The 17th Karmapa in NYC

It happened in Saks

noreply@blogger.com (Chronicles of CTR) — Mon, 26 May 2008 03:07:00 +0000

In New York, His Holiness stayed at the Waldorf Astoria in midtown -- ornate, expensive, a bit fusty and overstuffed. Our parents' or maybe our grandparents' idea of urban luxury. The visit team had rented the entire 32nd floor, with a several-roomed master suite for His Holiness and a few dozen other rooms for various and sundry lamas, rinpoches, Tibetan dignitaries, Seattle visit staff and a couple of burly body guards invariably dressed in the most conservative dark suits.

Over the weekend, I was assigned to three attending shifts with Ashe-la, His Holiness' sister, a lovely, shy young nun. One of nine children, she had been on a three-month pilgrimage to India when His Holiness fled Tibet for Dharamsala in 1999. Now, she lives there near him.

Passing through security, stepping into the hall that led, on the right, to His Holiness' suite, knowing I was becoming part of his household was quietly exciting. I love the domestic details: digging out silver trays, pouring tea, setting out food, watching out for whomever needed seconds, clearing up. Long ago, I remember, serving the Vidyadhara was a heightened and nerve-wracking experience. In a way, it was all very simple -- take the tray, enter the room, sidle up to him and set the glass or plate before him. He would, very likely, look up, catch your eye, maybe nod, maybe ask a question. It was all in the atmosphere, the full and exposed feeling of being there with him. Crossing the floor to get to him felt like crossing a bare, open stage. A friend remembers serving him once, and bringing out a tray with a plate of shrimp. His hand was shaking so much and jiggling the plate that a shrimp jumped right out onto the floor.

Friday morning, a week ago, His Holiness, Ashe-la and others explored New York. They toured the Met museum, the Rubin Museum of Himalayan Art, the 9/11 tribute center, where His Holiness looked at photos of victims and, at the curator’s request, said some prayers.

The afternoon, however, was vastly quieter. It was raining and chilly. Ashe-la, feeling a bit sick, retired to bed. I kibitzed with the volunteers in the operations living room -- the kasung, the planners, the directors, the people in charge of the household, all gathering for intense little caucuses or sweeping off to fix something or buy something or check something.

I borrowed an umbrella and pushed my way up through the crowds on Lexington Avenue to buy Gatorade at a Rite-Aid, and, back at the Waldorf, called room service and insisted that even though it wasn't on the menu, they could, too, prepare her some fresh ginger tea. All it would take was grated ginger, boiling water and a teapot. And so the afternoon passed, the evening and the afternoon of my first serving shift. Sometime -- often -- nothing much happens at all.

***

On Sunday afternoon, Ashe-la went shopping. Banana Republic. Saks. Macy's.
At first, she wanted a mall. Even in Dharamsala, it seems, there are malls. But Manhattan has no malls -- just its confusion of streets and crowds and midtown department stores. The limo driver, an Egyptian immigrant and quintessential New York character who boasted of his travels to 38 countries and 45 states smirked a bit while explaining that Manhattan isn't like the rest of America, that malls don't exist here.

Ashe-la had a strong sense of thrift but an eye for quality -- she could spot an item rich in yun from several steps away. This was, furthermore, her first time in New York, her first time in big city stores with floor after floor of jackets and dresses and shirts and scarves and shoes -- rack after bewildering rack. She moved rapidly, gracefully, quietly through the welter of wearables -- peering intently and touching things lightly here and there. In Macy's, she passed among the dense clothes racks so quickly that Lama Tenzin and I kept losing her and had to call one another on our cell phones, to keep her in sight.

Lama Tenzin, young and immensely good-humored, followed her around the stores with a big smile. He wasn't buying a thing for himself -- but he was clearly having a great time just looking at the clothes, watching the people, grinning at the $2000 slips of silk on the floor with the designer dresses we passed through for fun. Everything about the shopping seemed fun to him.

New Yorkers, who are way too cool to stare openly at any celebrity or unusual looking person, instead gazed askance at Lama Tenzin in his monk's robes and Ashe-la in her more subdued long maroon chuba. "Are you here with the brown hat lama?" asked a man on the elevator. "Black hat," said Lama Tenzin. "Brown hat, black hat, red hat," the man replied. "I don't know which is which."

