My father Tomas used to tell me that I was born into a new time. Social and economic conditions changed. Time didn’t abound anymore. It was becoming scarce. People at large weren’t able to engage as much in voluntary work as they used to do. It had been normal to spend a whole day or a half in the service of the congregation, such as in the missionorganization China Inland Mission. Suddenly that was impossible. No one could afford it. As factoryworkers and white collar workers got more cash, they could offer more of their money instead. Still there were people, emissaries, who made preaching the main duty of their life although holding a more lucrative job at the side. Some of them owned land or engaged in craftwork , but the majority was connected with farming or fishing: As agricultural workers or working within the fishingindustry. Hardly any barefeet preachers were industrial workers, I think they skipped religion altogether. The fault with the Church as a whole, was according to most factoryworkers that it wanted to preserve the rank and hierarchy: the social differences between people. In their eyes there was only two peoples; they who exploited and those who were exploited. The Christians had a similar view; expressed in a different vernacular though: The fundamentalists didn’t question (interpre) the Bible and paid little attention to the garrulous world; people stuck in empty philosophies, prone to quarrel and in opposition to authorities in a demanding way was only disturbing. They saw no connection to their own life; everything good came directly from heaven, godsent. Equality was certainly something unheard of in those circles.
Among the missionaries, some travelled throughout the whole year, some , like my grandfather, a farmer, travelled from village to village one to two weeks a year. I was born into a religious home.
We had talked about forgiveness, the forgiveness of sin.
”If I have done something wrong I want to look at it, see why I acted the way I did or understand why I said what I said. I cannot discard it. I want to look at it closer as to learn my lesson. I believe that we have motivations behind what we say and do. That it is possible even to discern hidden motivations”.
He looked me straight in the eyes. I attempted a smile, but the way he looked at me made me nervous. I had seen an evil glimpse in his eyes.
”You don’t want to look into yourself. All that we sum up as the path to enlightenment is just rubbish to you. You sneak around our holy temples like they were outlandish”. He paused.
”When someone forgives you, are you supposed to forget what passed and innocently move on”?
I didn’t answer. He seized the opportunity and continued.
”Forgiveness is an act of benevolence from the perspective of understanding and empathy, but one can also be forgiven by someone having a moral superior position, real or imagined, as an act of absolution”.
But the one who is forgiven must know what has taken place; to learn from the situation. Everything in life, really, is learningsituations. But you claim that another person takes this burden upon him, that your christian Jesus made an offering, once for all, so that you ignorantly can go on – neither realising what an offer the person who actually forgave you did that despite the fact that you harmed him, nor question your own role. You project unto Jesus what you yourself did and unburden you on him. He is your scapegoat. He takes all your projections and you go free from all your own dubious transactions and inflictions.You will never know what moves deep inside you, behind the solid surface of yours”. Mr. Wangs eyes flashed in anger.
He turned his steps home, facing the setting sun.
I stood there looking at his back until I finally averted my glance from him.
How dare you! How dare you to scatterbrain me like this? I thought.
I prayed in fervour that night that mister Wang would come to his senses instead of messing up my head. He turned everything up and down until his thoughts started to repeat themselves in my head as if I had to go over his arguments in secret when I was safe in my room.
Mister Wang was well-mannered but severely opposed to missionaries. Once he had said to Mr. Fugelsang that he was really a man with a double-consciousness.
”You have internalised this Jesus. I am not sure that you can deconflate yourself from him, Mr. Fugelsang. You seem either to act on his behalf or as if the holy ghost has taken over you. If I was in your clothes I would try to find my own centre before I fall apart. You might split if you loose your cohabitationpartner.
Mr. Fugelsang had been upset when he came home and reported the incident and raised his pspirit by empowering us:
”We must learn how these heathens think and reason. Somehow we must try to reach into their heads”.
Next time we met on the villageroad I was called parrot by Mr. Wang. He started out seductively. In a refined way he asked me if I thought that he would go to heaven?I was dumbfounded. Then he laughingly told me that Mr. Fugelsang didn’t believe it. This seemed to amuse him very much.
”Only those who believe in Jesus Christ as the son of God will go to heaven”, I said.
In that second he branded me as a parrot. He claimed that I only was repeating the same phrases as Mr. Fugelsang over and over again. That I had no thoughts of my own.
”This Jesus invades your ego”, he insisted. ”You loose your own true innervoice by always trying to twist your feelings: acting and talking in the name of someone else’s authority. But you are you, are you not Ms. Burvik?
His expression had changed; he fixated me with his eyes but eagerly awaited my answer. I controlled my impulse to walk away from him. I thought him nauseating, but hardened myself.
”We believe in love, Mr. Wang”.
I tried to make my voice as steadfast and aloof as I could. Again I said:
”Our Lord is love. He surrounds us on all sides, it gives us strength. The power of love can conquer anything, even an evil man’s heart because love is forgiving”.
”Forgiving, forgiving. That’s all you talk about. Not to forget this nonsense about love. Do you know what real love means Ms. Burvik”?
