White Tara counts the worry beads
Originally published in Man’s World Issue 4 (2021) which can be found on chadnet
“This marble was specially flown in from Venice.” The docent gestured. She was short, freshly shaven, and pudgy, at least by the standards of nuns in a monastery.
The honeymoon in Tibet was Brad’s idea. He wanted to convey interest in Buddhism, to appear cultured for Sharon, a self-professed Buddhist and yoga instructor from Reno. But, even more importantly, was the exotic location; Brad managed a small REIT, a real estate investment trust, and for a $50 k buy-in he could guarantee a 10% annual ROI, safer than the S&P index fund. So, more than anything Brad understood renovating a previously depressed property.
Outside of the main room containing the historical buddha, were two large statues of Nio. The Nio were 20 feet tall, of hypertrophic muscularity, menacing faces. The Guhyapada, wielded a Vajra mallet, a staff that could summon thunderbolts on the enemy. Guhyapada’s mouth was wide open, to perform the “Ha” sounds. On the right was a Narayana, who brandished a large sword. Narayana held his teeth tightly shut to signify the “Herm” chant, the nun explained. Guhyapada and Narayan were each 20 feet tall. The marble base of each was light pink but the statues themselves were a deep red. “The base comes from the Himalayas, and the marble for the Nio comes from Colorado.” She explained. “Master would travel to each mountain to hand select tiles, to search for the purist stone.” Brad envisioned a monk in flowing robes at a quarry next to a realtor, vying for position in line for which stone ends up in a chateau in southern France or a Tibetan monastery.
“This temple is the largest Buddhist temple in the world” continued the nun.
“The flat screen outside is a nice touch” said Sharon.
“The abbot had this specially ordered. Fifteen feet by fifty feet.” Replied the nun.
“Panasonic,” said Brad, glancing back at Sharon. The ostentatious nature of the temple had them glancing at each other, as when an unexpected party guest shows up and each of the hosts is wondering who invited them. Was Sharon really Buddhist or did Brad just call her bluff?
Brad pondered as he regarded the Nio, the mismatch between the menacing Nio and the monks and nuns of the temple. The statues seemed to be a crude caricature of what a warrior is supposed to look like. Narayana’s pectorals have three striated mini-muscles in them, and the abdominal muscles lacked a typical vertical six pack and instead made a horizontal 8-pack over a somewhat “dad bod” gut. The sculptor here likely did not study a model of human strength, as Michelangelo did. Is this performative projection of power, while lacking a grounding in the ascetic reality of strength, a reflection of a weak people, people who avoid conflict? Brad knew that Afghanistan was once a Buddhist country, and the powerful men who had Allah on their side sought out to destroy all the ancient idols of the Afghan past.
The nun guided Brad and Sharon into the main chamber, and there stood a stunning white marble statue of Shiyama Tara, also known as Jetsun Dolma. Tara sat cross legged and had a third eye vertically oriented in the middle of her forehead. On the palm of her hands and center of her feet were additional eyes. Tara’s right hand is palm up in the varada mudra position, indicating a gesture of charity and wish fulfillment. In her left hand, Tara holds a lotus, embodying the ascent of the beautiful to nirvana fueled by wretched detritus of the swamp of biological refuse, rooted among the worms and grubs writhing in decaying carcasses. Around Tara’s wrists are a bracelet of beads, thought to be “worry beads”. Tara is a healing Buddha and she meditates on these beads for the health and well-being of her people. Bare chested and with a gracious visage, even a slight smile, Tara provides a warm and calming effect on Brad. Brad stands transfixed, ignoring the docent’s script, likely a rote mention of the location of the marble quarry, maybe it’s Dover this time. Sharon, maintains polite conversation with the docent, feigning interest in the mining process.
The novice directs their attention to a senior nun still wearing the samanera clothing. Thin, but not frail, even more androgenous and wearing a set of square spectacles, Ani Dohna reveals little of the warmth of the White Tara but bows with a neutral respect for Brad and Sharon. Brad returned the courtesy with a nod of his head while Sharon deeply bowed to the hip, her devotional posture bordering on the obsequious.
“Ani Dohna has agreed to provide a consultation for you on behalf of the temple.” Said the docent.
Brad tilted his head down and looked into the wizened eyes of the diminutive Ani. Beside her were some scientific articles, he vaguely could make out the words “Chanting” and “Norepinephrine” on the title of one of them.
“Is there something the Boddhisatva can help you with?” asked Ani Dohna, speaking to both Sharon and Brad.
“You know I’ve got something. It’s my work. I bring value to my job but my boss doesn’t appreciate it. I feel he’s holding me back, I’m undervalued. I want to start my own business, but without the connections and leverage and capital of my firm, I don’t think I can strike off on my own. It leaves me very frustrated.”
“What is your line of work?” Ani Dohna asked.
“Real estate investment, I seek out and sell funds that are backed by rental property. I’m good at selling, but I don’t own the property, and so I’m limited.”
“I understand. We have real estate all over, all throughout Asia, and even in California. We know that this is a patient game, to choose the right place takes lots of planning. You must think in terms of centuries.”
“But I don’t have a century to live. I don’t want to spend twenty years proving myself to become vetted in the firm.” Brad paused, Ani Dohna probably doesn’t know what “vetted” means. “I need to know that I am valued and I want a piece of ownership within my company.” Brad tried to remain cool but thinking about the sly backhanded compliments, the sleight-of-hand his boss would play for taking credit for his work, Brad was blushing.
Ani chose her words carefully.
“You have had anger in your heart, for many, many lifetimes.” Ani Dohna paused, and the silence hung in the air with the tension of a rope holding back a guillotine.
It was at this point, that Brad, perhaps spurred by some ancestral memory of a Yamnaya raider on horseback raiding the Indus Valley, or a Norman knight descending upon Sicily, or a Catalonian prince beating back Moors throughout Aragon, that Brad pivoted, showing his jutting blonde, bearded chin in profile, and proclaimed, “YES”.