Lama Dilemma

So, I'm watching this documentary on BBC4 on Thursday night called 'The Unmistaken Child'.

Fascinating. It's filmed on the Tibetan - Nepalese border and follows the four year search of a monk called Tenzin Zopa as he trudges the highways and byways searching for the reincarnation of his master Geshe lama Konchog. He enters villages and enquires are to whether there are any young boys aged roughly 12 to 18 months living there. Then he hands out sweets and balloons to any passing child. Swop the red and yellow robes with a black suit and a dog collar and I'd have been getting quite uncomfortable at that stage... but no, this monk's devoted search for his former spiritual master was riveting in its quiet spirituality.

So, eventually, he comes across this mucky chubby little chap. The child takes a fancy to a string of beads that had belonged to the departed lama. This apparently is the first sign that monk Tenzin might have found his guy.

To cut a long story short, they put the toddler through various tests and with the Dalai Lamas blessing, pronounced him to officially be the reincarnation of Geshe lama Konchog. Then, they take him away from his mammy and his daddy and everyone and everywhere he knows. He cried. His mammy cried. This viewer very nearly did too.

The documentary ends at about that point, stressing the fact that he'd settled into the monastery really well and was a happy little chappie.

Feeling the need to learn a little more about all of this, I did a little googling. Which brought me to what I felt was the most interesting bit of all. The reincarnated child has the exact same birthday as my middle son. In fact he was born only 12 hours before him.

Impostor!

So, how come Tenzin Zopa never passed my door, dangling beads and looking meaningfully into my baby's eyes? How was he to know that his old master decided to come back only up the road in Tibet? How about bloody miles away in Holy Lucan, Co. Dublin? My boy would make a great lama! Shave his head, pop him in his robes, sure we'd have Richard Gere and (insert other famous Buddhists name here) round in a flash.

In fact, my child is quite the philosopher.

A deep thinker.

He has his own set of catchphrases (including the unforgettable 'I'm dead' and 'Wah' ) invaluable tools when your line of work causes you to deal with karma, reincarnation and all that other buddisty stuff...

The Real Deal

I think he'd look good with a shaved head.

Yellow is his colour (I'm sure the red would suit him fine too.)

So, Zopa, methinks you got it wrong. Send that impostor back to his village and his mammy before it's too late. I'll be waiting. And so will Lama Charlie.

Lama Dilemma

So, I'm watching this documentary on BBC4 on Thursday night called 'The Unmistaken Child'.

Fascinating. It's filmed on the Tibetan - Nepalese border and follows the four year search of a monk called Tenzin Zopa as he trudges the highways and byways searching for the reincarnation of his master Geshe lama Konchog. He enters villages and enquires are to whether there are any young boys aged roughly 12 to 18 months living there. Then he hands out sweets and balloons to any passing child. Swop the red and yellow robes with a black suit and a dog collar and I'd have been getting quite uncomfortable at that stage... but no, this monk's devoted search for his former spiritual master was riveting in its quiet spirituality.

So, eventually, he comes across this mucky chubby little chap. The child takes a fancy to a string of beads that had belonged to the departed lama. This apparently is the first sign that monk Tenzin might have found his guy.

To cut a long story short, they put the toddler through various tests and with the Dalai Lamas blessing, pronounced him to officially be the reincarnation of Geshe lama Konchog. Then, they take him away from his mammy and his daddy and everyone and everywhere he knows. He cried. His mammy cried. This viewer very nearly did too.

The documentary ends at about that point, stressing the fact that he'd settled into the monastery really well and was a happy little chappie.

Feeling the need to learn a little more about all of this, I did a little googling. Which brought me to what I felt was the most interesting bit of all. The reincarnated child has the exact same birthday as my middle son. In fact he was born only 12 hours before him.

Impostor!

So, how come Tenzin Zopa never passed my door, dangling beads and looking meaningfully into my baby's eyes? How was he to know that his old master decided to come back only up the road in Tibet? How about bloody miles away in Holy Lucan, Co. Dublin? My boy would make a great lama! Shave his head, pop him in his robes, sure we'd have Richard Gere and (insert other famous Buddhists name here) round in a flash.

