CHAPTER 14
Andre woke up in time to watch the blazing sun rise up over the mountain range. He couldn’t get out of the balcony of rooms and on to the road leading up and down them mountainside. A large heavy metal gate had been pulled over the entrance and padlocked at dusk.
The young naturopathic medical student quietly sat back on a rickety old wooden prayer bench and meditated. Although about an hour had passed, it felt like time had been suspended for him. When he opened his eyes again, the sun was shining brightly on the various shades of green regaling the mountains and the gate had been unlocked and pulled aside for the day.
Certain that Brother Francis was in their room meditating, he made his way across the road and into a beautiful rock garden surrounding a small hotel. It housed a nice restaurant and even a “Cyber Yak Café” which he could use to access the internet and check his e-mails.
Andre wondered about what mountain range surrounded them. While waiting for his traveling companion to join him for breakfast, he found the Cyber Yak Café on the second floor of the well-kept hotel and logged on. Andre typed in “Dalai Lama temple Dharmsala” and multiple “hits” filled the computer screen. He clicked and found exactly the information he was looking for—the name of the mountain range—plus more, complete with British spelling.
“Set against the backdrop of the dramatic Dhauladhar mountains, Dharamsala is perched on the high slopes in the upper reaches of Kangra Valley. The town is divided into two distinct and widely separated sections, Upper and Lower Dharamsala, which differ almost a thousand metres in height.
“Today, Dharamsala has become synonymous to the Tibetan government in exile and the home of Tibetan leader Dalai Lama. Even if the Tibetan community dominates the town, still it has retained the colonial lifestyle and British fervour.
“Dharamsala overlooks the plains and is surrounded by dense pine trees and Deodar forests. A nearby snowline with numerous streams and cool healthy atmosphere makes the surroundings very attractive.
“Dharamsala is a busy bazaar town and has established itself as the travellers base camp, who come to explore the nearby mountains. The Kotwali Bazaar provides the entire colour and characteristic of a small town, which is mixed with the simple life style.
“The colourful temple and Gompas, which reflect the culture of Tibet, adds attraction for the visitor. The Kangra museum gives an overview of the rich past of the region and on the other hand there are institutes that have been established to preserve the Tibetan art, cultures and traditions.”
Next he typed in “gompa” and found out that this is a Tibetan word meaning monastery. Andre looked at his watch. It didn’t help him much. He had not changed the time since he left Montreal. A large round clock on the wall above the two-computer table told him it was almost seven-thirty in the morning.
He made his way downstairs to the wooden-floored breakfast room. The sun was shining merrily into the spacious chamber. The six foot square wooden tables were placed at angles to one another and a small vase of wild flowers added a touch of warmth to the already inviting atmosphere.
Brother Francis was at a small table by a side window contentedly sipping herb tea. “Top of the morning to you, Bro, as they say in Tibetan. Are you ready to face the day?”
“As long as it’s calmer than last night, I am,” the monk retorted with a smile.
“Our monastic guides have us all set up to go to Chinmayananda Ashram. It’s about an hour from here in one of the little taxis that play ‘chicken’ with one another along the roads.”
“Swami Chinmayananda, I remember now,” said the monk reflectively. “He was Swami Dayananda’s teacher. Swami D. founded the ashram near our monastery in Pennsylvania. I’ve been there so many times and always feel welcome. I even use the place to teach qigong in. My students love it! The ashram is clean, welcoming, prayerful, and serves us an Indian vegetarian lunch when I hire the facilities for teaching.”
“I remember and I’d love to see it one day, Brother. In the meanwhile we can visit the place that parented the Pennsylvania ashram, so to speak. I’ve been thinking a lot about lineage recently, you know, in preparing for this trip. It seems to me that lineage, or a genetic or spiritual family tree, is more important than I used to think it was.”
“I think it is too, Andre. In addition to my wonderful earthly family, I have a spiritual lineage as well. Saint Francis de Sales and Saint Jane de Chantal are my spiritual parents and connect me with branches of our spiritual family throughout the world. Even when I initially meet someone who follows Salesian spirituality, there is an instant connection.”
“That is something I would love to experience, Brother Francis. I too have a wonderful ‘earthly’ family, as you put it. I am also starting to feel a connection to the lineage of the qigong masters I’ve studied with, but it’s not as deep as yours seems to be.”
“Well, I’ve been living some form of the Salesian life since I was seventeen years old so I suppose the bond has grown pretty strong. Not that it has all been fun. Some of my spiritual brothers and sisters have not been easy to deal with. I’m sure that I’ve been a thorn in the side of a few folks along the way as well. Thank God for the ability to forgive oneself and others and move on. Without that we are sunk.”
“Is that what you mean by ‘reconciliation?’ I know that Confession is now called the Sacrament of Reconciliation. It seems to me that you are talking about something broader than that, though.”
“Right again, my friend. The spirit of reconciliation needs to pervade all of life, I believe, in order to transform the world. If we are not given, or eventually choose for ourselves, a new beginning, then there is little hope. People in Twelve Step programs, those recovering from alcohol, drugs, sex, or gambling addictions, are like people reborn. I’ve seen it so many times in my clinical practice. ‘Recovering’ people are often deeply spiritual folks. End of homily.”
The traveling companions ate their breakfasts and walked out into the bright sunlight. After cleaning up in their room and opening all the windows in an effort to dry things out, they padlocked their door according to custom and hopped into a little red cab.
In about an hour they were parked outside a beautiful parcel of land dotted with numerous buildings, each about three stories high. The guestmaster welcomed them warmly, in typical Hindu style.
First they took off their shoes and entered the temple.