Bhutan: The Last Buddhist Kingdom of the Himalayas

Long ago, in the eighth century, the valleys of Bhutan were inhabited by fierce spirits and ancestral deities who resisted the Buddha's teachings. Coming from the distant land of Oddiyana, the magnificent Padmasambhava, also known as Guru Rinpoche, appeared, dressed in the robes of a wandering yogi. His aura radiated serenity, but within him burned the unshakable and incorruptible fire of compassion and wisdom.

When he arrived, the skies darkened as the local spirits stirred, sensing the Guru's profound presence. With a smile and a penetrating gaze, he climbed a rocky mountain, his heart attuned to the rhythms of the earth and all the elements of nature. With each step, he chanted sacred mantras that sent waves of light through the valleys, calming the turbulent winds. He did not destroy the evil spirits, but tamed them—he had the mastery of awakening goodness even in the darkest hearts.

Guru Rinpoche's stories echo throughout the Kingdom of Bhutan. He is considered the second Buddha, responsible for bringing Vajrayana Buddhism to this land, opening a vibrant exchange of knowledge between India, Tibet, and Bhutan. But Bhutan was never conquered by outside forces, and its culture and customs have been preserved in a vivid and pure form. The current king, His Majesty Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck, encourages his people to wear traditional clothing at official events, paint their homes with auspicious Buddhist symbols, and decorate their intricate wooden windows with layers of carved and colored blocks.

This was my second time bringing a group to Bhutan, after many years leading trips in India. The neighboring countries are dramatically different. What immediately stands out is the clean and well-preserved ecosystem. Coming from India to Bhutan creates a stark contrast; I like to think of India as a loving but wrathful mother, while Bhutan as a gentle but mysterious mother. I can lose myself in Bhutan's dense forests, walking for hours and reaching little-known temples, crossing pristine waterfalls, walking under immense moss-draped trees, and encountering caves and cliffs with magical self-emanating signs and mantras carved into the rock by local pilgrims.

This time, I came to Bhutan to better understand the role of the feminine in Tibetan Buddhism—whether dakinis, yidams, or human consorts—without masculine interpretations. I approached the source of these primordial symbols and perceived their reality within me, as the mysterious feminine energy that conceals and reveals secrets that men are often unready, or unable, to experience. Indeed, in every temple we entered, we heard only magical stories that concealed a deeper meaning, unless we could quiet our minds and slip into another time-space, where our imagination and experience could expand without imposed conceptual limits. The fantastical narratives invited us to suspend our rational minds, but they also imprisoned us in inherited and restrictive beliefs. It's a fine line between being open to magic and submitting to superstition.

Magic is never literal; it is a way of seeing that demands both openness and generosity, as well as discernment, lest it fall into the worship of new, fabricated gods. True magic is inhabiting an indeterminate territory, as if between the waking state and dream. It can neither be proven nor denied. By focusing on the gaps in my own perception while listening to traditional narratives, I try not to judge or compare, but to remain open like a child in wonder.

Like when I heard the story of the Dzongdrakha Temple, not far from the city of Paro, built on a vertical cliff very similar to the famous Tiger's Nest, told in the words of Dorji Wangchuk:

In the 15th century, a Tibetan yogi named Drupthop Gyempo Dorji followed his master in search of a place called Zhungphug in Bhutan. When he reached what is now Wochu, a jackal appeared to show him the way to the rocky cliff. Legend has it that the Guru appeared in person and handed him a crystal sword, with which he struck the rock face. A crystal stupa and three egg-shaped relics of Sangye Yoesung (Buddha Kashyapa) were revealed. Two of these relics flew away: one was carried away by the deities, the other by the subterranean beings; the remaining one, he preserved by building a chorten (stupa) to house it. This stupa trembles on auspicious days. Interestingly, it was only half built: the upper third is believed to be in the realm of the gods, while the base rests in the subterranean depths of the nagas. Legend has it that one day it will either fly away or sink there.

We visited the stupa on the cliff of Dzongdrakha, home to one of the five mountain-spirit sisters, venerated for bringing prosperity and longevity. On the day we went, we could still see it, but workers were already building walls around it to completely cover it. The reason was that miracles had been attributed to the special stupa, and people began to chip away at it, believing it had healing powers. But in doing so, they nearly ruined it! We were fortunate enough to see it before it was covered, and not only the stupa itself, but also other relics—among them a statue of Guru Rinpoche who, it is said, spoke of the exact spot where he wanted it to be placed.

