Geshe Thupten Phelgye

The Venerable Geshe Thupten Phelgye is a Buddhist monk and a member of the Tibetan Parliament in Exile. He has been working as the Buddhist ambassador to the Sulha Peace Project in the Middle East under the guidance of His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

Known affectionately as Geshe-la, Phelgye traveled to Spokane in part through the Interfaith Council. Geshe-la also visited Vision Mountain near Tum Tum, Washington and re-consecrated a Buddhist stupa.

My friends from the mountain invited me to participate in an intercultural ceremony combining Tibetan and Native American spiritualities. I sang with the Dancing Horses drum and assisted my uncle Pat Moses with a traditional Spokane blessing of the land.

Both Geshe-la and my uncle Pat spoke about the honor and reverence they feel for the living creatures of the Earth.

Candace Finity helped to replace the Tibetan prayer flags on the stupa.

Francesca Firstwater has been a guardian of the stupa for several years.

Geshe-la also helped to replace the prayer flags.

Friends gathered to take down the poles and replace the flags.

A stupa is a place of Buddhist devotion where saintly relics are often kept. Geshe-la re-arranged many of the offerings left by the faithful and curious alike.

Geshe-la instructed Francesca regarding the proper arrangement of the stupa.

As Geshe-la chanted during the re-consecration ceremony, I felt myself transported spiritually to other places. Something about the tone of his voice remined me of Casimiro from the Amazon.

In the late afternoon, we gathered near Edward's longhouse for an intercultural ceremony.



Geshe-la spoke about his compassion for all living beings.



My uncle Pat also spoke about his respect the animals and the earth.

At the end of the evening, we sang at the drum and Geshe-la even led some of the verses. At one point he commented regarding his admiration for Native American cultures because of their similarity to Tibetan culture. "We are separated by many thousands of miles and years, but we are the same," he said.

For more information, you can read an article about Geshe-la published by the Spokesman.

Hapa

This photograph of my grandfather Gib Eli from the collection of Father Thomas Connolly, SJ. This digital copy came to me through the research efforts of my newfound cousin Chad Hamill. Something about the photograph stirs a feeling of sadness and recognition in me.

Meeting Chad re-opened many old questions about my personal and family history. Why didn't I get to know my grandfather when he was alive? How would things be different if I had known the living man instead of a handful of old photographs and second-hand stories? I'm grateful for the pictures I do receive, but sometimes I wish he were here to give me direction and advice.

But then maybe my wish comes true in more ways than I know. As a child, I was once startled awake by the sight of a tall man kneeling by my bedside. He wore a hat just like the one in this photograph. He looked up once and then vanished into my dreams. Another time, I listened to stories from a person who knew him well, and he seemed so familiar. Even the stories of his humor reminded me of myself.

Perhaps he is more present than I realize.

By the way, the title of this blog is modified from the original Salish. The word for a paternal grandfather is "sxepe," but a young person or child would say "hapa" or "heppa." A different word applies for a maternal grandfather: "sile."

Chad Hamill

Some readers may recall that back in January of this year, I stumbled upon a paper regarding my grandfather and the spiritual traditions of the Plateau Salish people. Since that time, I was able to contact the author and learn more about the origins of his writing.

As it turns out, the author Chad Hamill is my distant relative through our common ancestor Jim Elijah, whom I mentioned here and here. Jim was the father of my grandfather Gib Eli, mentioned here, here, here, and here. Chad’s personal genealogical quest led him back to the Spokane country and gave rise to an interest in our cultural and spiritual heritage. Through a series of spirit-led connections, he came into contact with Father Connolly, who was a close personal friend of my grandfather Gib Eli.

Father provided much of the information for the paper, and is now writing a more detailed book regarding his memories of my grandfather.

Within the last few weeks, Chad came to Spokane to assist with the book and arranged a personal meeting with me. Since then, we’ve spoken face to face on at least four separate occasions and shared an instant kinship. The rest of the story belongs to Chad and Father Connolly, so I suppose we'll just have to wait for the book.

On a personal level, what does this mean to me? For one, my head is swimming with new information regarding my grandfather. What is more, I’m continually reminded of the powerful, invisible bonds that draw people together from across worlds, cultures, and distant generations. These voices speak to us from the past and influence the course of events yet unborn. After everything, the power behind this meeting is a mystery, and no doubt the only appropriate response is humility.

Spirit and Song

Anthony called yesterday evening from prison.

More than six years ago he left my home under stressful circumstances to pursue a life of insanity. He wandered the path of addiction, never progressing much beyond one jail sentence or another. In his mind, he broke free of my restrictions as a parent, only to find himself captive to genuine prison walls made of concrete and razor wire.

