Today is our last day in Dharamsala and there is so much that I haven’t recorded in my journal…..  Dinner at Sonam and Karma’s house, marching alongside hundreds of monks in a candlelight vigil for the release of Dhondup Wangchen, our hike this morning on the Cora Trail, the story of the Panchen Lama, my day to day experiences with the beautiful people of India that have touched my heart forever and my deep, deep sadness that I feel for so many of my fellow Americans.  Those people that live the life of greed and selfishness, those who feel that material goods warm their hearts and the terrible sadness that all of those things bring to one’s soul.  There is just so much, so much I have to share, so many memories that will surely last a lifetime and so much love that I will be leaving here for the hearts of others.

But today, today was the day that I experienced the heaviest moments of my life.  So much so that my physical strength was taken by the violence of others and my will to face reality was reduced to nothing.  Today was the day that I visited the Tibetan Museum.

You see, all week we have talked with our refugee friends about their escapes from Tibet, their will to survive despite leaving loved ones behind and witnessing death and capture along the way.  We have discussed stories of torture, self amputation, losing children to the darkness of night as they traveled in close packs of fear and despair.  We have heard and seen the results of their bravery and although their belief of non-violence stands prevalent there is always a deep dispiritedness that I have seen in all my Tibetan friends.  We have talked freely about their plight as if we were asking if they had a nice day at work.  The casualty in which we speak is surreal.

The Tibetan Museum is the one place on my list that I had not visited but today was the right day for this.  We walked in and signed our names to the register, I turned to enter the museum and noticed a sign on the wall asking all who visit not to speak, a silent respect is what they were asking for.  I turned the corner and entered the first exhibit room, my breath was taken away and speaking was no longer an option.  Life size black and white photos covered the walls, my eyes scanned them all and within seconds I was hit with the tragedy of a lifetime.  Chinese officials shaking hands with the Dalai Lama, Chinese soldiers making friends with the Tibetans, wooing them and tricking them into friendship.  Welcoming them into Lhasa, their capital city only to be stabbed with concealed weapons, shot in the back of the head when not looking and beaten to death for their committment to non-violence.

I read many stories on the museum walls today but there is one that will most certainly remain with me forever.  I can’t go into detail because it is beyond comprehension really.  It was the story of a nun who, during the invasion, took part in a candlelight vigil.  She was captured and put in jail for 20+ years.  During this time she was tortured daily and starved, she was denied basics rights of a human.   But despite it all she never lost her faith in love, her faith in the world and her belief in the words of His Holiness, the Dalai Lama.  To sum up stories like this are an injustice and I apologize to those whose lives I’m condensing but I know my heart is in the right place.

The invasion of Tibet began in 1949. Chinese occupation has resulted in the death of over one million Tibetans, the destruction of over 6,000 monasteries, nunneries and temples, and the imprisonment and torture of thousands of Tibetans.  The basic freedoms of speech, religion, and assembly are strictly limited, and arbitrary arrests continue. There are currently hundreds of political prisoners in Tibet, enduring a commonplace punishment of torture. To this day, the United Nations and international community have done very little to address the core issue of China’s illegal occupation of Tibet.

The tear stained pages of this journal shall forever remind me of this terribly real experience - it was so difficult to move through the museum, I tried to be strong but I failed.  As I write this entry, I sob, my heart hurts so painfully but my belief in non-violence is stronger than ever.  I don’t think I can continue writing anymore today, I can no longer focus on the pages of this journal.

Although I could fill a novel with my experience today I will close with this.  On this final day in Dharamsala, it is my understanding that our work here is a necessity, the education of those denied education in their homeland equals freedom and peace within their souls.   Our purpose here has been to share the power of massage, its healing effects and its ultimate pathway to peace.  I will leave here knowing that we made a difference in the lives of others.