To access magical wisdom, the question shouldn't be, "Is it true?" or "Did she really say it?" When I heard this story, my mind flashed back to my childhood, when my parents used to read and tell me magical stories. I didn't question whether they were real or not—I simply let myself be amazed and embark on a journey astride a unicorn that could fly and take me far from the dark monsters that terrified me. Other mythical beings led me to other places, where girls lived within mandala-like flowers. And, imagining all these fantastical things, I fell asleep peacefully, happy to be part of such a rich and interesting world. Something inside me knew those stories weren't literal, but at the same time, they shaped my inner world, where different moods, feelings, and thoughts stirred.

Today I know that thoughts are energy, and that energy is what builds the material world we call "reality." The way we feed our thoughts also shapes the person we are in the world. Thoughts are the seeds of everything that manifests in the "real world."

The most powerful, transformative, and magical story I can imagine right now is the idea of God. We may never have encountered "Him" or "Her," but belief in God has moved the world for thousands of years, uniting communities of faith and also provoking terrible and divisive wars. The energy this belief generates has given humanity the power to build temples, cathedrals, churches, mosques, and most of the world's great monuments. But where is this God, if not within our deepest imagination? I dare to wonder if we ourselves are the imagination of some god.

And here I am in Bhutan, hearing daily magical stories of flying yogis, shapeshifting women, an ogre the size of the country, and even a "divine madman" who performed miracles with his phallus. The temple dedicated to him is Chimi Lhakhang, in Punakha, where people still go today for fertility rituals. Many (I've heard most) report having children, usually within a year of visiting. Does the temple truly possess magical powers, or is it the energy created by the community's collective belief that generates a fertile consciousness that can somehow be accessed?

If we analyze our desires for things like cars, houses, clothes, careers, and relationships, we'll realize that what we're truly seeking goes beyond the object itself. We want the thrill, the magic. In a sense, it's not the lover we desire, but the love; it's not the car, but the power it carries; it's not the clothes, but the desire to be seen. But what if we could achieve these experiences without so much effort in chasing things, developing our senses to experience true magic? In so many cases, we get what we want, but still don't feel joy (or perhaps only for a moment). This isn't because the object has nothing to offer, but because our third eye isn't open—the eye capable of seeing beauty and magic.

Creating a rich, imaginative, and free inner world is what makes any object, any work, any person pleasurable and meaningful. In other words, a beautiful life doesn't depend on where you are or what you own, but on how you perceive and see things. As in the aphorism attributed to Plato—or in Shakespeare's play Love's Labours Lost (1598):

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

And Shakespeare wrote:

“Lord Boyet, my beauty, though simple,Does not need the painted artifice of your praise:Beauty is bought by the judgment of the gaze,Not by the vile speech of merchants’ tongues.”

Seeking the wisdom of the dakinis in Bhutan, I realized that it is more about merging with its mystery, finding it within ourselves—the magic key to limitless imagination, to undefined concepts, to not believing literally and also not disbelieving. It inhabits the gaps: between lines, between breaths, between trees and rivers, between two spoken words, between a half-smile and a glance. I am reminded of Lex Hixon's translation of the Prajnaparamita Sutra , which describes its "body of wisdom" as: unfindable, unthinkable, unspeakable, indecipherable, indefinable, unattainable, unformulatable, inconceivable, incomparable, unlocatable, unisolated, unapproachable, immutable, unattainable… Walking in the wild, I felt its presence without seeing, without tasting, without touching—but somehow experiencing it in utter mystery.

There is a beautiful excerpt from the Dao De Jing that seems very appropriate here:

“Look, and it cannot be seen. Listen, and it cannot be heard. Touch, and it cannot be grasped. Above, it is not light. Below, it is not dark. Seamless, unnameable, it returns to the realm of nothingness. Form that contains all forms, image without image, subtle, beyond all conception. Draw near, and there is no beginning; follow it, and there is no end. One cannot know it, but one can be it, at peace with life itself. Simply realize where you come from: that is the essence of wisdom.”

Upon reaching the summit, after a few hours of walking, we reached Chompoo Temple, the Temple of the Floating Dakini, where a statue of the dakini Vajravahari is said to have been discovered in a cave behind the waterfall, the size of a cat. But once placed in the temple, the statue grew to the size of a tall person, while the base of her foot did not touch the ground, giving her the appearance of levitating. I observed her foot closely—indeed, it did not touch the ground. I allowed myself to be transported back to my childhood, without wondering whether it was real or not. I simply gazed in awe and remained in that feeling. And it was magical. Such feelings make my heart soar. With moist eyes and a gentle smile, I bowed before Vajravahari.

As His Holiness Sakya Trizin commented:

"The main method used in Vajrayana is to stop seeing things as ordinary. Therefore, you should see all these things as transcendental wisdom, see yourself in the form of a deity, all sounds as mantra, and every thought that arises as transcendental knowledge. Although at first you are only visualizing, only imagining, gradually the attachment to ordinary vision dissolves, and you strengthen your path in the Vajrayana tradition."

• Tiffani Gyatso - October, 2024