In fact, my child is quite the philosopher.

A deep thinker.

He has his own set of catchphrases (including the unforgettable 'I'm dead' and 'Wah' ) invaluable tools when your line of work causes you to deal with karma, reincarnation and all that other buddisty stuff...

The Real Deal

I think he'd look good with a shaved head.

Yellow is his colour (I'm sure the red would suit him fine too.)

So, Zopa, methinks you got it wrong. Send that impostor back to his village and his mammy before it's too late. I'll be waiting. And so will Lama Charlie.

Bus!!!!

With my older children dispatched with undue haste to bother their grandparents in the past, sorry, the West, of Ireland, I am free to settle down to write my Poetry Bus effort. I missed last weeks challenge much to my annoyance, so this weeks is a combination. It is about a person, as prompted by Weaver last week, and transcribed upon an object as per Dominic this week - Well, I suspect the remaining child in my care would not appreciate being referred to as an object. And to be honest, when social services find out I've been writing poetry on my toddler, she may not be in my care for much longer...






The picture isn't great, so here is what it says....

Ruby

My pudgy angel,
My red rubric cherubic rhyme
Let the sun shine -
Compete with my love for you
It pales.

Bus!!!!

With my older children dispatched with undue haste to bother their grandparents in the past, sorry, the West, of Ireland, I am free to settle down to write my Poetry Bus effort. I missed last weeks challenge much to my annoyance, so this weeks is a combination. It is about a person, as prompted by Weaver last week, and transcribed upon an object as per Dominic this week - Well, I suspect the remaining child in my care would not appreciate being referred to as an object. And to be honest, when social services find out I've been writing poetry on my toddler, she may not be in my care for much longer...






The picture isn't great, so here is what it says....

Ruby

My pudgy angel,
My red rubric cherubic rhyme
Let the sun shine -
Compete with my love for you
It pales.

Weak

Busy week.

Kids finished school for the summer. Took them about two minutes to start fighting. Gah. When's September??

At least they had good school reports. In summary, apparently they are both very clever, but have trouble tolerating their mere mortal class mates. Oh well, so what - another pair of computer geeks with poor social skills join the heaving masses, will anyone notice? Doubt it.

Baby Oubliette - whom is going to have to be rechristened Toddler Oubliette real soon as the girl is very nearly three - has this week decided she is a Lion, (or Tiger, she hasn't specified.) It involves her crawling around, meowing, and just when you least expect it, she launches herself at you, as if you are a cowering ickle gazelle. Adding a slightly surreal touch she yells her name mid-pounce, rather than a more accurate roar.

Quite a normal family.

What else happened to us?

Hmmm. A bloke called to the door and offered us two years free tv if we let them dig up the garden. Considering the state of the garden, I wouldn't have cared if he wanted to do it for free... (apparently they're upgrading the network in our area..) It's quite nice to get something for free, this never happens to me.

It happens to Mr Oubliette all the time though. We're getting a free dinner in the new Wagamama's restaurant that is opening up near us soon. Hurrah! Mr Oub, the luckiest man alive wins every draw he ever enters, hence this latest win. I can't wait. The Oub family love Wagamama's. The kids are huge Asian food fans. Gyoza, sushi, edamami, they love the lot of it. Of course the free dinner is just for two, so we're going to have to lie to them. Oh well, no change there then.

Lastly on the exciting week that was with us, I was summoned to the garden, 10.30pm, think it was Thursday, to watch the International Space Station pass overhead. It was actually rather impressive to see it zoom by. And this is high praise from me. I am underwhelmed by space travel. While I understand peoples fascination with it, I can't help trotting out the 'can't we feed all the starving babies in the world first before we go to the moon.' This drives Mr Oub mad. He doesn't care about the starving babies - he's mean like that - he just wants to be an astronaut and bounce about the place up there. (He claims the science used in space stuff is helping man kind, but I dunno, can a starving baby eat a bit of satellite? I think not...)

