Childhood Years of a Shambhala Princess
Good morning dear people!
Another scene from Shambhala:
The sleighs of the fleeing ice fairies
in front of crystalline, glittering cloaks
made of buzzing splinters, glitter and flakes
pulled by giant snow bears
are chased away by the fluttering spring
with colourful butterfly wings
swinging wild arcs
and scattering exciting blossoms
very lightly, chirping and playfully.
Oh and Ah and Gee
where now and what exactly is the nature of all this snow?
These lines are the bundling of a creative wave that sometimes comes over me. Done. I like them now, they’re good and clear, and I’m happy with them. It helps a lot in times of inner struggles to simply condense some feelings and confusions and then let them dangle again. For recovery and refreshment. I usually don’t wonder too much what they mean. I do not explore them so to say.
But I should actually be thinking about something else entirely, namely at the center of my Tibetan lesson with Mr. Tsering. Another one who is supposed to shape me!? And he again is someone of those who try to model me like a statue!
But I’m not an object! I’m a living, feeling, and wilful being!
It’s mainly daddy, amala, and the silly Mr. Tsering who constantly believe they need to colour, shape and work on me, but I am getting suffocated by it! Why could they not all behave like Aga Hiob? Aga Hiob just likes me and shows humour and he is curious of me and shows his understanding.
Mr. Tsering – my Tibetan language teacher – now notices my absence and doesn’t know how to react. It took him a while to even realize that I’m busy with something completely different from his explanations – but honestly he himself was dreaming around on some other planet of some kind as well.
Bevor these endless hours of language studies, I liked Tibetan for its livelihood and beauty and by the way my doll Käthe did so as well. She can sit for hours in front of a Tibetan text and simply enjoy the sight of it.
Now she gives me a gentle, comforting kiss and snuggles up sympathetically crawling, but says nothing more.
That feels good.
I shake myself a little and sit up a bit more straight at my desk, which is much too big for me. My chair is so high that I can’t just sit on it like an adult, but I have to actually climb up onto it if no one is there to help.
My lessons with Mr. Tsering really started fresh and very joyful a few weeks ago, and I liked the new challenge very much and welcomed it.
Mr. Tsering is a staff member at the local university called a “native speaker” and he is an acquaintance of amala’s family. Well, he shows up almost daily now and we practice together for two full endless hours! Sometimes even more.
First, we had traditionally practised Shés. That’s the beginning of everything. Shés are simply lines that taper evenly from top to bottom. If you write with a felt-tip pen, you push not to hard at the top and then slowly decrease the pressure during the downward movement, or with a pen with a broad nib, you turn the stem evenly counterclockwise during the downward movement with the same result, the stroke is big at the top and going down it gets slimmer and slimmer. If you want to write Tibetan print, you have to practice this movement until it happens automatically that the lines taper evenly downwards.
Papa says that Tibetans appreciate writing as beautifully if it looks like print, and this applies to my teacher Tsering too. And what he writes looks does actually like done by a machine.
Nevertheless, this Tibetan print always retains a magical, rustic elegance. Heavenly and earthy find a form here to harmonious and interrelate wonderfully. It’s downright blissful to give syllables and words such shape. Actually wonderful! It makes my inner brights jump happily.
So I started with finger-long strokes that at first danced wildly, touched each other and wrestled with each other. I painted several sheets full like this, slowly and sensitively one shé next to the other. And the dancing shés were fun. But my strokes got better every day, as if I was learning in my sleep overnight. That was very strange? Every next day I could do easily what the day before used to be burdensome.
– Strange…? –
Sometimes in between, I was allowed to paint first syllables then.
I became more confident and faster and my shés became smaller until they finally looked pretty similar to Mr. Tsering’s characters, just right to write a text or a poem. That was an extremely satisfying result that opened up really great perspectives.
Also one simple shé in Tibetan indicates the end of a sentence, just like a dash in English does. Well that´ is what Mister Tsering tells me, and he tries to joke about it even:
„Dash or dot, that is the question here. „A“ for dot and „shé“ for dash?”
Well – I don´t get it?
Here in Shambhala, people actually use the script with the dot. Nobody here at the court – exept mamma and papa – know how to read or write Tibetan. But I’m supposed to learn the normal everybodies script only later, when I finally go to a real public school, which shouldn’t take much longer, namely when I’m six years old.