In spite of our previous conflicts, he still calls me about once a week. I can't help but think my parenting made some positive impact in his life.

Before this last month or so, I never thought he listened to anything I said. Back in the day, I dragged him to ceremonies on the Spokane Reservation hoping some spiritual teaching would penetrate his rebellion. In those days, I sang and danced for his life, while he rolled his eyes. It seemed he could never escape fast enough when the ceremony door opened and he found himself free to resume his chosen life.

But yesterday evening, he called to say he is leading a sweat lodge ceremony in the prison this upcoming weekend. He said, "My brothers in the lodge are pitiful. They didn't get the same teachings as me." Then he asked me to confirm a few of the songs we used to sing in the lodge all those years ago.

"Which ones?" I asked. He responded by singing one of my father's songs in perfect, beautiful form. Not only did he sing the correct notes, but his inflection reminded me of my own father's voice. As he reflected my father's legacy to me, I choked back tears. "Yes, you got it right," I managed to say. All these years I wondered if he retained anything I taught him, and there he confirmed the most sacred of teachings in the form of a song. My father once remarked that his songs were the greatest inheritance he could leave his children, and now I know for certain that his legacy will survive at least one more generation.

Dance-Off

One of the big disappointments of our high school reunion was the music. The DJ was a young kid who apparently forgot to consider his audience. While he jammed out to the current rap hits, those of us who wanted 80s music stood around looking bored. You would think a DJ would come prepared with the requested music, but not in this case.

We finally complained enough and got a few good 80s tunes, but even most of those were re-mixed versions rather than the originals.

The night was finally redeemed when our classmates voted for the best dancers of the reunion. Tim Tyvan and I tied for second place (I believe Jason Zerba won first). To break the tie, Tim challenged me to a dance-off. I was embarrassed as hell, but I couldn't just walk away. I spent too many high school days shrinking into the shadows and playing small rather than living for the moment. In the end, I think Tim was funnier than me, but I gave him a run for his money. He claims that I won, and I claim that he won. In either case, we made the memory of a decade.

High School Friends

Carrie James and I attended many high school dances together. We went to prom, and after she went away to Pacific Lutheran University, I drove to Seattle and attended her college homecoming dance. (No, I will not post our prom picture online).



David Ohler brings light into the old high school auditorium/theater.

This was the one place at school that changed the least during the recent renovations. In fact, this was my favorite part of the tour; it brought back memories of school plays we did back in the day, such as Bye Bye Birdie, the Mousetrap, and others.



Michaelle Barber returned from Colorado to attend our reunion. I forgot how much fun she is to have around; she's hilarious.



Brook Strang, David Ohler, Venus Delcambre, Carrie James, Kim Ostendorf, Shannon Ziudema, Linda Busch, and me.

John Leppert and I attended the LDS high school seminary back in the day.

Rogers

The old smoke stack is visible through the new addition windows.

The attendees view a wall commemorating Rogers alumni.

During my teenage years, I attended Rogers High School in northeast Spokane and graduated with the Class of '89. This year we held our 20 year class reunion.

This morning, a few of us gathered in the newly renovated school building for a tour. The old facade of the building remains the same, along with the old smoke stack, but almost everything else changed. A massive addition dominates the new design and features towering steel beams and modern plate glass. It was difficult to feel nostalgic or sentimental when nothing looked, felt, or even smelled the same.

My grandmother atteded Rogers in the 1940s, and both my parents graduated from Rogers, my father in 1968, and my mother in 1970. None of them would recognize their high school today.

Fireworks

Dakota and I spent some good father-and-son time downtown for the annual Independence Day fireworks display. We first sat under a tree at the edge of the park, but then we saw Paul and Angela and sat with their family. I told Paul I would post my favorite pictures of the event.

Uncle Speedy

Speedy
Francis Eugene Bonga
1953 - 2009

May he find safe and swift travels to the other world, unfettered by the cares of mortality. May the loved ones who went before arrive to meet him on the way and make his crossing light.

Thanks to my Auntie Mary Ann Rima for the picture.

Dreams & Memory

With my uncle's passing, family members reunite after years of separation. Old memories return to the present with vivid colors, sounds, and emotions. Dreams and waking experiences mingle together.

In the last 15 or 20 years, I spoke to my uncle Speed only a handful to times, but a few months ago, I dreamed that I received word of his approaching death. In the dream, I rushed to see him, but I did not arrive in time. I saw him sitting at a window in the upper story of a building. He drew back a curtain and smiled at me, then simply faded away. I awoke in tears.

