Excerpt from Chapter 5 - China:
During my time in China I learned numerous lessons that have served me well on my road toward peace. A number of those lessons, however, were learned not while I was at peace, but in the midst of frustration and anger, both my own and from those around me. Without going into detail, two of my fellow travelers complained incessantly, and the more they complained, the more they found something to complain about. As I observed this, I realized that the less I complained, the less I found something to complain about (which apparently gave them more to complain about). When we learn not to complain, we come to understand there really is not much to complain about. This is not to say we should remain silent when we witness or experience genuine injustice, but there is a time and place for such an expression. To complain constantly and play the perpetual victim does not serve anyone and can become an annoying habit to everyone involved. This was the situation I found myself in when I was told our group would travel to Tibet for several days.
We set off early one morning, and after a torturous 12-hour van ride from Tian Long Gong in Sichuan to what seemed like the middle of nowhere in the mountains of Tibet, we found ourselves at an elevation of about 14,000 feet on the highest plateau in the world. The roads we took seemed impassable at times and the scenery along the way was breathtaking. Conditions were far from comfortable, however. Seven of us were crammed into a Chinese van, which was about two-thirds the size of a standard American minivan. Adding to the discomfort of cramped quarters and the constant grumbling of two of my traveling companions was the fact that after many days of dampness, intense training, and rustic living conditions, two old injuries had resurfaced, and now my lower back and knee were screaming at me the whole way. As a result, I was actually grateful when, at one point along the drive, traffic stopped in both directions while a section of road was paved by hand – a situation which forced us to wait by the side of the road for almost two hours. Despite my discomfort, I enjoyed the break. I sat down in the grass and relaxed while watching nomadic horsemen riding far off in the distance against a backdrop of rolling mountains on the seemingly endless plain. The Tibetans, who were traveling this road and sharing our fate of having to wait until the paving project was complete, were quick to smile and very interested in the English words I was writing in my journal. We shared a fair amount of laughter, despite not understanding each other’s language.
None of the discomforts and difficulties that arose along the way deterred me from absolutely knowing I was in the right place at the right time. Even though I had no idea where we were going, other than it was somewhere within Tibet, I knew this trip would be worth it. I also realized that the grueling nature of our travel was an integral part of the experience. As the proverb goes, “It is not the destination, but the journey.”
Once traffic was moving again, we drove up out of the plains into the mountains and arrived at what I can only describe as a trailer shack. It was the size of a mobile home, and to say it was in less-than-good condition would be an understatement. The meager furniture was old and quite worn, and there was no indoor plumbing. It was truly a picture of abject material poverty. Yet the inhabitants of this house, who included a lama (living Buddha), a young child, and several men and women, were all beautiful both inside and out, friendly, quick to smile, and welcoming.