So I created many rows of strokes and interestingly, each row had something of its own – its own character – no matter how evenly I worked, they were never really absolutely like printed by a machine. There was always still something of me myself in each of these rows of strokes, and I discovered sides of myself in them that had been hidden from me until now. And it was wonderful to look into this unusual mirror. Mr. Tsering didn’t like my enthusiasm for these side sounds at all, and this special way of experimenting with spontaneity: „Forget your ego!“ he said.
But these remarks bothered me little. It was exciting and I initially glowed for these Tibetan lessons. It changed my life and gave it an unexpected, fascinating turn and something kind of real to do?
I hardly noticed Mr. Tsering as a person at first. He is very inconspicuous and normal. He likes to wear gray and beige suits without any charm and his ties are pale and seem to hang down senselessly. The nanny Isabell called these ties: „Earthworms!“ We found this discovery so funny and the word „earthworm“ hit the nail on the head so much at that moment that it turned the scene into a wild dance and rolling party. We laughed and danced, wrapped colourful ribbons around our necks, threw our heads back, acted important and rolled jubilantly into the pillows – that is, Isabell, Käthe and me.
Maybe all teachers wear limp and powerless ties? Cheap ties?
Meanwhile, however, this Mr. Tsering is giving more and more homework and the fun is turning into torture.
At first it was just a page of syllables that I had to write and then spell out loud with him, but as the reading got better, the four-, six-liners and seven-liners were introduced. That means: Reading again and again, copying and memorizing. Phew! I’m a little sensitive girl! Little girls need time to play, to make friends, to romp around and much more, of which the silly Tsering doesn´t have the slightest idea!
But listen! There is a wonderful trick to distract Mr. Tsering at least temporarily and give myself a break: I have to ask him about his SuWaaDi products. I casually say for example: „How’s the sale going, by the way?“ And that’s enough. Mr. Tsering immediately starts lamenting: „Slow!! Slow! I don’t understand the people here in Shambhala. It’s so incredible simple! You buy 20 kilos of SuWaaDi laundry detergent from me with the unique colour enhancer and hydro-washing power even at low temperatures. If you simply sell 18 kilos of it to friends at the unbeatable low price, you keep two kilos for yourself! Free of charge! It’s so easy! And yet hardly anyone wants to participate.“ Then he sighs, shakes his head, lets it hang a bit and sinks into a deep valley of self-pity. And this has been going on for weeks now. I once advised him to wear a tie in green-orange-red, the colors of the SuWaaDi brand. But after brief consideration, he didn’t like that. He said: „That could be embarrassing.“ Whatever that means…
Mr. Tsering doesn’t know that I had suggested to amala to buy twenty kilos of his detergent for the court. Amala reacted almost hysterically at the time – „No way!“ – she caught herself quickly, but now had to face the problem of having to explain her vehement rejection to me. Everyone knows that I always – yes, always – keep asking until I can really understand and comprehend what is meant or what it’s all about. I do very often get on people’s nerves with this. But that’s just how I am, I want to understand what’s going on, what exactly is happening and what’s behind it, as far and deep as possible. Is it that the quality of the detergent is bad quality?
The next word that occurred to amala was „pathetic“. But after she had spoken it, she herself looked incredulously after this expression and would have liked to take it back.
Well – as I said – I can’t just leave something like that: „You have to explain that to me.“
Especially when a word falls so spontaneously and thoughtlessly, then it’s important! Those are the moments of truth!
Amala hemmed and hawed and tried to explain: „Many people prefer to live in poverty and be content – that is, blessed – with it. They don´t want to be uplifted often out of fearfulness but usually its a kind of laziness.“
– Phew, was Tsering being attacked now? – I did not get it?
„And of course, people are free to choose a fearful, lazy comfortable life.“
And then she switched from conciliatory to energetic and continued: „But a princess doesn’t have this choice!
You were born to be a brave dragon princess.
You are the role model for a brave and challenging life! Awake, courageous and smart. Your task is unrestricted confidence. There is no room for laziness!“ And now her tone changed even further, towards preaching. – And I always notice immediately when someone starts to preach and I hate it! I hate it so much!
„You shouldn’t try to keep little niches or back doors open for retreats and escapes! You have responsibilities, you are responsible for the well-being of all beings around the world. You may not hide!“
I often wonder why I should always be a role model, but so far I haven’t dared to express these doubts. Such a discussion requires the right moment.
