The Sublime Saraswasti

Two mornings ago we had a whirlwind lama tour. First Keith and I met with Khenpo Namdrol in the morning. He had lots to say and also persuaded us to move to his beautiful, quiet guesthouse. Then in the afternoon we met with Ralo Rinpoche and his wife, who had just come back from the U.S. Afterwards, we walked to Chatral Rinpoche's house--finally figuring out where it was (this is in itself is a long story starting three years ago).

It was a walk by gigantic pigs in the street; a black cow nuzzling the feet of a passed out man lying in the grass on the side of the road; by goats; a small boy selling bags of bright pink cotton candy, hung from a tall pole he carried; and raw sewage flowing down the street.

After walking past his lane and then back, some Tibetans pointed us toward his gate, saying to go in. We got the go ahead from an old monk tending some plants and then from the glowing little boy who opened the front door. But as we hurriedly put our zens on, a woman came to the door saying, "No one can see." But then she told us to come in. We were all prepared with khataks in hand and were ushered into a room where a western woman in a maroon chupa sat on the floor in front of some pechas. She asked who gave us our robes and said incredulously, "Really!? Penor Rinpoche is giving out ngakpa robes!?"

Then a Tibetan woman came down the stairs holding a tea cup and looking sternly at us. "Whose disciples are these?" she asked the white woman. "This is the Sublime Saraswati, Chatral Rinpoche's daughter," the white woman said, hurriedly standing. "Tell them to come Tuesday," the stern sublime daughter said imperiously, as though we were not there. "Okay, when?" Keith chirped. The sublime daughter siad 9:30...