Continued...Prayer Flag Factory
I journeyed to this destination with my friends and colleagues Ned and Susie (repeat shoppers), Eric (a student of mine), and one of our local guides, Tashi.  The so-called factory was merely a room with shelves and shelves of colorful fabrics, some already printed and sewn, others awaiting their future as flags. Two men sat at sewing machines along the windowed wall, raising and lowering their feet on the foot pedals of the clattering apparatus.  A pious momola (grandmother) sat cross-legged on a bed on the side of the room, twirling her prayer wheel in one hand, fingering her prayer beads in the other hand, mumbling prayers (probably the common mantra Om mani padme hum), and watching the activity of our visit.  The entrepreneur of this operation was a middle-aged woman, daughter of the praying woman, who wore the traditional dress of Tibetan woman, a dark chupa with a colorful apron tied at her waist. Tashi explained to us that this family had also come from Tibet in the early days of Chinese occupation, like so many other families in Sikkim, including his own.

After our greetings of Tashi Delek were exchanged, we got down to business. Prayer flags – the ubiquitous sign of Buddhism – are seen flapping all over the Himalayas (and increasingly in other sympathetic places around the world).

Blue sky, white space, red fire, green water, yellow earth…

The long, vertical flags are usually hoisted in your home place and smaller, horizontal, square flags hang across bridges, passes, and other auspicious places where tall poles (of bamboo or other materials) aren’t available. Flags, employing the wind, send prayers of peace, compassion, long life, and loving kindness out into the world, for all beings to receive.

With Tashi as translator, we each explained which type of flags we desired and our saleswoman began uncovering piles, rolling out stretches of woodblock-printed materials, and making measurements (in the case of the long, vertical flags). Meanwhile, the sewing machines whirred intermittently and the prayer wheel continually spun.  A clanging of pots and a bit of steam rising from behind a walled-partition behind the grandmother indicated that this room was not only a business space, but living quarters as well. Who knows how many people were housed in this dual-purpose room.

Perched on a corner of a bed, I waited my turn to make my prayer flag request:  a set of larger square flags for my porch at home, and another smaller set of flags to leave an auspicious point along our Sikkimese adventure.  All of this for a total of 36 rupees (a little less that one U.S. dollar).  A bargain – and yet so much more meaningful: seeing their manufacturing origin and getting to sit in the presence of people whom, if I had the time and the language ability, I’m sure I’d find had rich, life stories.

Smiles, waves, and thanks were shared after our purchases were complete and soon enough we ducked back through the covered door, navigating back out through the dark hallway, up the stairs into the light and bustle of the main market.

Continued...Journal Entry: April 3, 2005, Day 27
Andy, Katey, and I saw the man who made them all sitting cross-legged under a small canopy of corrugated roofing. We sat and watched this withered octogenarian chiseling away at his flat, red painted rocks. Every few minutes he would pick up the stone he was working on and turn it this way or that to inspect his progress. His only tools were a small hammer, which he clutched loosely in his right hand to lightly tap his chisel made of what looked like a nail or thin piece of tool steel that he sharpened by rubbing on a large flat piece of sand stone.

I do not know how long we sat mesmerized by his working, but I could tell that this man had dedicated his life to his work, which was also his worship.

Continued...Travel Piece
Traveling with a group of 14 or so this is the first time on our journey here in Sikkim that I feel completely alone and at peace with myself and nature. My mind is so clear.  My eyes see all that surrounds me unconsciously sending the images to my brain, and without thinking my conscious mind takes over, pondering, observing, and making sense of the images. I’ve realized over the years, and especially on this trip that seeing and observing are two very different processes. One must see to observe but more importantly one must observe to understand the complexities of life in any given situation. When I look up at the terraced hillside it is no more than a masterpiece of multi-layered, carved steps in the land to provide people a place to grow crops. But when I observe the steep slope I realize the energy exchanges in natural systems and the huge amount of thought, labor, and time devoted by humans to convert such a place. These concepts are harvested from deep within the soil and my own mind as well to help me understand what I see.