When amala starts to preach, I don’t believe a word any more of what she says, but I’m kind of overwhelmed – so to speak defeated by her power. Crushed and cornered. – I need to give up. At this point, I can only postpone the topic.
It’s not fair to preach, because a preacher feels unreservedly right, and is therefore closed and no longer accessible for objections and feedback.
To prevent further preaching, I react with a polite „Hmm“ and after a short while with another „Hmm“. Despite all my curiosity, that’s all I can do at this point. I seems that preaching can still end my flow of questions. An authoritarian and cheap trick, but effective, and I don’t know how to deal with it yet and how to use these moments to my advantage. But the day will come!
Today, the minutes with Mr. Tsering are passing particularly slowly again. The lesson just doesn’t end. My head is heavy as lead. And Mr. Tsering is strict and angry with me because I’m supposedly not concentrating enough. And of course he’s right: I’m really not focused. These spring lines – my poem – have kept me quite busy and distracted.
He complains: „It can’t be that difficult!“ Kate pats my hand.
And outside, spring is beginning and jumping!
So I sit up, sit up straight again, and simply imagine that the lesson has just begun. So – no more fantasies and daydreams!
This usually helps for a while. You can always consider every moment as a new beginning. In doing so, I then straighten up inwardly and always physically, and Kate of course notices this, and then she’s there again too.
But I would still like to be somewhere else now and therefore try something new:
„Mr. Tsering, I need to go to the bathroom.“
„Can’t that wait?“ Mr. Tsering asks.
„No!“ is my very clear, matter-of-fact answer and my expression allows no contradiction.
And in doing so, I use my acting power and give my face and body posture the appearance of a little girl who urgently needs to go to the toilet. This is multi-layered and not so easy to play. Mr. Tsering himself has no children and knows nothing about the bathroom habits of little girls and – hurray – it works, he lets me go!!
I jump down from my chair and slowly leave the room. I exceptionally leave Kate behind, because Mr. Tsering would have doubts whether I really wanted to go to the bathroom. So I walk slowly and with dignity out of the door, which by the way is always open. Behind the door, I perform a short, silent, crazy dance of joy. Freedom!
I don’t run to the bathroom but follow Obi Van into the kitchen. Obi Van, the gray labrador, follows me curiously and suspiciously. He knows me better than I know myself and can be extremely humourless at times.
In the kitchen I meet André, the cook, who as always immediately has a raisin roll for me at hand. Nobody loves me as much as he does, and as always he asks: „Well, how’s my little princess doing? Are they not letting you play freely again?“ He’s an infinitely nice and open man with a big belly, chubby cheeks and a bright red nose, just as a cook should have. Now he even squats down, visibly struggling to keep his balance. But he wants to be closer to me and asks: „Have you seen how spring is changing nature? There are already some beautiful flowers out there and soon we’ll have fresh fruit, and we won’t have to eat these always the same, always equally sized uniform apples any more that taste like American nothing. These Americans they know a lot about ‚empty‘ and not the American buddhists only.
You know – spring makes me happy, because then all people are as if by magic more cordial and patient, although they don’t know why. Come, I’ll show you the vegetables for tonight. I’m supposed to cook for twelve people. Somehow: Important-important! And I was lucky in searching for suitable ingredients. I’m so happy! The rest is almost child’s play now. It will be a wonderful dinner!!“
He stands up again and starts washing the vegetables in the area with the water basins, and he puts a stool for me to stand on, and I could have helped him.
How much I would have liked to do that, but the officer of the day already enters the kitchen together with Obi Van, who had briefly disappeared – traitor!!
„Damn!“ and „The dream is over!“.
Now fortunately, the officer is one of my favourite officers and an old friend. She’s already white-haired and a really old woman, quite round – good to lean on – and very calm and friendly: „So here’s where the little runaway is hiding!“ I quickly run over to her to appease her and stretch out my hands so she can pick me up. That always works disarmingly. She laughs, grabs me and simply sets me on her left, round, cozy hip, which she pushes forward a bit. She’s so warm and motherly!
Compared to her, Tsering is a cold and slippy frog!
„I’m sorry my darling.“ We’re so familiar with each other that she’s allowed to call me darling. „I’m sorry my darling, but I’m afraid I have to take you back. Mr. Tsering misses you longingly and wonders where you are.“
There’s nothing to be done: „Okay, but please, please come with me and stay for a few minutes when I go back to class? Please!“
Bye bye
Your Winni the Quijote (Private Correspondent to the Shambhala court)