Beauty, Disrupted

by Carre Otis

  I was running an extremely high fever. The men carried me back to the room and placed me carefully into bed. I moaned out loud.

  “You poor baby!” Nancy said, placing a smooth hand on my forehead. I was grateful for all their help and concern. I felt like I was dying.

  “We need to figure out what to do. The group needs to go on and stick with the schedule or we won’t be able to drop off all our supplies. Carré, we can leave a Sherpa with you, and if you recover quickly enough, you can still try to meet us at Tengboche Monastery. Okay?” Mike was one of the leaders of the expedition and he was not only being practical, but he had everyone’s best interests at heart. What he said was true: The group needed to go on ahead.

  “Of course,” I agreed, too sick to be sad that I might not be able to finish the mission.

  “I’ll stay with Carré,” Nancy offered. It was an unbelievably gracious gesture, and I tried to convince her to go on, but she wouldn’t hear of it. “Nope, we’ll stick together. And maybe even catch up with them.” She winked at me. Everyone blew kisses at me, not wanting to come too close, and I rolled over in my sleeping bag to get some more rest. I could only hope to wake up feeling better.

  As I slept I dreamed of Tara, the female Buddha and Mother of Liberation. She appeared in her white form, luminous, floating above me. She whispered her mantra in my ear and offered me the branch of a tree. My body shook with delight, a warmth pouring over me, and when I awoke, I immediately thought of my first teacher, Lama Tsultrim. I also realized I felt better. By the next day, although I was still very weak, I felt well enough to walk, and with the Sherpa carrying my pack, I slowly made my way up the mountain trail.

  We found a tiny horse that we rented for me to ride. I laughed, because my feet nearly touched the ground when I climbed onto his back. But the route we were on proved to be too treacherous for the animal, so I was soon left to rely on the strength of my own body. One foot in front of the other, I kept my head down and remained in a rather contemplative state. I held Tara and Lama Tsultrim in my mind’s eye, calling on them for energy and strength. I allowed each step to be an offering. And when my suffering became great, I surrendered that burden so I could continue with this mission to help those less fortunate. Under the warm sun, I moved forward, gaining ground and speed as if some unseen force were carrying me along.

  Since it was my birthday, my thoughts turned to my mother and father, and I was able to see a purity and goodness in them I hadn’t acknowledged before. Compassion bubbled up, and in a moment I recognized that we are all products of our past—my parents, too. But how we proceed in our present and our future is our own choice. I was not a victim. I was not a slave. Only if I decided to be those things, would I be. I walked and cried, tears of forgiveness streaming out of me, mixing with the salty sweat on my cheeks. I was free. I was not my work. Not my parents. Not my past. I was I. A woman.

  I realized how utterly self-obsessed I’d been and how, for the most part, the career I’d chosen—the career that had made me famous—condones, supports, and honors that self-obsession. I laughed and stumbled onward. I hadn’t showered in a week. And I had never felt more beautiful and accomplished than I did in that moment. I wasn’t tormented over what I was wearing as I climbed to the base camp of Everest. I wasn’t concerned with what fit or what didn’t. By offering myself, my ser­vices, and taking into account others’ needs, I had shifted the focus. There were mothers along the way who couldn’t feed their children. They didn’t have the luxury of thinking about what to wear. They barely had clothes to keep them warm.

  And just as the sun was setting and the moon was rising in the sky, just as the stars were being illuminated, I finally set foot on the rooftop of the world. The ancient walls of the monastery rose up, the wind whistled through the trees. . . . I had done it. It was a monumental feat for me. I had achieved what I set out to do—and I could rejoice and delight in those achievements. I was proud of my efforts and myself. As I made my way to my small group, I was greeted with applause and roars of excitement to have me with them.

  Sitting under the impressive canopy of stars in that small mountaintop cabin at Tengboche, my companions presented me with a birthday cake. It was a small flat apple cake with a single candle. With enormous gratitude I closed my eyes, made a wish . . . and blew.

  I had had it all—money, fame, privileges—but none of it had given me what I was looking for. I was ready for the next step in my journey. Ready to connect with my teachers again.

