Ah, home—the Practice House. The name resonated with me, especially after the exhausting effort of keeping up with my strong Master. But the piercing shriek shattered my fragile desire for consolation, pulling me abruptly out of my lethargy. Yet, something about the voice felt strangely familiar. It stirred something deep within me, jolting me awake.

“Rain Po-share! … Rain Po-share!!”

We turned toward the sound. A woman in shredded clothing was stumbling down the path, waving her hands wildly. There was an eerie, desperate energy about her movements. As she came closer, I saw her palms were bleeding, and my stomach clenched with a sickening realization.

“Mom! Mom!” I cried out, tears streaming down my face as I bolted down the slope.

The snowflakes, which had been drifting lazily moments before, seemed to halt midair, as if startled by our cries.

“No!” Master shouted, reaching out to grab me, but his hand missed. I stumbled, the ground rushing up to meet me. Blood smeared across my skin as pain shot through me, but before I could process it, I felt her arms around me, pulling me close.

“What’s wrong, Mom?!” I gasped, clutching her tightly.

“Your sister!—Master, help her! Please, help her…” she pleaded, her voice trembling with desperation.

Master steadied us both, then guided us down the path toward the village. It was supposed to be on our way home, but earlier, I had begged Master to take a detour. Passing by my mother, grandmother, and sister’s home without visiting them would have been unbearable.

As we arrived, a chilling sight awaited us. The village square was crowded with people gathered for a funeral ceremony. A few wore towering, colorful hats, two to three feet high, while the rest were dressed in somber attire—some elegant, others in weathered, humble clothing.

“Sister!” I cried out, spotting her lying motionless in the center of the gathering.

I moved to rush toward her, but Master stepped in front of me, his voice firm and commanding.

“Don’t touch her, Śir’rer men!” he barked, his tone sharp enough to freeze me in place.

“You, too,” he said to my mother, who recoiled, her hands trembling as she stepped back.

Master had no time to respond, of course. He moved slowly, as if treading on the brink of a dying state. It was such a strange thought to have in that moment...

He sensed hostility from other clergies of the Bön tradition.

It was known in Tibetan as བོན་ and pronounced as pʰø̃̀ in the Lhasa dialect. The Bön tradition places greater emphasis on ceremonial practices, in contrast to Master’s lineage, which focuses on scripture chanting and doctrinal exposition. Over the centuries, these traditions have alternated in prominence, replacing each other in influence."

But there was no time for Master to dwell on the intimidation.

He had to recite a few short Gatha verses as part of the Vajra Diamond Mantra Chanting Practice before turning his attention to my uncle, my mother’s brother.

Immediately, Master seated himself in the Lotus Meditation Posture, took out the Pecha Text Block that he had used when attending to Tashi Def the other day, just before we crossed into this part of my parents' neighborhood.

I knew why they were bound in long, narrow, rectangular forms: it made the scriptures easier for the masters to read and chant. Reading from the Daphne Bark Paper with ease, Master began chanting intensely, but in a manner different from what I had witnessed before.

My sister moved one of her fingers. Her demeanor turned a deep red, and gradually, her eyes opened wide, looking at Master and us. It seemed as though she tried to smile before closing her eyes again.

Mom sobbed. I stopped her, shushing her gently. She nodded and wiped away her tears. In truth, I was scared. I feared that my sister might have already passed away, but then I saw Master’s face turn towards us.

“Don’t worry. She will come around,” he reassured us.

Mom and I immediately knelt before Master, and the other relatives followed suit. Master helped us to our feet, signaling for others to assist in taking my sister back to our stone house next door.

Stone House!

As they carried my sister into my childhood stone house, I suddenly slowed my pace and then stopped altogether. The wall...

The wall was as white as death, stained with blood, the sight of it flashing back in my mind.

The howling wind and the bitterly cold, spiraling weather forced us to live in the basement alongside furry animals that provided us with fresh milk, cheese, and ghee. Their dung was not only used as fuel for burning but their fur was woven into clothing that kept us warm. As my dad sang folklore songs praising nature, I danced to his melodies while my sister laughed brightly, her joy lighting up the dim space around us.

If you know that under the ‘one child policy’, a family was allowed to have only one child. Fines or even jail penalties could be imposed against violators. Of course, we knew that it was for the good of the country. A county had to control the population for their greater good and happiness. However, my family lineage was reluctant to abide by it, especially when it’s first child born was a girl. My parents had to endeavor to have me, and they had me as the second child.

As such, I could be said to be the guilty one that cause tragedy to my parents.

As one day, they’d come. I was asleep. Awoken by shouts and morning, I peeped through the cracks seeing white dressed people hitting on my dad.

Seeing my father’s face turn suddenly pale, he bent over, leaning against the mud wall, moaning in helplessness as the white-clad medical staff of the "one-child policy" entered. An official document, stamped with a bright five-moon seal the size of my hand when I was a baby, swayed in front of my mom and dad.

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“Look! There’s an official document!” The man spoke rudely. Behind him stood a large figure, silent.