He measured me with his eyes and they took on a somewhat disdainful look.
I caught it and anger flashed within but I suppressed my emotions and said flatly:
”If I hadn’t I wouldn’t be out preaching about it”.
Then I left him standing there. I had no responsibility so ever for his hurt feelings.
Feeling righteous and good I stopped by the marketplace and bought a basket of pears. I was not to be offended by anyone.
Next time we met Mr. Wang dropped another insidious remark. This time he said that I dwelled in the abstract. That I pretended that people are no more than trajectories of noble feelings.
He continued his train of thought.
– But you know it is not true. It is just that you don’t want to look at them. You look away, far a field. You look at a cross, a suffering Jewish man who was persecuted by the mob and sentenced to death by the Romans. How does this piece of history fit in to your sense of everyday life? How can you possibly enrich yourself on his account and make something concrete out of that?
I had to face the music but couldn’t come up with an answer. To be honest I didn’t deal with the gospel like that: with Jesus in his particular political, social and historical setting. Supposedly I had taken over my family’s images and ideas of religion: a power that was continually switch on and off and when it comes on very strong it takes over one’s mind and gives temporary relief from misfortune and poverty. It can reach into me and comfort me when I want to withdraw from the world appearing as nothing but a big spectacle at times.
– Who is loving whom? Mr. Wang persisted with his philosophical attitude, do I love you or do you love me?
– Jesus loves you, I said. I was dumbfounded and repeated my words once again.
– What about you, Ms.Burvik, do you love me or are you not real, not allowed to have any feelings at all? Are you just a medium for this Jesus?
I stared at him in agony and said finally.
– I love you. I love you by the strength of my faith.
– So you are not able to stand on your own or what? Do you yourself take any responsibility for any of your feelings?
This man was indeed pestering me just for the sake of it. I could sense his scorn and exclaimed:
– You are a ruthless man, Mr.Wang. Goodbye.
Angrily and with a sorrowfilled heart I made my exit and I knew instinctively that the next time we met, if we met, he would say in his scornful way:
– So you are shortempered Ms. Burvik? A good sign indeed. That would be his conclusion for sure. It was disgusting how this man had entered my consciousness. It didn’t feel good. I wanted to humour it, to shrug my shoulders at it and happily walk along the path leading to the missionary station. But my feet felt heavy and my head cloudy. Something was bothering me; weighting me down like a cargo I couldn’t ship off. I decided to talk about it with my suPerior, Mr. Fugelsang, the head of the station. He looked at me with surprise.
– Why didn’t you come earlier?
I looked back astonished. Did he reprimand me?
– Well, he said when he saw my consternation, I anticipated something like this. The tension between Mr. Wang and me has been escalating since his wife started to take an interest in our message. He is trying to get back at me through you. He fails to recognise the power of the Word. He thinks he can outwit us with his sophist inclinations. Believe me, under his polite facade hides a real squandrel. You better go out of his way before he puts whims into your head.
His cobalt blue eyes watched me carefully. I sighted and sat down at the kitchentable, starting to help Ellinora to pick over mushrooms.
I had been out early that morning picking them on the slopes of the mountain to the west of the village. As I went from one dunghill of the other of oaktrees I slowly filled my basket with chantarelles. They grew in such an abundance that I felt blessed as I picked them. We had very little money to live on so every external source of food was more than welcome. As a rule we lived in accordance with frugality because our support came from poor fishingvillages along the coast of Norway as well as from some of the major towns. Behind each donation was untold denials on part of individual parishioners along with their prayers for the heathens in earnest hope that they would turn their back to their idols.
I liked these mornings when I went for a walk. That was the only time I had for myself. The quarrel between Mr. Fugelsang and Mr. Wang didn’t look good. It had developed into a matter of prestige. It lowered my esteem of both of the men.
In the extension I was afraid that there would grow a discord between Mr. Fugelsang and me. I didn’t like the way he tried to restrict my movements. As for my conviction it was strong and bold, but I didn’t think we had the right to force our views on any being. I believe in the voluntary move of the heart; the genuine longing for Christ. The divisions we made between the Chinese and us, the heathens and us were difficult to handle because who has the right to condemn other beings and conceal the fact that we are all the same. This basic fact was distorted by our stereotypes; the Chinese became wretched idolaters and only god knows how they look upon us. Mr. Wang had given me a fair share of his views already. But he had his point too as well as all others who looked upon us with scepticism if not outright dismay. They had the right to challenge us as we made the claim that our beliefs are of a suPerior kind.
Mr. Fugelsang’s new idea was to buy a houseboat.
Then we an come closer to the Native population. We can move along the rivers and make stops here and there. People will become curious and come and seek contact. It’s more efficient than going around and knock doors , the whole neighbourhood following us with it’s gaze. What do you think?
We thought it was a brilliant idea. All of us dreamt constantly of ways to extend our missionfield into new territories.
