A Step Away from Paradise: A Tibetan Lama's Extraordinary Journey to a Land of Immortality (51 page)

For the translation of Tulshuk Lingpa’s writing from the Tibetan I thank Gyurme Tsundu, Professor Samten Norbu and the late Khen Rinpoche, all of Darjeeling.

To all those anonymous photographers of yore whose old black and white photographs are reproduced in this book: thank you. If any of you want to come forward, you will be raised from the ranks of the anonymous, and be given full credit in future editions.

My ignorance of Tibetan, Nepali and Hindi would have been an insurmountable obstacle if it weren’t for those who acted as my interpreters. First among them was Wangchuk, Tulshuk Lingpa’s grandson, who not only interpreted his father’s stories over the course of innumerable afternoons but also accompanied me twice to Sikkim, during which trips he was not only a wonderful companion but also a superlative interpreter. His sister Yeshe also spent many an afternoon interpreting her father’s stories for me, and for that I am grateful. During my trip to the Kullu Valley and Lahaul, Tulshuk Lingpa’s grandson Gyurme was my guide and interpreter. Thank you.

At Oxford University I had the help of two scholars: Charles Ramble who was generous with his time, pointing out important literature on the tradition of the Hidden Lands, loaning me obscure texts and setting up my first lecture based on the book; and Saul Mullard, whose help shining light on the tight knot of Sikkim’s history was invaluable.

It was Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo of the Dongyu Gatsal Ling Nunnery whose kind words and enthusiasm concerning the manuscript at a crucial juncture helped this book see the light of day.

To all those not mentioned here but who had a hand in shaping this book, either through scholarly expertise, edits or experience, a heartfelt appreciation is hereby sent out to you.

Thanks also go to my parents, Henry and Vivian Shor, who, while not having always understood what made me tick, have always believed in me as a writer.

I save for last the one who fulfilled all the above-mentioned roles and more. She not only interpreted for me innumerable times, translated from the Tibetan, steered me to pertinent literature, read and edited various drafts of the book, offered sage advice and accompanied me to remote valleys and innumerable lecture halls in India, Europe and the USA: but also offered her encouragement when needed, and her love always. I’m speaking of course of my wonderful companion on this earth, my partner and wife, Barbara.

Photo Credits

All photographs were taken by the author, Thomas K. Shor, except for the following:

Photos in Frontmatter:

Mountain Landscape
, from Himalayan Journals by Sir Joseph Dalton Hooker, Ward, Lock, Bowden and Co., London, New York, and Melbourne, 1891.

Tulshuk Lingpa
, from an old photo, photographer unknown.

Photos by Chapter:

Chapter One, 3rd Photo
, from an old photo, photographer unknown.

Chapter Three, 1st photo
, from an old photo, photographer unknown.

Chapter Four, 1st Photo
, from an old photo, photographer unknown.

Chapter Six, 4th Photo
, from an old photo, photographer unknown.

Chapter Six, 6th Photo
, from an old photo, photographer unknown.

Chapter Eight, 1st Photo
, from an old photo, photographer unknown.

Chapter 10, 1st Photo
, from an old photo, photographer unknown.

Chapter 10, 2nd Photo
, from the
Himalayan Journals
of Sir Joseph Dalton Hooker, 1891

Chapter Twenty-One, 5th Photo
, from an old photo, photographer unknown.

Maps:

Map 1
, modified from The World Factbook.

Map 2
, modified from The World Factbook.

Map 3, From
Round Kangchenjunga
by Douglas W. Freshfield, London, Edwin Arnold, 1903.

About the Author

Writer and photographer Thomas K. Shor was born in Boston, USA, and studied comparative religion and literature in Vermont. With an ear for unusual stories, the fortune to attract them and an eye for detail, he has travelled the planet’s mountainous realms—from the Mayan Highlands of southern Mexico in the midst of insurrection to the mountains of Greece and, more recently to the Indian Himalayas—to collect, illustrate and write stories, with a uniquely personal character often having the flavour of fable.

Shor has lectured widely on his writings and has had solo exhibits of his photographs in Europe and in India. He is the author of
Windblown Clouds
and can often be found in the most obscure locales, immersed in a compelling story touching upon fundamental human themes.

The author’s website is
www.ThomasShor.com
.

ALSO BY THOMAS K. SHOR

Into the Hands of the Unknown: An Indian Sojourn with a Harvard Renuncient

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HERE

Read a sample below

Book Description

“I think you should come with me to India”

Thus begins this tale of the author and photographer Thomas K. Shor when he was a young man and happened to sit next to Ed Spencer, a brilliant seventy-year-old ex-Harvard professor, turned wandering holy man, who makes this offer within an hour of their meeting on a Greek ferry. Though unsure whether the old man is some kind of a bum or a realized being or both, he agrees to go with this enigmatic stranger whose credo is, “Take the Money out of your pocket and put yourself in the hands of the Unknown.”

