Source: A Rambling Refugee
A blow, a contingency yet untoward, sometimes lands with such pressure as the-triple-punch that pummels the scraggy breath like at a point blank distance. The foray, the havoc ravages the pre-restive entity to such frayed pathetic—I have now lost my parent like distant paternal uncle—if to be named here for a reason Geshe Tenzin Dookda La—who breathed his last on 13 March in the early chilly morning hours in Elista, the capital of The Republic of Kalmykia under Russian Federation. Yet, I have this pride for his worth-being there as the ‘mentor’ and Buddhist master since his leaving for there in 1995, when I was at the time being able to deal with my life so far. Yes, for his predestined needy presence there that did turn out to be far helpful and fruitful as per his conscience regarded the matter as of top priority for being there and helping in his best ways. So I feel this pride and I have been feeling so since learning about the same. So it can be proved by how the bright and loving Kalmykian people have taken his demise, post physical death musing till the clear light ༼ཐུགས་དམ་ལ་བཞུགས་པ།༽ and the ceremonial cremation plus mass prayers with such gravity as can be got at khurul.ru/ (website) So, for the same, I would like to extend my sincere gratitude and heartfelt thankfulness.
Yeah, the blow, on personal level, has come that I happened to write in my note as follows:
Almost past noon I had a call from Dhati Lobsang, a senior member of our Khangtsen, telling me about Gen Dookda La passing away in the early morning of the day. For his being like my parental guardian after my joining the monastic university back in 1985 it is a loss that leaves me far alone as to test why I was born for… As from his undergoing heart surgery years back and having strokes, the last one only a couple of months ago, as for his hard works there in Kalmyk, sort of unbridled burst of temper and the same laxity in dietary precaution for his case, the news isn’t a sort of unexpected one despite the recovery after the third fatal stroke that spared a lull only. But I find myself at my wit’s end. I can mouth prayers with a sense that draws me to tears, if I let it carry me away. I am going to do my best. *
Yeah, the blow is doubled with the current cases of how our beloved compatriots in Tibet suffer in the ‘undeclared martial law’ draconian but veiled and aloof (The whole world pretend not learning as such by casting the whole attention to Syria instead. Why? Because the ruthless tormentor is Red China, the emerging bully as many thoughtlessly succumb to her robot-minded regime’s precarious yet sound guise of promising shares in pillage-business earned by only military threats, brutal actions and deceptions. The farsighted and prudent global project known as Sustainable Development seems to be just sweet lip exercise when it falls on quick cheap gains by every heartless means in an annexed or neocolonized territory.) like a sniper takes his targets anonymously yet authoritatively. The lives cost by those self-immolators, the hanging trepidation that a fresh one—there was one only yesterday by a young monk in Ngaba and one even today in Rebkong—may come up and how many more would be tortured and incarcerated pain this desperate heart even more.
The third blow, restive it has been ever, now seems to be nothing in the face of them. But penitent I have been ever for being that foolish not being able to pursue my dream. A prospective life is like a distant dream. Yet, I won’t bow ever as not to let it remain in dream only. Then to fight them with a honed talent far well-greased and functioning: I happened to update my facebook status as:
‘Nothing lasts forever’ that speaks a true heart seeks amid the flurries of timeless alternate flights of convergence and divergence–what the living moment shapes what to ensue whether pleasurable or not. A folly, a simple idea, a futile attitude have the same latent potential to be capable of developing into a grand entity. That proves ‘even to live is an adventure’. A forlorn one’s claustrophobic cry can be heard one day; the same has the potential to strike the enlightening chord as to release the last shuddering and reverberating current that orientates it towards self-mirroring: seeing how foul one’s impatience costs and thereby to develop the true sense of empathy, the true beacon to be summoned now and ever as to win in true sense. So, nothing lasts forever! Have a great life!