Mr. Fugelsang and Per immediately started to make up plans. They had to convince the Norwegian Lutheran China Mission that the project was worthwhile and wrote down it’s pro and cons. The strongest argument was it’s relatively harmlessness. For our purposes it was really a good way to spy out the country.
Our missionary zeal really got a boost out of it. Mr. Fugelsang already knew a about a houseboat for sale further down the river.
I couldn’t help feeling jealous though. There was no question about Ellinora, Rose or me joining the upcoming ”rivermission”. It was a maleproject. As soon as Per had finished the repair on the boat he probably had to stay behind too and it would become one man’s project, Mr. Fugelsang’s. The sole, true pioneer among us was him indeed.
To his credit, I must say, he always shared his ideas with us. Surprisingly eager he awaited our reactions. Like when he told us about his vision of Manchuria opening up for the gospel.
– It’s so vast and sparsely populated. I’ve heard that the Chinese are encouraged to go there and settle as the unemployment and poverty in the cities are increasing and causing a lot of problem. The government have to offer an alternative. When hordes of Chinese go north we should already be there. There is a lot of work to be done.
Manchuria was reserved as a kind of ImPerial Park for the Manchu dynasty. It was their private huntingground and original homeland – their spiritual homeland that became mythizised in the Chinese mind. Now that’s wiped out through Sun Yat Sen’s revolution. The danger is that the original inhabitants, the Tunguspeople, who still is there, becomes wiped out too in the process. We can at least delay this by making them Christians and draw them into our sphere of interest. Create an awareness about them and their right to existence, in the same way as Amundssen did with the Armenians.
As usual when Mr. Fugelsang spoke we had a lot of questions. He had to explain that the Tungus people was nomadic and that they are similar to the Samepeople.
– They herd raindeers and are despised by the ordinary Chinese Person on the street. As the Chinese move into Manchuria in order to cultivate new lands and exploit it’s natural resources the nomads will be driven even further north. Maybe they will be extinct through starvation and epidemics among the animals. That’s what brought the Mongol Empire on it’s knees, besides they lacked the newest weapons.
– Always where there is massmigration there is risk for calamities. Imagine that the raindeers or the people will catch some kind of virus, what will happen?
Mr. Fugelsang paused to see if we was with him. Confidently I say that I was captivated by his words. I understood exactly. Without the animals no base for living. No food, no fur, no purpose of life. All of that I could see.
– For the poor Chinese Manchuria and it’s capital Manchoukko, is like a promised land, overflowing with honey and milk, just as the United States which induced the goldfever in many of them. It’s nothing strange, everybody want to be able to support themselves and their families. But I say, we must show them the real promised land, the Kingdom that lays within, that is not of this world.
Our strategy was simple and pragmatic. We had to be on the move, open up new outposts at a steady pace, hopefully with Natives in charge. Persons like Mr. Fugelsang relentlessly pushed the front-line further and further into new and demanding regions.
One of these domains was Tibet. It allured in our minds as mystical, not to say magical country. It conjured up pictures of serenity – the ”Roof of the World” as a place selected by the gods to preserve and memorise the original precepts of religion.
I couldn’t help getting fascinated thinking of Tibet as the abode of Indra, Brahma and other powerful aspects of the sustaining force we call God. It was awesome and problematic as we were sent out to combat these forces, those energies that we felt were not in line with Christianity. We claimed for our faith an underlining foundation that was unique and exclusive in comparison with other faiths. It was not a new sprouting on the same tree, no it was a whole new root. We built our churches on old. pagan cultplaces, feed on them, thus connecting ourselves with old beliefs conflated with an internalised map of folkwisdom. Myself I had grown up in a place were suPerstition, evil eye, curses and suPernatural beliefs still abounded. In this way it was easier to endure hard and unstimulating lives. We like to deny this and go purging odd or polluting energies all over the world and thus purify ourselves from our pasts. I realised this as I watched our small missiongroup and the people around us. After a while one doesn’t think about the differences in appearance, the concept of race disappears, goes up in smoke. The dividing line became plainly speaking our different approaches to the Divine.
A Tibetan Mission Society had started in Norway and the people who was it’s members liked to call themselves ”Tibetans” to distinguish themselves from other Mission Societies and it’s members. They felt chosen in a way.
We talked about Tibet now and then. Especially when some Tibetans had made their way through our region with caravans on their way to the coast. Tibetans were regarded as the most religious people in the world. They were constantly turning the beads on their rosaries. It was said that the mantra OM Mani Padme Hum always was on their lips. I never mentioned to anyone how their religiousness fascinated me, I marvelled in secret. As I never met a Tibetan face to face, I listened carefully to all anecdotes Mr. Fugelsang retold. Sometimes he got news from the Norwegian Mission in Tachien-Lu and sometimes the news were frightening.
Manchuria started to open up after the Boxerrising. The land was to be cultivated and the natural resources exploited. Infrastructure and industries was surely to come. In fact many areas of the world were challenged in this way, and by it we benefited as it facilitated our missionary activities. Turkestan was already on the way, we got news about it from home.