In Macy's, an elderly shoe clerk cornered Lama Tenzin to discuss the lives of Tibetan siddhas. He had never meditated, he said, and belonged to no dharma group. But he had been reading biographies of Indian mahasiddhas for years: Tilopa, Naropa, Marpa, Milarepa. "He knew all of them," said Lama Tenzin. "He was telling me about the trials of Naropa."

The highlight of the afternoon was Ashe-la's discovery of the perfect shirts for His Holiness. It happened in Saks. There they were, on a manikin deep in the men's ware section. She picked out three gorgeous shirt, all the same style -- with collars and short sleeves in a silk and linen blend. One was a subdued red, close enough to maroon to be suitable. The other two were quiet yellow -- lama yellow. They were loose and breezy looking, and while clearly excellent quality, they were not especially expensive. They were the kind of buy that makes an afternoon of shopping feel really satisfying. Shirts for the Karmapa! If I am lucky, I will someday see him wearing one.

27 years later

noreply@blogger.com (Chronicles of CTR) — Sun, 18 May 2008 04:21:00 +0000

Saturday night, 11:30.

Today the Karmapa gave two talks, a day that started, for me, anyway, with one irritation after another, building up, and it ended with a feeling of warmth in my heart, spreading through my body, and of memories of the 16th Karmapa and simply of gratitude.

I woke up late. I pedaled fast to the Hammerstein ballroom in midtown, the comp tickets for monks and nuns in my bag. I bought a latte and tried to dangle it from the handlebars and, utterly predictably, it tore through, spilling my coffee all over the sidewalk. At the Hammerstein, the lines of people waiting spread around the block, both directions. I ducked inside, where I was volunteering with the tickets, and found that we, the ticket people, were crammed together at a single table, and that we were talking over one another and elbowing one another when the monks and nuns and lamas and others came to get their tickets from us. One volunteer hovered nearby, and, trying to be helpful, commented on how it useful it would be to remember our Buddhist mindfulness, until I wanted to slug her one. By the time the talk was to begin, I was briefly considered just slipping out and finding some coffee instead.

    Naturally, that would have been the world's most idiotic move. His Holiness walked briskly on stage and sat on a sofa beneath a towering Buddha thangka, his greatly magnified image reflected clearly in screens on either side of the huge room. He was simply dressed in robes. His almond-shaped eyes gazed directly out over the lights. His moves were definite -- graceful, but when he sat, he sat, and when he gestured, he gestured. His face was young and smooth. He was fully self-possessed -- calm, alert, intensely interested.

He had only been in New York three days but he said he had a wonderful day seeing the town on Friday. New York moved so fast. The traffic moved fast and stopped and moved fast again. Even the buildings seemed to be moving fast -- growing, competing with the other.

Then he paused. What was the subject of his talk, again? he asked, to laughter.

He talked about emotions, about being creative when we feel kleshas, the way we are when we make art. When feeling anger, for instance, he said, don't try to get rid of it but instead try reducing the intensity by spreading the focus out, transferring the anger to many objects instead of one. He said we could try laughing at ourselves when we are very angry, or feeling any other klesha. Though we want to get rid of our kleshas, we also cherish them -- which is funny, really.

The talk was original. It was vivid and striking and amusing and applicable, immediately.

   There was more, but it is now 11:30 at night. But here is how he ended the morning talk, and, similarly, the afternoon one. He said he had first heard of America when he was 8, shortly after he was recognized, and had seen his first Americans. What are they? he asked. "Westerners," he was told. He said he thought they were odd. Over the years he had heard a lot about America and had been wanting to come here ever since his first glimpse of those Westerners.

He said that he knew many people out in the audience had made a connection with the 16th Gyalwa Karmapa and felt strong love and connection for him. He said we should know that we were never outside the mind of the Gyalwa Karmapa. That the Gyalwa Karmapa was always thinking of us, always.

