Before I could say anything, the soldiers were holding me and rolling the machine over my body. The nurse turned it on, producing a mild humming noise and a bright light directly over my face. Even with my eyes closed I could see the light move from right to left across my head, like the scanner of a copy machine.
As soon as the machine stopped, the soldiers rolled the device away and left the room. The nurse lingered a moment looking me over.
“What was that?” I stammered.
“Just an encephalograph,” she said in careful English as she reached into a cabinet and pulled out my clothes. They had been cleaned and folded neatly.
“What was it for?” I pressed.
“To check everything, to make sure you are all right.”
At that moment the door opened again, and Colonel Chang returned. He picked up a chair by the wall and set it near my bed.
“Perhaps I should tell you what we are faced with here,” he said as he sat down in the chair. He looked tired. “There are many religious sects in Tibet, and many of their adherents seek to give the impression around the world that they are a religious people being oppressed by the Chinese. And I admit that our early policies in the 1950s, and during the Cultural Revolution, were harsh. But these policies have been changed in recent years. We are trying to be as tolerant as we can, given that the official policy of the Chinese government is atheism.
“These sects must remember that Tibet has changed as well. Many Chinese live here now and have always lived here, and many of them are not Buddhists. We must all live together. There is no way that Tibet can ever return to Lamaist rule.
“Do you understand what I am saying? The world has changed. Even if we wanted to give Tibet its freedom, it would not be fair to the Chinese.”
He waited for me to say something, and I thought about confronting him with the government policy of importing Chinese nationals into Tibet in order to dilute the Tibetan culture. Instead I said, “I think they just want to be free to pursue their religion without interference.”
“We have allowed some of that, but they are always changing what they are doing. Once we think we know who is in charge, the situation changes. I think we are arriving at a good relationship with parts of the official Buddhist hierarchy, but then there are the Tibetan expatriates in India, and this other group that Mr. Doloe is a part of, the one that follows some cryptic verbal knowledge and is stirring up all this talk about Shambhala. It is distracting to the people. There is much important work to be done in Tibet. The people are very poor. The quality of life must be raised.”
He looked at me and grinned. “Why is this legend of Shambhala being taken so seriously? It seems almost juvenile, the idea of children.”
“The Tibetans believe that there is another, more spiritual reality beyond the physical worlds we can see, and that Shambhala, while here on this Earth, lies in this spiritual realm.” I couldn’t believe I was risking a debate with him.
“But how could they think this place exists?” he continued. “We have surveyed every inch of Tibet from the air and from satellites, and we have seen nothing.”
I was silent.
“Do you know where this place is supposed to be?” he pressed. “Is that why you are here?”
“I would love to know where it is,” I said, “or even what it is, but I’m afraid I don’t. I also don’t want to be in trouble with the Chinese authorities.”
He was listening intently, so I continued. “In fact, all this scares the hell out of me and I would really rather leave.”
“Oh no, all we want is for you to share what you know,” he said. “If such a place exists, if it is a hidden culture, we want to know this information. Share your knowledge with us and let us help you. Perhaps there is a compromise that could be made.”
I looked at him for a moment and said, “I would like to contact the American Embassy, if that’s okay.”
He tried to hide his impatience, but I could see it clearly in his eyes. He stared at me for a moment longer, then walked to the door and turned around.
“That’s not necessary,” he said. “You are free to go.”
Minutes later I was walking down the streets of Ali, zipping up my parka tightly. It was not snowing now but it was very cold. Earlier I had been forced to dress in front of the nurse and then escorted from the house. As I continued to walk, I went through the contents of my pockets. Surprisingly everything was there: a knife, my wallet, a small bag of almonds.
I felt light-headed and fatigued. Was this from the anxiety? I wondered. The effects of the gas? The altitude? I tried to shake it off.
Ali was a modern town, with numerous Chinese and Tibetans walking the streets, and vehicles everywhere. Its well-kept buildings and stores were slightly disconcerting, given the terrible roads and conditions we had just traveled through to get here. Looking around, I could see no one who I thought might be able to speak English, and after several blocks I began to feel even more light-headed. I had to sit down beside the road on an old cement block. The growing fear almost became a panic. What was I to do now? What had happened to Yin? Why had the Chinese colonel let me go like that? It made no sense.
With that thought, a full image of Yin appeared in my mind, and I felt a reminder. I was letting my energy collapse. The fear was overwhelming me and I had forgotten to do anything about it. I took a deep breath and attempted to raise my energy.
A few minutes later I began to feel better, and my eyes fell on a large building several blocks away. It had a sign on the side in Chinese that I couldn’t read, but as I focused on the shape of the building, I got the distinct impression that it was a guesthouse or small hotel. I felt elated. There would be a phone there perhaps, maybe even other tourists I could hook up with.
I stood up and walked in that direction, careful to keep an eye on the streets around me. In a few minutes I was several doors away from the Shing Shui guesthouse, but I felt hesitant and looked around carefully. No one seemed to be following me. When I was almost to the door, I heard a noise. Something had landed in the snow. I looked around. I was standing on the street directly across from a narrow alleyway, alone except for several old men walking in the other direction twenty feet away. I heard the noise again. It was close. As I was looking down at my feet, I saw a small stone fly out of the alley and plop into the snow.
