Tomorrow the neighbor is getting married. His friends are busy erecting a bright red banner with “Welcome: Marriage” spelled out in white cotton balls on the dirt road.

Gunga is determined to get out of the gate as I am leaving for Kopan Gompa—I just manage to block her head with my knees. I grab her collar and shout at the Eghara to come take her. When the Eghara doesn’t respond, I look up to see her round face contorted in a terrible grimace, wielding an enormous staff over her head. I have no idea what she intends to do with it—beat Gunga senseless? The look on her face is pricelessly ferocious—she looks like a halfpint vengeful spirit about to protect me from packs of wolves. I shout at her again to drop the thing and grab Gunga’s collar, and all of a sudden she is her normal sweetfaced chubby self again. Afterwards whenever I remember this incident, I cannot stop giggling.

A wonderful morning reading at Kopan Gompa. How fortunate I am to live five minutes away from this incredible place. The ani-haru had insisted that it was closed except on Saturdays; this turns out to be the case only for Nepali people. The monk at the gift shop explains, “If open every day for Nepali people, than every day many shouting, not good.” I almost said, YES! Many shouting, ALL the time! You must know my nuns! (Actually I realized later that he meant the “shouting” the monks do when they have philosophy debates.)

In Kopan Gompa library, reading poems by Ryokan, an eighteenth century Japanese hermit monk. These translations do not thrill me, but the poem's heart shows through. Over and over again Ryokan talks about cold and loneliness—the 2 things I struggle with most—but he is not unhappy. He writes:

Lying in my freezing hut, unable to sleep
only the quiet roar
of water pouring over a cliff.

And:

The freezing morning rain has let up.
What should I do?
Fetch water? Chop firewood? Gather winter greens?