Gigi said to Bill, “Bardor Tulku is here.” She and Sally had been walking earlier.
“Do you want to see Rinpoche?”
“I’d like to see him.”
“You and Sally can go.”
“It’s a teaching. The talk was last night.”
Her interest in things Tibetan Buddhist to date being limited to talks she hesitated to commit to a teaching.
Both Sally and Gigi had taken Refuge with Bardor Tulku before Ogyen Trinley Dorje, the Karma Kagyu sect’s young Karmapa, banished him at the behest of his predecessor’s nephew, Tenzin Chonyi, KTD’s landlord, he who must be obeyed, at least as far as Tibetans are concerned.
To his credit, Bardor Tulku thought otherwise, Tibetan tradition be damned.
Gigi had good reason to not trust a Tibetan.
Bill, her husband, didn’t.
She had seen for herself how duplicitous Tibetans are, how they can’t be straight up with you, if their lives depended upon it.
“You can’t go wrong with Bardor Tulku,” Bill said, “He isn’t your typical Tibetan.”
When push came to shove, Bill’s Rinpoche, Khenpo Karthar, proved himself to not be such a stand up guy. He’s a liar, not an issue for Tibetans, but a huge deal for him, personally.
“Bardor Tulku didn’t cut bait on his students,” Bill said.
“You gotta respect that in a Tibetan.”
“Usually it’s all about them.”
At least that had been Bill’s experience as a disciple of Khenpo Karthar.
He’s been with Khenpo Karthar since 1981.
“You can take a Tibetan out of Tibet,” he continued, “but you can’t take the Tibet out of a Tibetans.”
“Bardor Tulku isn’t like that.”
“Once upon a time he was,” he said, “but Rinpoche figured it out for himself.”
“Your typical Tibetan is incapable of giving a shit about anyone but themselves.”
“To listen to a Tibetan you would think the very fate of humanity depended on us being more like them.”
Bill begged to differ.