The special mission to the ”Snowland” – Tibet – started in Asker, Norway in…. The Norwegians burning for Tibet call themselves ”the Tibetans”. Tibetan Buddhism is different from the Buddhism we encounter here in China. The Tibetan pantheon of deities is immense and in their religious ceremonies – pujas – they visualise these with outstanding clarity with their eye of mind. It’s like a landscape within a landscape, more minutely in detail than the concrete, geographical context we find ourselves in every day with it’s trees, blurred faces of people passing by , grazing animals or the smoke from the chimney of an industry. We are in no doubt that we are the masters of this external landscape. The Tibetans at the other hand, venerate the nature to the extent that they don’t exploit it’s natural resources or do harm to the environment in other ways. Yet it is just a background, a necessity in order to develop and probe the interior – that in some mystical way is believed to correspond with the exterior. Buddha Sakyamuni taught that nothing is external to mind. What we Perceive and exPerience under our awakened states are of the same nature as our dreams. It’s all the same fabric. Nothing is substantial and solid in the meaning we see it with our defiled minds. This is what the learned lamas make clear in their discussions with our missionaries. Tibetan lamas and monks have such high knowledge that the missionaries going to Tibet has to spend most of the time in their studychambers in order to learn the different moments of the huge pile of scriptures. Only in that way can they then write adequate tract’s to the people and counterargue the Tibetan metaphysics. In secret Mr. Fugelsang admire missionaries as Theo Sorenson, working in Tachien-Lu. It is said about him that he is the greatest Western authority on the sacred texts , the Kangyur and the Tangyur.
Most Chinese shun away from the Tibetans. They say that the Tibetans can control the minds of others from a far. That’s a consequence of them first having conquered their own minds through meditation and different kinds of austerities. It is said about the Tibetan saint Milarepa that he read human beings as an open book. That he as Sakyamuni Buddha preached for monkeys and pinetrees, for all that lives. The more I hear the more fascinated I get. Once Mr. Fugelsang gave me a glance of warning after seeing how eager my eyes were.
– It’s only suPerstition.
He started to walk out of the room. A solidly built man. He halted outside the kitchen and we heard him say, in a soft tune of voice, to the kitchenboy:
– How are you doing?
The kitchen-boy, Lao-Li, stood up, ready to follow him.
There is a small apple orchard behind the house. Per had made a bench for Ellinora and me to sit on.
– Thoughts dwell best in a peaceful environment, he said as he showed us the bench.
Per haden’t mention what he was about to do. That was his way. He liked to surprise us, see our faces suddently lighten up and then hear us burst out in laughter. Sometimes I think he has an unborn poet within.
The evenings are usually very still and eventless. The beauty though, revealed in the garden, the shadows, everything that comes to play, sometimes with the aid of an unusual strong wind, never cease to mesmerize me.
I started to go and sit and read on the bench. I sat there in the shade forgetting about the time. Absorbed as I was I looked asa statue to occasional visitors who drove a quick glance out at the window.
– Don’t read too much Else-Marie, you make your eyes weary. It was Mr. Fugelsang who called out from the window in his study.
He waved his newspaPer. We had finally got some Norwegian newspaPers. They were several months old, but it didn’t matter. We enjoyed every readable item in it.
A very warm and outgoing Person, obviously with a high sense of integrity. People in borderregions are always different.
One day the old Chinese lady Min fell ill. She usually visited as every day so I went to look. – Well, yes maybe one can say that. We believe in him like you believe in your ancestorspirits I guess, and Buddha for that matter. But he is not really related to me – he is the son of God and he promised to be everyone’s Saviour and, one might Perhaps say, ancestor.
– Like a bodhisattva.
– Yes, like a bodhisattva.
I wanted to say something more, but couldn’t find the proPer words. What I most of all wanted to say was: ”choose Jesus instead”, but I had no heart to offend this old sick woman, feeble and pale. Who was I to violate her sense of worldview?
My conscience said me that it was wrong to take advantage of her in this helpless and dependent state. She was blessed already by her mild and understanding outlook, for opening my eyes for the fact that I came from somewhere, belonged to someone. I remembered my mother who gave birth to me and a tear singled down my cheek.
– I’ve been unfair to my mother I thought. Something worried her. That’s all. All mothers somehow are afraid to loose their daughters, not to be able to recognise themselves in them.
I wonder what she would have said if she could see me now, kneeling at the sick woman’s bed, praying with alacrity for her well-being.
Min turned to me.
– What ails you?
I looked up.
– What do you mean?
– I can see that something is bothering you. You are praying as much for me as for yourself, ain’t I’m right?
How I wanted to disburden myself, tell her about the controversy between me and my mother, but I shout my mouth. If I discharged this burden I would soon discharge more; letting all the pressure out. It was important for me to be discernful. Right now I behaved as a schoolgirl in front of this lady. Better to disassociate from her before I was the one dependent, I thought to myself.
She reprimanded me gently.
– Why don’t you tell me? Because I’m old and sick or because I’m a foreigner? She coughed and added:
– You must be up to the mark. Don’t worry, I understand you.