   He said: "You feel great love and affection for me. I'm trying my best to let you know I feel great love and affection for you. We should share that love with other countries, with countries that are suffering, with China and Burma -- and help them, practically, if we can."

   He was so moving. It made me melt. The Karmapa is here again, 27 years later.

His Holiness sees the town

noreply@blogger.com (Chronicles of CTR) — Sat, 17 May 2008 04:39:00 +0000

Today -- Friday -- the day after his arrival, His Holiness saw the town. He went to the Metropolitan Museum, which is vast and labyrinthine, and saw, if not all, a good chunk. Guided by a curator, he perused through Southeast Asia, the Buddhist art and the Egyptian wings, the new Greek and Roman section and the modern galleries, which he particularly liked, said an attendant. Then, lunch at Rockefeller Center and down to Ground Zero, where he spent a good half hour at the memorial center and talked to a director, the father of a fire fighter who died in the crash, and whose body was found intact and whose fire uniform forms part of the exhibits. At the director's request, His Holiness said some prayers before he left.

Then to the Rubin Museum of Himalayan Art, where he slowly made his way through every floor.

Back at the midtown hotel, upon hearing that he was due back, we, the household volunteers, lined a hallway and waited. Finally -- movement. A couple of grimly imposing bodyguards, following by Buddhists in suits, by lamas, by Ponlop Rinpoche and by His Holiness, smiling. That night, interviews, including some with Tibetan New Yorkers, several families with little boys in brocade chubas, looking intensely cute.

Tomorrow morning is the first talk -- exciting to contemplate.

It's 8 Thursday morning

noreply@blogger.com (Chronicles of CTR) — Thu, 15 May 2008 13:54:00 +0000

It's 8 Thursday morning. His Holiness is in New York. He was driven from JFK International directly to the Shambhala Center where 250 people, at least, were waiting, crammed together but expectant. The place sparkled. That is how it has worked ever since the 16^th Karmapa paid his first visit to the U.S. in 1974. When he came, dharma centers were overhauled. Carpets cleaned, new furniture and dishes bought, floors buffed, walls painted, gold leaf touched. Some 30 years ago, Karme-Choling was entirely redesigned and rebuilt.

Last night, there were centers of dense, pointed activity at spots around the city, like hot spots on an infrared weapon. In a loft in the East Village, three people counted tickets and checked seating charts, and counted more tickets and checked again. Clearly, they had been doing this for days. Here were the ones for the ambassador from Nepal, from Bhutan, from India, and here are others for lama this, lama that, for the man who donated $25,000 and the one who gave $10,000.

At the household -- well, I wasn't there but I can imagine. Rooms for more than 30 people to ready. The cleaning. The tables, chairs, brocades, linens. The kitchen set-up, the flowers. The setting up of an operations centers. The security. This is considered a high-level visit by the U.S. State Security Department, as well as by us. There will be hired security officers and Secret Service officers as well as kasung. Right now, with tensions with China as they are, the high security seems completely appropriate. We, who are volunteering, had to undergo a full security check before getting ID badges.

The Shambhala Center was predictably chaotic last night -- humming and upbeat. Jim Gimian and Peter Volz, the Shambhala master of Tibetan diplomacy and maha-visitor coordinator, were there, making the long-looming visit seem concrete and nearly upon us. The newly refurbished throne is just glorious, covered with gold and red and blue patterned brocades and yellow satin that shimmers, like melted gold. In the kitchen, Michelle LaPorte was fooling around with more gold -- a pot of melted butter and pitchers of deep orange saffron water, which she mixed with bowls of raisin-studded rice, producing a rich, hot-yellow dish. Enough for 200 people, with a special conical mound for His Holiness.

The 17th Karmapa in NYC

It happened in Saks

27 years later

His Holiness the 17th Gyalwang Karmapa at the welcoming ceremony in New York City, May 15, 2008. Photographer: James Gritz. Copyright 2008 by Karmapa Foundation.

His Holiness the 17th Gyalwang Karmapa teaching at Waldorf-Astoria Ballroom, May 18th, 2008. Photographer: Gregg Rock. Copyright 2008 by Karmapa Foundation.

His Holiness sees the town

It's 8 Thursday morning