Taking one step forward, I tried to look down the shadowed opening. I took several more steps, trying to adjust my eyes.
“It’s me,” a voice said.
I knew immediately it was Yin.
I rushed into the alley, finding him leaning against a brick wall.
“How did you know where I was?” I asked.
“I didn’t know,” came his reply. “I was just guessing.” He slid down the wall and sat down, and I noticed his parka was burned on the back. When he moved his arm, I saw a patch of blood on his shoulder.
“You’re hurt!” I said. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s not that bad. They dropped a concussion bomb and I hit rocks when I was thrown from the Jeep. I managed to crawl away before they landed. I saw them take you and load you onto a truck headed back here. I figured if you got away, you would head toward the largest guesthouse. What happened to you?”
I told Yin about waking up in the Chinese house and being interrogated by Colonel Chang, then released.
“Why did you push me out of the Jeep?” I asked.
“I told you before,” Yin replied. “I can’t control my fearful expectations. My hatred for the Chinese is too great. They are able to follow me.” He paused. “Why did they release you?”
“I don’t know,” I replied.
Yin moved slightly and grimaced in pain. “Probably because Chang senses that he can follow you too.”
I was shaking my head. Could this be real?
“He wouldn’t know how it works, of course,” Yin continued, “but when you expect the soldiers to come, your expectation actually gives his ego the thought to ap
proach where you are. He probably thinks it is some power in him.”
He looked at me hard. “You must learn from my problem. You must master your thoughts.”
Yin looked at me a moment longer, then, holding his arm, led me down the alley, through a narrow gap between two buildings, and into what looked to be an abandoned building.
“We need to get you to a doctor,” I said.
“No!” Yin said forcefully. “Listen to me. I will be fine. There are people here who can help me. But I can’t go with you to the ruins of the old monastery; you will have to go there by yourself.”
I turned away, fear swelling inside me. “I don’t think I can do that.”
Yin looked alarmed. “You must control your fear, return to detachment. You are needed to help find Shambhala. You must go on.”
He struggled to sit up, grimacing as he moved closer to me. “Don’t you understand that the Tibetan people have suffered much? Yet they have waited for the day that Shambhala would be known to all the world.” He squinted as his look found my eyes. “Think of how many people have helped us get this far. Many of them have risked everything. Some may be imprisoned, even shot.”
I lifted up my hand and showed it to him; it was shaking. “Look at me. I can barely move.”
Yin’s eyes were piercing. “Don’t you think your father was terrified when he struggled out of that landing craft and ran onto the beaches of France in World War II? Just like all the others? But he did that! What if he hadn’t? What if all the rest of them hadn’t? That war could have been lost. Freedom for everyone could have been lost.
“We in Tibet have lost our freedom, but what is happening now is about more than just Tibet. It is about more than you or me. It is about what must happen for all the sacrifices of many generations to be honored. Understanding Shambhala, learning to use the prayer-fields at this moment in history, is next in the evolution of humankind. It is the great chore of our whole generation. If we fail, then we let down everyone who came before us.”
Yin grimaced in pain, then looked away. Tears were forming in his eyes.
“I would go if I could,” he added. “But now I think you are our only chance.”
We heard the sound of big trucks and saw two large troop carriers drive by.
“I don’t know where to go,” I said.
“The old monastery is not that far,” Yin replied. “They can be reached in a long day’s travel. I can get someone to take you.”
“What am I supposed to do there? You said earlier that I would be tested. What did you mean by that?”
“In order to get through the gateway, you will have to fully allow divine energy to flow through you and set your field in the way you have learned. Know this field goes out from you and has an effect on what happens. Most importantly, control your fear images, and stay detached. You still fear certain outcomes. You don’t want to lose your life.”
“Of course I don’t want to lose my life,” I said, almost yelling. “I have a lot to live for.”
“Yes, I know,” he replied gently. “But those are very dangerous thoughts. You have to abandon all thoughts of failing. I can’t do that, but I think you can. You have to be sure with all your faith that you’re going to be saved, that you are going to succeed.”
He paused to see if I understood.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “If all else fails, continue to affirm that Shambhala is helping you. Look for the…”
He stopped, but I knew what he meant.
The next morning I was in the cab of an old, four-wheel-drive truck, squeezed in between a herdsman and his four-year-old son. Yin had known exactly what to do. In spite of his pain, we had sneaked across several blocks to an old adobe brick house, where we were given a hot meal and a place to spend the night. He stayed up late talking to several men. I could only suppose that the men were members of Yin’s secret group, but I asked no questions. We had risen early, and minutes later the farm truck had driven up and I had climbed aboard.
We were now traveling along a snow-covered dirt road, circling ever higher into the mountains. As the truck bounced along, we turned a corner and reached an overlook where we could see the place where Yin and I had said good-bye. I asked the driver to slow the truck so I could see.