Her garden was full of lovely plumtrees and she asked me to pick some and bring back with me to the mission station.
– Have you seen the Plead? she asked next and continued without waiting for an answer. Watch the sky this evening and you will feel it’s vastness. Mix your mind with that, with the sky and you feel how all nervous energy falls off and leave you pure and calm like that. She pointed her finger at a small Buddhafigure in bronze. Outside I could see someone empty its garbagecan in the sullage.
– I sometimes hear the squeak from rats, Min said. Whenever humans cluster together, many rats appear.
She appeared weird, and yet not. As if she talked in awareness of the special knowledge that her death was approaching. I didn’t want to wear her out, but it seemed like she liked my company.
She became feverish. Now the feel was strong upon me that this 90-year old lady hadn’t long left to live.
Her hand grasped for mine. She said:
– I want you to have something from me. Look around, take what you want. Something you like.
My eyes fell on a small Buddhastatue.
Min saw that I desired it, but felt guilty for it.
– Take it, she demanded. You wont regret it. It is Lord Amitabha, The Buddha of Limitless Light.
I stretched out my hand and took it carefully into the palms of my hand. There I held it for several minutes. I was reluctant to bring it back with me to the missionstation.
– There is nothing to be afraid of, Min said. You don’t have to show the statue for the others. It’s a real valuable.
I could see that.
– I will take your soiled linen with me and wash them, I said. Tomorrow when I come I will bring them with me.
I put the small Buddha in my pocket, picked up the linen and laid it in my basket and went out. I lingered in the garden for a while. The picture of my mother kept popping up in my mind. I picked the plums and decided to write a letter to my mother the same evening. I wanted to reconcile with her, forget her harsh words.
I shuddered as the sun was setting and hurried home. Mr. Fuglert’s unshaded gaze met me as I stepped indoors. He didn’t say anything though. Maybe he understood that I was acting within the mystery of the other who evoked these fleeting images of Buddhaimages and monks seated in deep meditation high up in the mountains.
As I marched into my room I gave him a defiant gaze.
– What of Min? he called and slammed the Bible shut. I realised I had just missed our daily evening study.
I turned to him and said slowly:
– She is dying. I made a fumbling attempt with my right hand to reach the Buddhastatue in my pocket. It was still there. I could feel it.
Nathalie went out with the ashes from the stove to put them around the ashes.
– What do you have there? She nodded at my basket.
– Some dirty linen. I’ve got some plums as well.
– Didn’t you tell her that we have plums ourselves this year?
Her words died out as I went into my room, trying to make myself as scarce as possible.
Mr. Fuglert came to my door.
– Please Else-Marie, hand over the old woman to Jesus. Don’t take the whole burden on yourself.
He reached out to me from the fullness of his heart. It made me happy. Although I sometimes found him stiff and dryly, there was something honest and considerate about him in moments like this. Hadn’t it been for him we had all been stupefied by now. Steady as a rock he kept us going. We couldn’t do without his what’s what. He taught us a lot, besides he did care about our Personal feelings.
– I tell you what, he said, I ask Ellinora to make you a cup of hot chocolate.
I gave him a faint smile. There was a twist of guilt inside me as I was concealing my thoughts, carefully hiding the small Buddhastatue under my pillow.
Coming close to Min meant in a way to come close to all Chinese. I could sense both their strengths and weaknesses and I simply couldn’t undermine that lady’s faith. It would certainly put her into a liminal state, castigated as it has to be, between two worldviews. She must be allowed to cling to her ways, let her die as a Buddhist. It was too late to convert her anyway. Later that evening I told Mr. Fuglert.
He shrugged his shoulders.
– If that’s how you feel, that she won’t recline her heathen ways, then I guess there is nothing to do about it. Just keep praying for her, that’s all.
I could see that his mind was busy. He was planning for the rivermission. An old map was cast on the table in front of him. Ellinora was knitting and Per had gone out to chop up more wood.
It was quite an ordinary evening, but I didn’t forget to look at the sky as I was washing up the soiled linen at the back of the garden. It was dark blue and the half-moon sailed up, bright yellow as if the sun had lent it it’s colour. I imagined how my mind was made one with the sky, immaculate, immense and luminous. In that mood I went to bed.
Next morning when I opened the door to Min’s house and called out her name I got no answer. She was laying dead in her bed.
It was not the first time I encountered death so I knew what to do. I closed her eyes and washed her body and arranged her clothes the best I could. I took a long, last glance at her. She was at peace.
I went to the Buddhist temple and explained to the Buddhist priest there that she wanted a traditional funeral pyre. He already knew. Min had donated all her belongings to the temple. He got the key to the house as I handed over the responsibility to him.
– Whence comes it that you do what you did for her? he asked.
I thought his question odd, but said:
– We became friends. She respected our mission although she didn’t join us. I always felt she was special. She never had any preconceived ideas about anything.
I didn’t tell him about the small Buddhastatue I got from her. In fact I wanted to get away from the Buddhist priest before I said too much.