  MONKS IN MALIBU

  Winter seemed to have arrived early. It was October 2001, and I had just returned home from Asia. A torrential downpour left me in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the PCH, and I was daydreaming about my time in Nepal when I remembered I needed to pick something up from the health-food store I was just about to pass. I pulled over, stepped out, and attempted to run across the street. Big gusts of wind billowed up under my jacket as the rain fell in sheets all around me. I decided to duck into a doctors’ office a few buildings from my destination.

  “Wow!” I exclaimed to no one in particular as I shook the water off as best I could. I was chilled to the bone, and when I glanced out the window, I could see there was no letting up. The sky was black, and the traffic had intensified. I obviously had some time to kill.

  “Hello. Can I help you?” A pleasant voice with a British accent asked from somewhere behind me. I laughed out loud—I thought I was alone in the waiting room. When I spun around to greet the person who was asking, I was surprised to see a table full of malas and incense, much like the wares that were on display in Nepal.

  “Hi. Actually, I just ducked in because of the rain and the traffic.” I pointed to the highway.

  “Yes. There must be an accident up ahead. It’s been like this for a while.” The woman couldn’t have been much older than I was, and I found her quite beautiful. She had a shock of wavy red hair, a wonderful open smile that made her eyes twinkle. She actually looked like a model.

  “You look really familiar to me,” I said, realizing how silly that sounded. Usually ­people said that to me.

  “I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Novick. My husband, Ronny, and I live up in Malibu.” I looked down at the table where she was sitting, her black leather cowboy boots giving her an edge that went well with the accent. Just then two Tibetan Buddhist monks exited the office with a piece of paper and began to ask her some questions. They stopped, smiled at me, then continued to sort things out before wandering back behind closed doors.

  “I’m sorry. You must be busy,” I said, not wanting to get in her way.

  “No, no. Not at all. I’m just helping this group of Tibetan monks who come from India every year to make money for their monastery. They travel all over the U.S. conducting Tibetan astrology readings as well as treating patients with traditional Tibetan medicine. What did you say your name was?” She smiled and extended her hand.

  “Carré. Carré Otis,” I said, returning the smile.

  “Of course. I know you. Cool. And so interesting that you walked in when you did. The monks actually have an opening right now. Due to traffic, the next person on the list is a no-show. Interested?” she asked, nodding her head toward the door.

  “Yes! Of course!” I cried. “What a funny day. I was wondering why I’d walked in here. Now I know.”

  She proceeded to lead me into one of the rooms, where a Tibetan geshe (a scholar with the equivalent of a doctoral degree in Buddhist scripture) sat. After we were introduced, I sat down across from him.

  I smiled nervously. Again for some reason, I could feel my emotions rise to the surface. It seemed that whenever I was with Tibetans, I was alert to my deepest sentiments, even the most inchoate ones. The truth was that Nepal had been such an immense and impressive trip for me, I wasn’t sure of where to go from there. I knew that I was on my path, but I was also feeling very isolated where I was living. I had big questions, the sort that were moving beyond the ones therapy could address. As I waited to hear what the
doctor had to say, I knew that I was being guided. I just needed to sit back and relax.

  The geshe’s translator stepped into the room, and I nodded quietly, not sure if I should do anything else. “Geshe-la is going to take your pulse, Carré. Can you give him both of your wrists?” He spoke kindly and quietly.

  Without saying a word, I extended my arms. The warm hands of the geshe wrapped around each wrist, and I could tell as he stilled himself that he had found a pulse. He sat without stirring, his eyes focused on my chest, and as he did, something strange happened. For a moment I dissolved and felt as if I were in the geshe’s mind stream, or that he was in mine. There was no him, nor was there an I. I remained like that for some time in a profound sensation of nonduality.

  The geshe cleared his throat. I blinked a few times as the room around me came back into focus. Behind him hung a beautiful thangka tapestry of the Medicine Buddha.

