when life was full of beginnings and no ends, and everything was forever\u2026\" the phenomena of infatuation and the need to have someone else's existence, began.<\/p>","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"project_category":[46],"project_tag":[],"class_list":["post-2027","project","type-project","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","project_category-episodes-pt-br"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mugwortborn.com\/pt-br\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/project\/2027","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mugwortborn.com\/pt-br\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/project"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mugwortborn.com\/pt-br\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/project"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mugwortborn.com\/pt-br\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mugwortborn.com\/pt-br\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2027"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/mugwortborn.com\/pt-br\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/project\/2027\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mugwortborn.com\/pt-br\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2029"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mugwortborn.com\/pt-br\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2027"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"project_category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mugwortborn.com\/pt-br\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/project_category?post=2027"},{"taxonomy":"project_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mugwortborn.com\/pt-br\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/project_tag?post=2027"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}