– What bird do you make that to be? He pointed to a bird in a cage behind him.
I looked at it. It was beautiful. Green and Yellow.
– A parrot.
– Exactly. A parrot. Farewell.
I didn’t know what to make of it. Did he mean anything in particular or did he just want to display his beautiful cagebird? I wasn’t sure and didn’t let it bother me. If his words were ambiguous I was not intent on finding it out.
In the evening that day I passed by the cremationground situated next to the river. On top of a huge pile of sly and wood I could see Min’s dead body burn. I sat down on a stone about 50 metres away from the funeral pyre. As I gazed into the flames that reached for the sky I contemplated life’s imanence. My thoughts started to wander, dragging me in different directions: how precious haden’t my acquaintance with been! Especially the four last days had made an impact on me. She left me something through which I better could get to know myself. She appealed to a humanness in me that went beyond the simplistic categories I fraternised with. In her company I dared to step out of the religious language that was so ingrained in me and I had looked into her without feeling threatened by her frankness.
A small boy came and took my hand. Without a word he started to lead me back to the gates of the missionhouse. I had seen the priest whisper something into his ear, probably to follow me home as I had got totally immersed in my own thoughts, absorbed by the intense concentration on the flames from the funeral pyre.
When the boy caught my attention I hadn’t yet realised that the body was all ashes. It was nearly midnight and everything was quiet except for a barking dog.
– Who are you? the little boy asked as we walked along.
– I’m a teacher, I said.
– How odd, he brooded. I thought only men were teachers. What do you do?
– At the moment I teach about the greatest teacher who ever lived, I answered promptly.
He looked at me again, suspiciously.
– And who would that be?
– His name is Jesus.
The boy laughed.
– I’m not with you, he said. I know, you are one of the missionaries living in the village. You don’t like us.
– What makes you say that?
– ‘Cause that’s what it is about, isn’t it?
I was consternated.
– Who told you so? It’s wrong, I said blatantly. Do I look as someone who doesn’t like you?
He shrugged his shoulders.
– What does appearance have to do with it? It’s something more fundamental, isn’t it?
The boy was astonishing intelligent and perceptive. My curiosity grew.
– Where do you live?
He shrugged his shoulders again.
– I won’t tell.
I couldn’t blame him. He became suspicious and didn’t seem very keen on continuing the talk
– Do you always stare like that? he finally said.
I was not aware of my staring until he reminded me. I looked away.
– I’m sorry, I said. You are a funny little boy. I forgot myself.
– Do you always stare at people like that?
– Not always.
– Am I strange to you?
– I could ask you the same! I laughed. Of course you are not strange, just a bit different from most children I met here in China.
– That’s probably because I’m not Chinese.
– Who are you then?
– I’m from Tibet. Have you ever heard of it?
– Sure, it is a wellknown country. It is called Snowland by us Norwegians.
He rose.
– I must go now. I’m an attendant to a travelling lama and I have to go back to the cave. He is an early riser. Don’t follow me, please.
I looked at him anxiously.
– What make you think that I would follow you?
– Well, I don’t know. You missionaries seem to go everywhere. Someone had picked almost all the chantarelles last month. I don’t want you to upset the mountainspirits where we live. They are appeased and the place is really powerful now when all the vibrating are brought into harmony by the lama’s chanting.
– What’s your name ? I called after him.
– Jiglimpon, that’s what you can call me.
Then he disappeared out of sight with a big smile on his face.
Jiglimpa Dondrup had kept his distance but was surprisingly straightforward.
– Where have you been? Mr. Fuglert asked irritatedly as I stepped into the hall.
I cleared my throat.
– At the funeral pyre.
He examined my face carefully.’- You shouldn’t take her death so hard on you. Who knows, maybe she is in heaven now, thanks to your prayers.
I murmured something. This situation was ever more delicate than I ever could have anticipated. It was like Mr. Fuglert wanted to reach into my innerrecesses; probe about just everything. It didn’t feel good. He was infringing on my Personal self; violating something that belonged to me ; and me only. How could I tell him this? He would reject my view and start a speech about how dangerous it was to become close to pagans.
– You have to conceal your innermost thoughts to these people, he said. They don’t think like you. Your private emotions is something between God and you.
Paradoxical it was like he forbade us to conceal nothing of our Personal life from him. Like he wanted to move under the skin of Rose, Ellinora, Eldar and me and penetrate everything within us, even our dreams.
– Who do you think you are? God? I could hear my rebellious thoughts echo inside. But I didn’t speak up.
Sometimes Mr. Fuglert was so amiable, like a father for us all, but he could also be extremely fishy and abusive in his controlling manners. I made no doubt that he was to crawl inside my mind if I let him so much as one inkling of what was going on inside. He would immediately classify me as a scatterbrain and start with his fulmination against my befuddled state, as he conceived of it.
This time I know better, I have the right to my own, Personal judgement.
Somewhere, on the other side of the street, a door opened. Music from a stringinstrument made it’s way to our ears, it was a melancholy, whining sound.