Only a day or two later, I received a telephone call saying my uncle had been hospitalized with almost no chance of recovery. My dream seemed prophetic. I dropped everything and rushed to the hospital. Thankfully, I arrived in time to see him and express my feelings. We sat and laughed like old times, as though no time had passed at all. Indian people are like that; we never forget our enduring family bonds. As I stood at the door to leave, I said, "It's been too long uncle. I love you."

He smiled and said, "I love you too." We hugged, and that was the last I saw him.

We learned of his death while traveling in Wyoming. Oddly enough, I would have arrived in time to see him again, but our detour to the Casper hospital delayed our return by several days. We arrived in Spokane less than 10 hours after his passing. In that sense, my dream was somewhat prophetic again.

The photograph above shows my uncle Speed standing at the front. My father is wearing the number 15 shirt.



At times such as this, family memories and old hurts return to visit. The memory of other loved ones who have passed fill my heart with renewed sadness. Somehow all the grief of every death comes alive all at once.

In this picture, my yaya Minnie stands with her children in July of 1962. My father is the oldest and tallest of her children. I can't say for certain, but he looks so terribly sad in this picture. I can only guess what burdens he must have carried, even at that young age.

Thanks to my Auntie Mary Ann Rima for the pictures.

Yellowstone

The delay in Casper forced us to abbreviate the remainder of our trip.

As I mentioned, we made a midnight drive to Cody, arriving some time after 1:00 in the morning. We got up early the next day and visited the Buffalo Bill Historical Center, where a friend from my graduate program now works. She met us at the door and showed us a few of the exhibits. The museum is much larger than I expected, but we had to leave after less than two hours.

We continued our hurried way through Yellowstone National Park, stopping to appreciate the lakes and thermal areas while daylight remained.





Rhonda and the kids near Yellowstone Lake. Hot steam rises from thermal vents on the shore.





Steam drifts into the trees above the Mud Volcano. Of all the thermal areas in the park, this one was my favorite. The vent spewed boiling water and mud into the air, and also made a low grurgling sound, like the throaty growl of a mythical monster.



Whitney and I near the Mud Volcanos. The smell of sulphur was palpable in the air.



Dakota near a pool of boiling mud.



Of course, no trip to Yellowstone is complete without a stop to Old Faithful.

The place seemed such an irony to me. Constructed above one of the largest volcanic areas in the world is a flurry of human development. A massive lodge sits only a few hundred yards from the geyser, offering panoramic views of every eruption from within air conditioned comfort. An iron clock is set every hour to predict the eruption of thermal heated water, within 10 or 15 minutes. Tourists congregate in ever growing numbers as the indicated time approaches.

A pamphlet states that over 2000 earthquakes affect the park, but most are never felt. However, Dakota and I felt the ground shake for a few seconds during dinner at the lodge.

For all the hype, Old Faithful proved something of a disappointment. Perhaps we would have appreciated the geyser more if it had not been overshadowed by a freezing rainstorm. The temperature dropped 20 degrees and a bone-chilling rain sent everyone running for cover. When the geyser finally erupted, the weather had turned so nasty that we could hardly see. This photograph was taken after the rain cleared somewhat.





Evidence of forest fires were not hard to miss. In some areas, miles and miles of timberland still stand burned and limbless. But in other areas, new life has begun to appear.





We arrived at Mammoth Hot Springs at the north end of the park, just after sunset. Our half-day trip to Yellowstone National Park ended all too soon. I guess we'll just have to return.

Casper

My family became more familiar with Casper, Wyoming than we ever imagined possible.

Toward the end of our family vacation to Martin's Cove, Rhonda's mom suffered some health complications that required a trip to Wyoming Medical Center. Her condition caused enough concern to make us drive 70 miles back to Casper in the middle of the night, dodging antelope and deer on the highway, I might add. But then one thing led to another; she was admitted for testing, and ended up spending several days in the hospital. Everything turned out well, but the doctor kept her in bed for three days before finally giving the okay to travel.

Meanwhile, our family got acquainted with Casper more than we ever hoped or desired. I must have walked up and down the main street a dozen times. We ate cafeteria food and paced the halls as we waited for any scrap of information the medical staff deemed appropriate to share.

She was finally released after 8:00 yesterday evening. We were so tired and frustrated that we decided to leave Casper immediately and made a midnight drive to Cody, Wyoming. This time the dark highway stretched out before us as a welcome relief from the monotony of the hospital corridors.