  He spoke with the translator for a few minutes, then cleared his throat again. “Carré-la,” the translator said, “Geshe says that your pulse is very weak. Have you had some heart problems?” I cocked my head to the side. Wow. That was impressive, I thought. And as I pondered his question, all of a sudden I didn’t know how to answer. The geshe was speaking about more than just the body.

  There was indeed an issue of the heart. My heart had been broken. My heart was filled with longing. The image of holes in my heart came thundering toward me. I was moved beyond words at the revelation. I understood that the geshe had seen all this when I’d allowed him into my mind. I had wanted to see this, and so the geshe had been able to as well.

  “Geshe-la says he understands. You do not need to answer him. He has seen. Would you like help, Carré?”

  I wiped my runny nose with the back of my sleeve and simply said, “Yes.” I was overwhelmed with gratitude. My healing was continuing, and my path was perfectly unfolding. Had it not been for the rainstorm, I would not have been here.

  “Geshe-la says to please take these pills. And he will see you again very soon.” I was handed a box of Tibetan medicine, each pill an herbal formulation, individually and beautifully wrapped in silk and wound with a bright piece of string. I held them to my heart, and before leaving, I offered the geshe an envelope with offering money, and made three prostrations, as is the custom when you are in front of a teacher.

  “Thank you, Geshe-la,” I said as I backed out of the room. I didn’t know when, but I knew that I would be seeing him again. As I turned around in the waiting room, I stood to face Rebecca. “Hi.” She beamed at me. “That worked out well, didn’t it?” she said.

  I threw my arms around her, and she just laughed and hugged me back. “Thank you. Thank you. You have no idea. . . .” I sat to tell her a bit about myself. I’d had heart surgery, just come back from Nepal, and now lived alone in Malibu. I wasn’t sure which way to go next. I recognize now, looking back, that I was in a spiritual crisis. My karma ripened at the perfect time to assist me along my path.

  Just then Ronny, Rebecca’s husband, walked in, shouting, “Bexie!” He grabbed her and smothered her with a bear hug. Ronny was over two hundred pounds, had gray hair that stood on end, a bad-ass goatee, and several silver hooped skull earrings. He was a delicious teddy bear of a guy, giving off the rare and genuine vibe of being super safe.

  “Ronny, this is Carré. She lives in Malibu, too. She just saw Geshe-la.” Ronny smiled and sat down, wiping the rain off his forehead.

  “Geshe-la said he would see me soon. When are they back?” I asked.

  “In a month or so. We’re still booking their tour. We need to find them a place to stay in the meantime. Our house isn’t big enough. . . .” Her voice trailed off. She was wrapping up and putting away the malas that were for sale. Their day was about done. It was almost five o’clock.

  “Really? Well . . .” I looked outside at the rain, then at the box of medicine in my hand. I could see Geshe-la’s smiling face saying he would see me again soon. “My house is big enough—I think. They could stay with me,” I said, watching Rebecca’s face closely. She smiled. Nodded. Looked at Ronny and winked.

  “Wow, Carré. That is amazing. That would be incredible.” And with that, I gave her my number. As I walked out into the dark evening, it didn’t feel so dark anymore. My day had brightened.

  In the weeks that passed, I thought often about the monks. Ronny, Rebecca, and I had gotten together to discuss the details of hosting them. I was getting to know this ­couple very well and liked the new world revealing itself to me. The monks were from Gaden Shartse Monastery, in India. They were, for the most part, Tibetan refugees, all skilled in the Tibetan arts as well as highly respected teachers, otherwise known as lamas or geshe. The Gaden Shartse monks were of the Gelugpa sect of Buddhism, the most recent of the four to be formed, focusing on a sequential path of practice as well as strict observance of ethics and discipline. Twelve of them would be coming to stay with me for a full week.

  The rains continued to pour. The great eucalyptus trees behind my house bent in the winds. Malibu was howling. And I was readying the place for my new houseguests. On the day of their arrival, a huge pot of saffron rice had been cooked, tea and cookies were waiting. Rebecca, Ronny, and I sat in anticipation. At last we saw their van pull up, my gates open, and the maroon robes of the monks swirl about in the wind as they made their way to the front door. Rebecca opened it, smiling. “Tashi delek!” she said, greeting them in Tibetan.