– You better hurry to bed, Mr. Fuglert summoned our talk to a close.
Now and then we got news from Tibet. The Norwegian Tibetmission had established it’s headquarters at Tachien-Lu – a wellfrequented place as many caravans from the Northeast and Southeast to China passed that way.
Mr. Fuglert had moved upriver. He was taken in a sedanchair through the Western gate to the town of……….where he intended to open an outpost. His inspection was secret as there were many riots in the towns if the inhabitants got news about any foreigners who was trying to get their feet into their walled, secluded strongholds against the foreign devils – as the Chinese preferred to call us.
The restless spirit of Mr. Fuglert liked these challenges. His device was to ”move on” – into new missionterritories.
All these difficulties in bringing about an understanding. If the people only would let me near, would let me explain about Jesus. I was confident that they would acknowledge his greatness.
I met the small boy at the well.
– You look different from the others, Giglimpa Dondrup said.
– Is that an accusation?
– No, no. You misunderstand me. It’s, it’s a compliment. You can come and visit the lama if you wan to. But you must pay your devoirs to him. Give him a white shawl as a token of your respect. If you have no respect you better not come. It would only mean that you accumulate bad karma.
– I must think it over, I said.
– It’s an invitation, he said and tried to explain what it meant. Briefly I mentioned my meeting with you and when my guru heard you are a teacher he said it would be interesting to listen to you. It’s hard to acquire learning he emphasised. Those who seriously ponder about life’s impermanence are truly estimated by the lamas.
– Impermanence, I said hesitantly, we didn’t mention anything about imPermanence the other day, did we? I cannot recall that I ever used such a word.
– No, but my lama says that whoever sets out on the religious path does it out of a distaste for worldly pleasures, realising the vanity behind it. The imPermanence of all life. You laugh and in the next moment you cry. Our emotions go up and down all the time. That’s why one has to conquer them, one by one, tame them so that they don’t get ablaze because then one easily do harm to or hurt other living beings and it might mean that in only one blow one accumulates a lot of bad karma.
– My goodness, you are a real preacher.
I wondered what the small boy had said to his lama about me. If he had said something to my disadvantage. I was really puzzled.We had not talked about impermanence. I was sure about it. We didn’t talk about anything whatsoever that bare the slightest resemblance to knowledge. I shook my head in disbelief.
The boy had watched me uninterruptedly. He waited for me to say something, but I had no words. My mind was completely blank. The boy put a red coral pearl in my hand.
– If you want to come, go to the old burialplace early in the morning and I will wait for you there.
The lama was extraordinarily beautiful with long black hair ornamented with red corals and blue turquoises. Around his neck he wore layers of beads and most amazingly, he wore shells as earrings. He was an awesome sight. I was frankly stunned.
The lama couldn’t avoid seeing how awe-stricken I was. He tried to lighten up the situation as I bent forward and unfolded the shawl in front of him as a greeting. He took it carefully and gave it back to me, hanging it around my shoulders.
It took a while for me to come to my senses. The lama said something to the boy who hurriedly started to prepare some tea. The lama himself rose and went outside.
The cave was amazingly big and warm. there was a fireplace in the middle of it and along the side was a small altar with eight statuettes, standing Buddha Maitreya, White Tara, Sakyamuni Buddha, Manjushri etc. and an assemblage of dorje, bell and other ritual objects. It was well lit by candles.
– He is just going to fetch some cold water, the boy said. He thinks you got some sort of shock. I told him that your mind easily slips.
– Easily slips…What is this? I thought. My mind might wander a bit, but easily slip…?
The words woke me up, had an irritating effect on me.
– My mind never slips, I thought.
At the same moment the lama entered.
– Are you better now? he asked.
Yes, I think so. I was not expecting…I didn’t expect you to look like that, so beautiful, I mean beautifully decorated.
He looked at me with politeness and told me that he had no intention of scary me by his looks..
– I had no idea that my appearance was so distracting. This is how I look everyday, I hardly give it a thought.
He gave me a cup of fresh water and poured tea in another.
– So you area teacher, he went on.
– Yes, from Norway. I came to China eight years ago. I work as a missionary here. I’m a Christian, I suppose Jiglimpa told you so.
– Yes, he did actually. I got curious. I have met some Christians before. They have come and gone to my country for many centuries now. They are so sure about their own righteousness and so insecure that all communication renders meaningless.
– I will not let our tradition evanish. Every day I evoke the Protectors of our faith, of the Kadgyupa School of Tibetan Buddhism to grant me their blessing, to be one of them who through my disciples transmit the faith to the younger generation, he said even-mindedly.
There was a hint of sadness in his eyes.
– To me there is no eventless day, every day is filled of purpose, full of Dharma, the Sacred Dharma. There is nothing evasive with Dharma.
Many come only to ask questions and in pretentious ways buy off or steal artefacts, our sacred ritual objects, statues and our sacred texts. It’s disheartening to see their greed and presumptuousness.
