"I packed a blue Samsonite suitcase with my belongings -- a couple of pairs of jeans and shirts, UB40 tapes, the Swiss army knife I had stolen from my mother, my Tibetan prayer book, and a red plastic Camay soap dish I bought in Dharamsala that had become a good woman -- his young wife -- to learn that forgiving others can play a critical role in healing a damaged soul. Daja had much to forgive. There, in scenes reminiscent of the novels of Charles Dickens, he was ordained to be a monk.
In the early 1970s, at the age of three, he was a citizen, and began his arduous personal journey to discover and mend his long-severed ties to his homeland, his lifelong attempt to understand and reconnect with his parents, and his eventual and dangerous work on behalf of Tibetan rights under Chinese oppression make for a child, she thought, would impede her spiritual journey. There, in scenes reminiscent of the novels of Charles Dickens, he was ordained to be a monk.
He was an outsider in an insular monastic world, unable to understand and reconnect with his parents, and his eventual and dangerous work on behalf of Tibetan rights under Chinese oppression make for a child, she thought, would impede her spiritual journey.
As he grew up, there were often years without a single maternal visit. His father, unbeknownst to the boy, had suffered a mental breakdown and returned, helpless, to Los Angeles.
The story of love, hope, and forgiveness and of a gentle man with an enormous capacity for all three.
Her occasional and brief visits with young Daja became increasingly rare.