But enough.

The rest of the week was kids fighting, allotment weeding, and melting in the heat.



This hasn't really been the most exciting post. But as I said a few posts ago, I am just going to write and if it's as dull as I suspect this post has been, then, so be it. Hopefully I will find the magic again. It is out there, I know it!

Anyway, I'm off to try and write a poem for the Poetry Bus tomorrow.

Weak

Busy week.

Kids finished school for the summer. Took them about two minutes to start fighting. Gah. When's September??

At least they had good school reports. In summary, apparently they are both very clever, but have trouble tolerating their mere mortal class mates. Oh well, so what - another pair of computer geeks with poor social skills join the heaving masses, will anyone notice? Doubt it.

Baby Oubliette - whom is going to have to be rechristened Toddler Oubliette real soon as the girl is very nearly three - has this week decided she is a Lion, (or Tiger, she hasn't specified.) It involves her crawling around, meowing, and just when you least expect it, she launches herself at you, as if you are a cowering ickle gazelle. Adding a slightly surreal touch she yells her name mid-pounce, rather than a more accurate roar.

Quite a normal family.

What else happened to us?

Hmmm. A bloke called to the door and offered us two years free tv if we let them dig up the garden. Considering the state of the garden, I wouldn't have cared if he wanted to do it for free... (apparently they're upgrading the network in our area..) It's quite nice to get something for free, this never happens to me.

It happens to Mr Oubliette all the time though. We're getting a free dinner in the new Wagamama's restaurant that is opening up near us soon. Hurrah! Mr Oub, the luckiest man alive wins every draw he ever enters, hence this latest win. I can't wait. The Oub family love Wagamama's. The kids are huge Asian food fans. Gyoza, sushi, edamami, they love the lot of it. Of course the free dinner is just for two, so we're going to have to lie to them. Oh well, no change there then.

Lastly on the exciting week that was with us, I was summoned to the garden, 10.30pm, think it was Thursday, to watch the International Space Station pass overhead. It was actually rather impressive to see it zoom by. And this is high praise from me. I am underwhelmed by space travel. While I understand peoples fascination with it, I can't help trotting out the 'can't we feed all the starving babies in the world first before we go to the moon.' This drives Mr Oub mad. He doesn't care about the starving babies - he's mean like that - he just wants to be an astronaut and bounce about the place up there. (He claims the science used in space stuff is helping man kind, but I dunno, can a starving baby eat a bit of satellite? I think not...)

But enough.

The rest of the week was kids fighting, allotment weeding, and melting in the heat.



This hasn't really been the most exciting post. But as I said a few posts ago, I am just going to write and if it's as dull as I suspect this post has been, then, so be it. Hopefully I will find the magic again. It is out there, I know it!

Anyway, I'm off to try and write a poem for the Poetry Bus tomorrow.

All aboard...

So, lost in the wilderness as I was, I have been plodding on foot for a while now and not stopping at the Poetry Bus stop.

But, in the spirit of quantity over quality that I have now embraced, I am striding purposefully to the side of the road, I am thrusting my hand out and demanding the bus screech to a halt and let me climb aboard.

I can't claim it's any good, but hey, at least I'm trying :)


This weeks task - set by Don't Feed the Pixies :

"As you may remember I set you all the task of rehabilitating road (or any other) signs that were just lounging about doing nothing. You could either:

1) Follow the sign and write something you saw at the other end
2) Merely imagine what might be at the other end and write about that
3) Find a new use for the word on the sign to explain something that currently has no word"


I decided to run with option one - except for the fact that the sign I had in mind is too far away for me to go and follow just now. We see it every time we head west to the in-laws - it's an ambition of mine to actually visit this town...

I give you...

Bumlin

Oh, tittering townland of Bumlin!
Co. Roscommon's hidden gem.
We snicker like naughty schoolboys
at the Wildean wit of it all.
A moniker of the posterior
How funny!
(How dull our little lives are)
One day I hope to stop, pay a visit
instead of passing, laughing, in the car.