To my horror, the whole area below was filled with military vehicles and soldiers.
“Wait a minute,” I said to the driver. “Yin may need help. We have to stop.”
The old man shook his head. “Must go! Must go!”
He and his son talked excitedly in Tibetan, occasionally looking at me, as though they knew something I didn’t. He sped up the truck and we traveled through a pass and started down through the mountains.
A pang of fear erupted in my stomach. I was torn about what to do. What if Yin had escaped and needed me? On the other hand, I thought I knew what Yin would have wanted. He would have insisted that I go on. I tried to keep my energy up, but part of me wondered if all the talk about gateways and Shambhala might turn out to be just a myth. And even if it was true, why would I be allowed to enter and not someone else, like Jampa or Lama Rigden? Nothing made sense.
I shrugged off those thoughts and tried to keep my energy high, gazing out at the snow-covered peaks. I watched closely as we traveled through several small towns, including Dormar. Finally after eating a lunch of cold soup and dried tomatoes, I fell asleep for a long time. When I awoke, it was late afternoon and large snowflakes were falling again, soon covering the road with a fresh coating of whiteness. As we continued to travel, the terrain grew ever more mountainous and I could tell the air was growing thinner. Approaching in the distance was yet another tall range of mountains.
That must be the Kunlun range, I thought, the one Yin had mentioned. Part of me continued to disbelieve that all this was happening. But another knew it was, and that I was alone now, facing the monolithic Chinese presence, with all its soldiers and atheistic skepticism.
From behind us, I heard the low drone of a helicopter. My heart began to pound, but I kept my alertness.
The herdsman seemed oblivious to the threat and drove on for another thirty minutes, then smiled and pointed up ahead. Through the falling snow I could see the darker outlines of a large stone structure sitting atop one of the first ridges. Several walls on the left side were collapsed. Behind the monastery rose huge spires of snow-covered rock. The monastery was three or four stories tall, even though its roof had long since rotted away, and I looked closely for a moment for any sign of people or movement. I saw nothing. It seemed to have been completely abandoned for a long time.
At the base of the mountain, five hundred feet below the monastery, the truck stopped and the man pointed up toward the ruined structure. I hesitated, looking out at the blowing snow. He gestured again, urging me on with his excited expression.
I grabbed the pack Yin had prepared for me from the back of the truck. I started up the hill. The temperature was growing slightly colder, but I hoped that with the tent and sleeping bag, I would not freeze to death. But what about the soldiers? I watched the truck move out of sight and listened carefully, hearing nothing but the wind.
I looked around and found a rock stairway up the hill and started to climb. After about two hundred feet I stopped and looked back toward the south. From here I could see nothing but white mountains for miles.
As I approached the monastery, I could now see that it actually wasn’t on a hill of its own but stood on a large precipice extending out from the mountain behind it. The path led right to the opening that was once a large door, and I carefully walked in. Large, hued stones lay scattered around the dirt floor, and I was facing a long hallway that ran the length of the structure.
I walked down the hall past several rooms that opened up on both sides of me. Finally I came to a larger room that had a doorway to the back side of the monastery. In fact, half its rear wall had collapsed, and more stones, some of them as big as tables, lay on the ground
outside.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a movement near the collapsed wall. I froze. What was that? Cautiously, I walked to the opening and looked outside in all directions. It was about a hundred feet from the door to the sheer rock face of the mountain. No one seemed to be around.
As I continued to look, I saw another vague movement, also out of the corner of my eye. This time it was farther away, near the base of the mountain face. A chill ran through me. What was going on? What was I seeing? I thought about grabbing my pack and running back down the hill, but I decided against it. I was definitely frightened, but my energy was remaining strong.
I focused as best I could through the falling snow and headed for the cliffs where I thought I had seen the movement. When I arrived, I could find nothing. The cliff walls were laced with vertical crevices, including one very large one that at first looked like a narrow cave. On closer inspection, I saw it was only several feet deep, too shallow for anyone to hide, and filled with snow. I looked around for footprints, and although the snow was ten or twelve inches thick, I could find none but my own.
The snow was falling much harder now, so I walked back to the monastery and found a corner of the room that still had an overhang of stone in place that protected me from the snow and wind. A pang of hunger hit me, and I crunched some carrots as I broke out the small gas stove and heated some freeze-dried vegetable soup Yin had placed in my pack.
As it was simmering, I thought about what was happening. There was only an hour left until dark, and I had no idea why I was up here. I looked through my pack and found no flashlight of any kind. Why hadn’t Yin packed one? The gas in the stove wouldn’t last through the night; I had to find some firewood or yak dung.
My mind was already playing tricks on me, I thought. What might happen if I had to spend the entire night up here in total darkness? What if these old walls began to fall in the wind?
As soon as I had that thought, I heard a crumbling sound at the far end of the monastery. I walked out to the hall, and just as I looked, I saw a huge stone crash to the ground.
The Secret of Shambhala: In Search of the Eleventh Insight Page 12