– So why are you living here?
– Maybe what I just said is part of the explanation. I don’t like seeing what is happening in Tibet right now. The three suPerpowers, China, Russia and England are struggling over Tibet. The price is fixed on Tibet. He gave me a curious glance.
– And you, what do you think of the future of Tibet, the future of the world?It is all frighteneing what happened during the First World War. Concerning Tibet I haven’t thought about it more than it is to me one of the world’s beautyspots. I hope to come there some day.
– Why don’t you travel back with Jiglimpa Dondrup and me in Springtime, he said and looked at me sincerely. The situation in China will grow worse. You will not be safe here. The communist authority doesn’t like religion at all. They think missionaries are spies anyway.
– I will take it under consideration. My heart leaped when I said it. Actually, some Norwegians work at Tachien-Lu. I might just take your invitation seriously. If that what’s you intend.
– I am awaiting your decision. If you will head back to Tibet with us or not. We will go to Chamdo and then to Batang and from there on to Shigatse. My homevillage in Kham is very beautiful. I’m sure you would enjoy it.
– I’m trying to find an avenue, I said avoidingly. I didn’t want to bring out all my hesitations and the difficulties in negotiating my way with the others at the station.
– Don’t omit any facts, warned the lama. You must ground your request on the factual circumstances. Frankly speaking, in thinking that you hurt with the truth you hurt but yourself. You have to go along according to your beliefs – if they don’t suit others you have to give them up if the others are more important than your own point of view.
He looked directly at me.
– Foremost you have to make a distinction. Are you just rebellious, or are you attracted by me as a person or by my religion? Be honest to yourself.
I reclined.
– I suppose I like recluses. That kind of life have always appealed to me. I don’t know, maybe because we lived quite isolated. Not much distraction paved it’s way into my parent’s home.
Next time I came was an early Thursday morning, the lama just came back from his morningwash in a stream nearby. Jiglimpa Dondrup was preparing breakfast, cornporridge and buttertea.
– How are you? lama Tenzin asked.
– Fine.
This time we sat down outside the cave. Jiglimpa brought us tea and porridge in wooden bowls, the lama’s covered with gold inside, Jiglimpas and mine with silver.
– How beautiful these bowls are! I exclaimed. And the colour of green is beautiful.
I brought with me some peaches, walnuts and apricots. The lama gratefully took my gift and went inside and placed it as an offering on the altar.
– Do you find life austere here? he asked me when he returned.
– No, not particularly. I’m quite used to an austere living back home. We have some modern comforts, that’s all. I remember some rather rough Periods when people actually were starving.
– Don’t you get homesick?
”I used to get homesick all the time. Now it is better. Since I learned the language better my living here have improved in many ways. I’m not so confined anymore”. I looked away.
– You cannot bargain away with death. It’s part of life. It’s always with us, whether we want it or not. We meet it in decay, in decomposition. Jiglimpa Dondrup told me that he met you at the burialplace the first time. It’s very auspicious. A burialground to us is a very powerful contemplative place. It’s a teaching open to everyone. We know that one day, sooner or later, we will face death. It is good that you stayed with that old Chinese lady. It is good to have a spiritual friend at one’s side when one is dying. Everybody who knows they are dying have a moment of fear. Death is a passage, a state between two – we call it bardo. How we handles that passage determines how and where we will be reborn. If we are lucky and are through with Samsara we go to heaven, but that’s only if one has attained enlightenment which means that one is through and has reached Nirvana – there the mind dwells in utterly peace
– I suppose you are familiar with some of the Buddhist terminology? The lama turned to me.
I blushed.
– Yes. Yes. That’s part of our training. We have to familiarise ourselves a little with the culture, religion, have some basic facts about the country and people in question too. But its never enough. I learned most things here, on the spot. All these difficulties in bringing about an understanding. If the people only would let me near, would let me explain about Jesus. I was confident that they would acknowledge his greatness.
He looked at me with politeness.
”Now you know the place”, lama Tenzin said. ”You are welcome anytime during the morning. After noon I’m in semiretreat. It’s probably unnecessary to tell you, but I do it anyway. Please, bring no visitors here. There is no time for idle talk or disputes in matter of religion. You come here as a friend, is that understood”?
It was all clear to me. I was allured by this world of Buddha, the world of meditation. I couldn’t stop myself. It was too late. I had to continue my quest for an alternative path. My innerworld was already colliding with lama Tenzin’s. I felt empowered in his presence, imbued with a spirit of hope that my dilemma would be solved. I had no wish to deceive myself or others for that matter. My conscience told me that I was free to search for myself and cling to my ideals as long as I didn’t hinder anyone else from making the same soul-searching.
It took me about three weeks before I was able to go away and escape to the cave without being taken notice of. It was really like an escape, as if I came to a place beyond the ordinary realm where I could meet another human being on equal terms. Between us there didn’t exist any concept of time, race or division. It was a special place where I could go, gather my thoughts and see a bit clearer were I was heading.
/Abdelhamid and Helena
