Tibet takes me flying

Author: Xie Ying
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-06-01
Features: Some say Tibet is a kind of life. Some say Tibet is a mystery. Others say Tibet is an unreachable shore. More people, however, keep Tibet in their hearts, savoring it over and over again, yet unable to find the right words to describe it. Perhaps Tibet is too high, high enough to make one dizzy at just a glance. Perhaps Tibet is too far, far enough to be beyond the reach of human consciousness, becoming a mysterious realm where the author walks for thirty years on the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau, dedicating his entire life to an endless journey in Tibet. In the nearly half-century of his thirty years, growing up, studying, and working in Tibet, every bit of his life is closely tied to Tibet and the changes in Lhasa, and every step of his growth is nourished by this land. Thirty years is enough time to leave a mark in his blood and heart, from the depths of his emotions, thoughts, and soul.
When a person is born, they tightly clutch their fists, as if wanting to grasp everything. When a person dies, their hands are spread open, as if they have let go of everything. From a clenched fist to open hands, that is life. This process is a source of pain and liberation for some, and joy and enlightenment for others. No matter how it is, this journey, whether short or long, varies from person to person, yet it is always elusive and hard to grasp. Sometimes, one’s attitude toward death itself reveals the essence of life in a fleeting moment. Death is inevitable. For the deceased, the common practice is to bury them in the ground, erect monuments, and allow people to pay their respects. The ancient Egyptians meticulously prepared the deceased, mummifying them, hoping that their uncorrupted bodies could be reborn. In ancient China, people buried the deceased along with their favorite belongings, gold, and treasures, hoping that the dead could continue to enjoy them. Every Qingming Festival, people mourn the deceased, burning paper money. All of these practices seem to want to prolong the life of the deceased, extending the grief of the living even further.
But in Tibet, in the face of sky burial, everything is so different. Tibet originally practiced earth burial. In the birthplace of the Tibetan people—Qongje in Shannan—large-scale Tibetan king tombs still remain. The choice of sky burial, where vultures carry the deceased to the vast sky, also went through a process. Legend has it that before the introduction of Buddhism, the Tibetans believed that people were descended from gods. After death, their souls would ascend to heaven via a ladder from the heavens. One day, a flying vulture accidentally broke the ladder, leaving the people without a way to return. The deities, compassionate toward all living beings, commanded the vultures to carry the souls of the people to heaven. The vultures became messengers flying between humans and gods. Later, as Buddhism spread to Tibet and merged with the local Bon religion, Tibetan Buddhism was formed. Under the influence of Tibetan Buddhism, people believe that souls are immortal and that rebirth is endless, with the physical body merely a vessel for the soul. When a person dies, their physical body becomes worthless and may even hinder the soul’s rebirth. Therefore, how the physical body of the deceased is treated directly affects the soul’s rebirth.
Donating the worthless physical body to other lives is the last act of kindness a person can do in their lifetime, and it allows the soul’s rebirth to be free from obstacles. Perhaps it is the combination of these two factors that gave rise to the sky burial custom of the Tibetan people.
The process of sky burial is often exaggerated by those who are ignorant or curious. The immortal soul, desperately trying to break free from the physical body, becomes an obstacle to their understanding. Many people feel utterly despondent after witnessing the process, as if their own souls had vanished along with the flesh of others. I have never seen the entire process of sky burial firsthand and dare not claim to be beyond its imagery. In fact, when I first read the words by the famous Tibetan writer Ma Lihua in her book The Soul Is Like the Wind: "The body, which is cherished and cherished in ordinary life, disappears in this way, leaving nothing behind," I felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness and disillusionment.