Sleeping Around

Inspired by the writings of my wicked smart funny friends Jesse Seret (Perfect Calm), Trish Deitch (Distant Dock), Jessica Schickel (Chagrin and Bear It), Jen Sincero (Hey Little Bad Ass), and Janine Schulz (Oiling of a Rusty Mind), and encouraged by people I’ve met here and there, I will now commence the blog. Maybe just about beds. Maybe about other things too. But the beds are a constant. I’ve been keeping record of every mattress, hammock, waterbed, and couch I’ve spent the night on for some time, as many of you know.

Not every bed makes it into the bed collection. Sometimes I forget to take a picture. Once my computer was stolen on a night train in deepest India and I lost an important year of photos. Sometimes the beds in which I’ve slept would cause too much of a stir if made public, so. But there are lots beds in the bed collection. And stories behind each one.

If beds bore you then there is still some hope for us having a blogger/reader relationship. Let’s see how it goes. I’m only about 80% comfortable with this set up and welcome your input.

Love and kusheln from my red velvet bed in Berlin,

Noa
June, 2010
~ Sunday, October 2 ~
Permalink

Bir, Himachal Pradesh, India (September 6-October 2, 2011) — Usually when I’m in Bir, I stay at the old labrang, which I’ve written about many times. My trunk is up there but there was no room for me this time due to an influx of students and friends of Rinpoche who have come to attend a drupchen at Tsering Jong down the road (otherwise known as OT’s Big House). But the change of routine has been a blessing. I’ve been granted a room at the new labrang instead, Tara’s old room, which was, in turn, Sonam Chophel’s old room. Both are artists so there is a faint smell of turpentine soaked into the chip stone floor. It’s the smell of my childhood. The labrang is actually a compound of many mismatched structures. There are ten rooms in this house, another three at Pawo and Stephanie’s, three in the library, four or five down at the row house, and then Emily and Rinpoche both have their own houses, all within a border of high walls. It’s a haphazard collection of architecture and landscaping. I’ve watched it grow out of a tea field back in the day when the old labrang was the only labrang. I feel lucky to be here.

.

I’m sharing the room with the smart and beautiful barrister to be, Chimi Dorji of London. Her father is Bhutanese and her mother is English and she grew up in Rinpoche’s lap. We’ll be seeing more of her for sure.

.

There is a little frog in our room, about the size of a few capers. He’s very quiet. I hope he’s not scared.

.

There is also a millipede the size of a child’s finger. It seems to be of the rolly polly family but wider and with glow-in-the dark eyes on it’s rear end. He is not welcome. Chime and I have both been woken in the night with it crawling on our necks and it is an understatement when I say that we are not pleased.

.

During the first ten days here I would get up at 5 and by 6 be at the temple at Tsering Jong until 7 or 8 p.m. There were a lot of people from Hong Kong, Taiwan and mainland China here. Malaysia too. There was a small group of us scrappy westerners, three rinpoches, and 160 monks. We drank salty tea. My knees hurt. The air was thick and hot and it rained when its sunny. There was a lot of mud and the geese scared me.

.

These descriptions of the outer perimeter are all I can draw up. When I try to find words to describe the worlds inside the temple doors, a mist envelops my mind and I am no longer in possession of the English language. And the photos in my camera, though they portray beauty and glory, all make it seems so small, so large, so well lit, so neat, or otherwise inaccurately capture what is happening.

.

I have been waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of my own voice, sometimes I’m laughing. Big, meaningful, iconic dreams. Then I can’t sleep. The dogs bark. The moon was full.

.

Chime left and Serena moved in. There were some lunches at the Garden Café, some good nights at Pawo and Stephanie’s, many meals around the big wood table and now I am leaving on an overnight bus to Delhi. I feel anxious about the travel ahead but there is this hope too. Soon I may unpack my suitcases for a while, soon I might have a home.