When they arrive in Greece and Ed passes the money exchange with hardly a glance, his young companion begins to understand the gulf that separates the old man from the rest of humanity.

The ensuing journey, recounted in the pages of INTO THE HANDS OF THE UNKNOWN, takes them on an epic journey by foot into the heart of South India and then to the Himalayas where the author made his first contact with the Tibetan people.

INTO THE HANDS OF THE UNKNOWN, which is revised and has a new Postscript describing the author’s subsequent encounters with the Ed Spencer, was originally published as Part II of the book WINDBLOWN CLOUDS published by Escape Media Publishers, USA, in 2003 and by Pilgrims Publishers, India and Nepal, in 2006.

From the review by the renowned British poet Kathleen Raine:

Thomas Shor’s life is a continual unfolding of those inner and outer worlds which his sense of wonder discovers continually. His story reminds us that we are, or could be, travelers in a world of marvels, of love, and encounters with men and women themselves on pilgrimages of the imagination. Did not the Emperor Haroun al-Rashid for a thousand and one nights hear in the city of Baghdad endless stories that make up the one story of the world? Once involved in Thomas Shor’s adventure of life, one hopes only for more.

Kathleen Raine (D.Litt., Cambridge; Commander of the Ordre des Arts et des Lettres, France; Commander of the British Empire; Winner—Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry, England, etc.)

The Monk and the Sly Chickpea: Travels on Corfu

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HERE

Read an excerpt below

Book Description

THE MONK AND THE SLY CHICKPEA tells the story of a journey the author and photographer Thomas K. Shor took in 1981 as a young man to the Greek island of Corfu. His journey starts in an idyllic coastal village in a house surrounded by lush fruit and olive trees. While many a young man’s journey to Greece would feature a coastal village and even a strip of white beach, Thomas K. Shor’s journey led him, with a certain inevitability, to the island’s highest mountain, the wind-swept and craggy Mount Pantokrator, and to the ancient stone monastery that crowns its peak. It was there that he lived with the monastery’s sole inhabitant of over forty years, the fiery-eyed Greek Orthodox monk Evthókimos Koskinás, a man of both the mountain and of God. From that stormy peak, often pounded by bolder-splitting lightning, sharing meals of chickpeas seasoned with the mountain’s wild herbs drenched in olive oil, Shor comes to some startlingly profound insights for a young man of twenty-two.

THE MONK AND THE SLY CHICKPEA, which is revised and has a new Postscript describing the author’s return to Corfu and his encounters with the monk after twenty years, was originally published as Part I of the book WINDBLOWN CLOUDS by Escape Media Publishers, USA, in 2003.

FROM THE REVIEW BY THE RENOWNED BRITISH POET KATHLEEN RAINE:

In Thomas Shor’s narrative the absorbing writing is the least of his gifts: he creates the imaginative adventure of his life as he lives it. He plunges into the story almost by accident, leaving a steamer bound for Athens by mistake at Corfu. But in Thomas Shor’s life there are no mistakes, only opportunities, and before long we find him sharing the life of the last surviving monk at a monastery high on Mount Pantokrator, his meals of chick peas, garlic and olive oil, his toils, and the dense fogs and storms of the highest mountain on Corfu. The old monk wants him to become his successor, but life runs on, leading perhaps inevitably to the Indian sub-continent.

Kathleen Raine (D.Litt., Cambridge; Commander of the Ordre des Arts et des Lettres, France; Commander of the British Empire; Winner—Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry, England, etc.)

Sample ~ Into the Hands of the Unknown

Take the money out of your pocket

and put yourself in the hands

of the unknown.

Edmond J. Spencer

Chapter 1

I had no idea where I was going. Everyone else getting off the ferry, which had just completed a crossing of the Adriatic from Greece to the southern Italian port of Brindisi, had a destination. They clutched train and bus tickets in their hands. Their minds were full of timetables.

It was autumn, 1981. I was twenty-two years old, and I had just left the Greek island of Corfu where I had been living some months in an ancient stone monastery at the peak of the island’s highest mountain with the monastery’s sole inhabitant, a fiery old monk who had lived alone amid all that stone for decades, I was both finely tuned and in a peculiar state of mind. Sounds, smells, colors—everything was extremely sharp. Within me I carried the silence of the mountain. Still, I felt a bit like a fool, wandering off without purpose. I was a clean slate. To consciously direct my steps would have been contrary to my state of mind.

Making the crossing to Italy had hardly entailed a decision at all: my Greek visa was running out and I had to leave the country. As I walked from the boat and entered the city, I had no destination. I was in a state of flux, a state of pure possibility. To decide upon one destination would have been to block out all others. All points on the compass were equal to me. Strange as it may sound, I was awaiting a sign, a glimmer of recognition—anything that would direct me. I knew it was preposterous, but it was just such a glimmer that had led me to the mountain. Leaving the mountain was like jumping over the edge of the known world. Hopefully the universe would uphold me.