Dad, furious, lunged to snatch the document and tear it up. The big man immediately kicked my father away, throwing him against the earth wall.

“We are performing official duties. You cannot interfere!”

The man dragged my father and sister out of the door, half-pulling, half-shoving, and slammed the wooden door shut with a bang.

I hid among the firewood and hay, trying to control my rough breathing, my eyes wide with fear. Cold sweat ran down my neck.

The female medical worker pushed my mother onto the coal warmed stone bed, pulling down her pants and spreading her legs. Her eyes gleamed with a will-o’-the-wisp green light, and steam billowed from her mouth. She covered my mother’s mouth with a rag, as if trying to stifle her cries.

“The fetus stretched out its hands first, its head still nestled in the womb. The birth control officer tore the baby out alive. I heard the screams—tearing the liver and splitting the lungs—and hid in the haystack behind the blast furnace. I couldn’t move at all.”

“What did you say, Śir’rer-main?” He was stunned.

“One litter,” I answered simply. I could see the subconscious terror in his eyes.

My peer, who had listened to my story, shuddered as he heard this.

“I didn’t hear any breathing,” I continued. “Only the sound of gurgling. Gurgling. Gurgling.”

“Stop it, Śir’rer-main!”

When I regained my senses, my mom thought I had been overwhelmed by the incident. She came out and hugged me, her hands tenderly touching the back of my neck before kissing my forehead. My tears continued to fall, and she gently wiped them away. “Don’t be so sad, dear. Your sister is fine now. She has come around, and Master is speaking with her. Come...” I nodded, glanced at the walls, and, as we lowered our waists, we swiftly moved into the stone house.

I saw Sister, and she gestured for me to sit beside her. I did as she asked. She had just begun answering Master’s questions when she continued, “Someone tried to grab me so I wouldn’t fall, but it felt like I was being crushed... I wanted to tell them not to touch me! But I couldn’t even blink, and the crushing—it was like a mountain crashing down again and again, as if it were trying to grind me into powder... That’s how I would describe it. Is that because I was already dead, and Master came to rescue me?” She pressed her palms together in a gesture of reverence.

Master smiled gently. “No, Young-Chance, you weren’t dead. It was a Near Death Experience. As I’ve taught before, this is called ‘Chi Med Thun Gyi Mtshams Skab,’” he explained, “which means your soul was on the boundary of death, but not yet in the realm of death. That’s the Near-Death Experience. Everyone should remember this and learn from what happened to Young-Chance just now.”

People began rising to change into a kneeling posture, palms clapping. Master signaled for them to sit back down.

“Now,” Master turned to my mom and then to the others, “My dear Me-Gag, good people, you asked why no one should touch her just now.”

He paused thoughtfully before resuming his lotus sitting posture. “Well, as you heard just now, and as I’ve taught before about the four elements. The first is Earth. Earth represents things that are solid. Actually, in Buddha’s time, it wasn’t called Earth, but anyway, our body is solid. When our body is at the brink of death, or when it is dying, our body will dissolve, like flesh and bones melting…”

His words were rather graphic, but I had heard something like this before when I was younger.

“…as if the earth is being soaked by water, dissolving like mud in the omnipresent element of water. In that sense, all our organs are actually shifting, like your buttocks will sink, becoming a dissolving material. This is why Young-Chance felt excruciating pain—because she wasn’t dead, just fainted, but she could still feel, just like we can feel pain in our sleep if something hurts us. Touching her would have caused her more pain. Can you imagine that?”

Everyone nodded, clasping their palms together in understanding.

I rose and kneeled in front of Master, clasping my palms. He allowed me and smiled.

“Master, I have a question,” I asked. He nodded.

“Master, many people believe that after a person dies, it’s like a lamp being extinguished. They say, ‘When a person dies, it’s like the light goes out.’ Is that correct?”

“No,” Master answered swiftly. “That’s very wrong. In fact, many modern Western experts have discovered that after death, a person’s ‘consciousness’ still exists. Their thoughts and will still persist, they are not gone. And what happens after death? Many religions have spoken about it, but none can explain it as accurately and powerfully as we do in the Tibetan Book of the Dead. It explains the different stages of the afterlife in great detail.”

He turned to the others. “I was teaching Śir’rer-main, but what exactly is the Tibetan Book of the Dead? I will discuss this more later, probably here, to save the seniors from having to climb the mountain to our Practice House.”

Grandma burst into tears, her body trembling as she continued to spin the cylindrical hand-held Mani wheel. Her movements grew quicker, as though she were trying to accumulate more merit in haste.

Suddenly, I heard the distinct sound of the Mani dropping, followed by the sharp clink of the small wooden spear hitting the floor. Before I could lift my gaze, Grandma’s body came into view, and the sound of commotion filled the air.

"Grandma, are you alright? Grandma, grandma..." I heard someone cry out in concern.

But no one dared to touch her this time. They knew better than to shout, for the loudness would disrupt Grandma’s peace and potentially disturb her soul if she were nearing the moment of her passing.