Monks and Mormons

My essay "Monks and Mormons" is the second one in my collection.  It is not yet in a form I am satisfied with, but it has come a long way. It addresses my disillusionment with Buddhism as I came to learn more about it and better understanding and appreciating my own religious beliefs.  I used to think that if I were not a Mormon I would be a Buddhist, but after this summer I've learned that this is not so.  Though I still have loads of appreciation for Eastern religious philosophy and love the Buddhists I met, I am happy being Mormon.

General changes?  Trying to make it a more interesting read, making episodes clearer,  being more articulate and respectful about the differences between these two religions, and changing the title and beginning of the essay.

Here are some posts/drafts/field note entries that document the journey of this essay:

• My first terrible draft
• A journal entry (forthcoming)
• FAQ on 1st week in McLeod Ganj (have I met the Dalai Lama yet)
• Third Time Seeing the Dalai Lama video
• Yoga teacher training
• Varanasi email to my parents
• Varanasi scene I never got around to using, but I might do something with in the future

(Photo Credit Charleston Tibetan Society)

First Draft Monks and Mormons

This is a first draft of the final essay I have in my personal essay collection titled "Monks and Mormons."

What Buddhism is and what it is not:

The Dalai Lama

            Who wouldn’t want to meet the Dalai Lama?  I know I did, long before I had heard of Tibet or knew that he was associated with one of the many sects of Buddhism.  Buddhism was so vogue and sexy to me.  I dreamed of coming to India to learn how to meditate and find peace within myself since no amount of self-help books and cute motivational posters were helping much with the whole life contentment thing I was supposed to be working on.  I guess I wasn’t the only one who sought out Buddhism either, because Western backpackers flooded in from all the corners of the world to find God something else in Mcleod Ganj, home of His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama.

            My first week in India I had the opportunity to see His Holiness.  My group of fellow students and I lined up under the bright, festive prayer flags in the blistering heat among the mix of natives and tourists for hours just to watch him drive past—an important event which I mistakenly called “that Dalai Lama thing” for which I was reprimanded by a local shopkeeper.  I stood in the crowd with eager anticipation, but as initial life in India goes, I had a wave of “Delhi belly” come over me and had to sprint up temple road to find the nearest public squatter (my first public squatter if I might add, and I would tell you all about it but I think I would rather spare you the details).  By the time I made it back the Dalai Lama had long come and gone.  The crowed was dispersing back to the regular routine of life, and I pushed against the current to hear what I missed.  Some of my group members related the experience to me:  Bonnie caught a glimpse of his elbow, Kristen didn’t realize what car he was in until after he past, and lame as the drive by was, I felt disappointed the way you do when you first learn that Santa isn’t real.