  Lobsang Wangchuk, the only Western monk in the group, smiled and graciously bowed down. “Ronny. Rebecca. And this must be Carré,” he said, his sea-green eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “Geshe has mentioned you. Hello.” He extended a hand, then waved an arm with a grand gesture to honor Geshe-la, who was just at that moment walking in.

  “What can I do? What can I get you?” I asked Lobsang, thankful that someone out of the group spoke English. Just then my herd of four-legged friends ran in, barking and wagging their tails. Angel, Monkey, and Romi were my Chihuahuas, and Esmeralda and Raphael were my pugs. The monks looked terrified. Uh-oh. I hadn’t thought about the dog factor. I laughed and reached down to pet my old friends. “They don’t bite. Really!” I said, scratching Esmeralda behind her ears. I don’t think the monks had ever seen such small, silly creatures living like humans in the comfort of a home before.

  I showed Lobsang my house and the one private room where the geshe would stay with his attendant. Everyone else would stay on the living-room floor. As it turned out, the geshe remembered me quite well, and as I showed him the room, he grabbed my hand and pulled my head toward his in the traditional Tibetan greeting. Forehead to forehead we stood, the room hushed. I knew he was an old, old friend, and I was so glad he had come to stay.

  The week was one of the funniest of my life, camped out with all those characters in my house. We talked, cooked, joked, and laughed. I had a sense that I’d known each of them before in a past life, and for us to all gather like this seemed completely normal. I drove them to their appointments to perform ritualistic house blessings and even took them to Cher’s enormous mansion on the ocean’s cliffs. It was wonderful, albeit a bit bizarre, for someone who’d done all the things I’d done in my life, including making a living as a model, to now be driving a dozen monks around Malibu blessing celebrity homes. But I didn’t question for a minute my role in their lives and how natural it felt for me to serve them. I didn’t second-guess a thing, and not once did I feel uncomfortable doing whatever it was they needed of me—cooking, cleaning, and making endless cups of tea. Even renting movies.

  I took the ten of them (leaving Geshe-la and his attendant at the house) to Blockbuster one rainy night and walked through aisles and aisles of action movies.

  “Lobsang, are you sure they want action? I mean, this is all really violent. Or really racy.” I was concerned that it might negatively influence them. Lobsang just laughed.

  “It’s nothing they haven’t seen, Carré! In the monastery that’s all they watch! Steve
n Seagal’s a big hit.” I just laughed. Until Thinley pulled out and waved around the box for Booty Call.

  “No way!” I grabbed it from his hand. “No way do you want to watch this!” Tears were streaming down my face I was laughing so hard. “Lobsang . . . please tell him!” I begged. And in Tibetan, Lobsang tried to explain what it was about, in a rather less-than-detailed way. We ended up leaving with Die Hard.

  As the monks sat crowded on my living-room floor to watch the video, I went into the kitchen to count out my evening’s regimen of medication: Paxil, Depakote, and trazodone. I’d been on my antidepressants for nearly a decade, rarely questioning the protocol my psychiatrists had recommended for me. Pills were a part of my life, and I assumed I needed them, just as I’d been told. Grabbing a cup of tea, I sat down in the background, the dim light illuminating my living-room table.

  “What have you there, Carré-la?” Lobsang asked as he pulled up a chair and sat next to me.

  “Oh, just my pills,” I said nonchalantly.

  “Why are you on pills?” he asked quietly, the look in his eyes capturing me by surprise.

  “Oh, Lobsang, I’ve been on them for years. I used to suffer from depression.” It came out matter-of-factly.

  “And now? Do you? Still suffer?” he asked.

  I thought for a moment, looking down at the small bowl I usually put my pills into before I took them. It was part of my ritual.

  “That’s a good question. I do. I mean, I still do suffer. It’s not like it was, though. I don’t want to die.”

  “Oh,” he said simply. Geshe-la had come up behind him and in Tibetan asked a few questions. Lobsang looked at me, then at the bowl of pills. “Geshe is wondering if you still think you need them,” he translated.