\"Here is a small pen and big pen.\" I stare in confusion as Lama Kepi proclaims that a pen and its respective pen cap are somehow both separate pens and, furthermore, that they are interdependent.
If I gaze up, many eyes rest upon me. The prayer room which envelops us is adorned with the golden forms of Buddha, ones small enough to fit in both palms that surround a larger female Buddha statue. She is Tara, one Lama Kepi prior simply gestured to and referred to as empty, or shentong.
We drift into a five-minute meditation. I am bundled up with nerves. I feel as if I have twine wrapped tightly around my body, reminiscent of the balls of yarn my nine-year-old brother wraps around the rails of our metal staircase as a trap for us to wake up to in the morning — like a laser maze of fibers, something we must venture into to pull out the starting thread, something we are tasked with unwinding once we gather the courage to. I feel as if I am in a state of untangling through my own maze of anxieties thinking about my imagined struggles during upcoming long trek while in the peaceful serenity of Namo Buddha Monastery.
After class, we walk up a steep slope of asphalt to the dining hall, up and down a seemingly unnecessary amount of steps. It serves as another reminder of the anticipated difficulties of long trek, which is rapidly approaching. Noise which may have proven stressful during prior lunches, spilling over with loud chants and chatter from the visitors and monks, now ironically provides an opportunity to distract myself with drifting voices and idle conversation, to avoid sitting with my anxieties.
When we embark on long trek, my bag feels surprisingly light, until I see the vast green hills we will soon find ourselves walking through. The amount of distance my eyes can cover shocks me compared to the densely packed houses in my hometown. The emptiness causes a mix of fear and anticipation. I keep my eyes pinned to the ground, trying not to count the ascending steps, trying to trick myself into thinking I am going downhill, further and further down, instead of incomprehensible miles up and up and up.
When we reach snow I convince myself further that I am not truly traveling up hundreds of sets of staircases — I am simply floating up the terrain, drifting forward as if in a trance...
It was in this that I was able to fully grasp the concept that Lama Kepi was trying to explain. Only because one perception exists, the concept of the other exists; a big pen is perceived as big only because we have the idea that the other is small. If one pen ceases to exist, the other ceases too, and our perception changes, which causes discomfort. The long trek was only long because the other was shorter, but that also was subject to change when introduced to the fact that my body was stronger than before. I was more content, with the long trek feeling faster to me as I was used to the exertion. That again changed when we struggled with the altitude — a short, presumably easy hike became grueling. Again, perceptions changed when we experienced a bout of food poisoning, which I’m sure would’ve made the long trek feel even longer if it had happened near the beginning of the trek rather than the end.
Everything is built on this interdependent origination and these changing conditions. All phenomena and form is based on our attitudes, our labeling and judging consciousness. Without relying on this or grasping to these ideas, I was able to simply climb.
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