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THE MOON IN MY DINING ROOM
- The University Press of Kentucky
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231 Leonia,NewJersey,2004 Rinpoche presses his hands together and begins the mealtime prayer. He speaks in a low singsong, inTibetan. Adam joins him. Sapana, sitting very straight in her chair, follows silently. Rahula, age five, probably knows this prayer but doesn’t participate. My eyebrows, should anyone be watching, signal amusement. More than sixty years ago, when my grandfather recited blessings, as if to himself, in a droning, Yiddish-inflected Hebrew, I averted my eyes and chattered with my cousins. Those ritual invocations were alien forms. Now, shifting my gaze between Rinpoche’s serene face and Adam’s uncharacteristically calm one, I strive to give the spirit its due. We are all at our regular seats at the table. I’m at the head nearest the kitchen; Adam sits to my right, and Sapana and Rahula are on my left. Rinpoche, my son’s lama and teacher, presides at the other end. Adam’s place in the middle is both convenient and symbolic. He is the bridge, connecting Rinpoche, who speaks only Tibetan, to the rest of us. Rinpoche (the term is honorific, indicating a lama who is reincarnated) wears his traditional garb: a gold-colored, sleeveless blouse with a Chinese collar and a full-length maroon wrap that drapes over his left shoulder. Adam, who has spent the day translating Rinpoche’s teachings for a group of American Tibetan Buddhists in Summit, New Jersey, is wearing his own lama outfit: an eggshell-colored silk blouse, like Rinpoche’s, and a long, eggshell “skirt,” wrapped at the waist. Rinpoche has been in residence here, along with the visiting family members, on and off for almost four weeks now. I’ve made several celebratory Americanstyle meals during this time. Tonight, however, I’m slowing down. The leftovers from last night’s dinner party, courtesy of Whole Foods, are on the table: barbecued chicken and salads of white beans, spicy corn with feta, edamame, and red peppers. A green salad and a platter of peppery turkey breast slices round out the meal. It’s an ordinary family supper without pretense or ambition. After the prayer, Adam, as is his habit, serves Rinpoche. The evening before, Adam mentioned that the Japanese contributed edamame to American cuisine and the Greeks (along with the French, Bulgarian, and Turks) have made feta a THEMOONINMYDININGROOM EATING ALONE 232 staple of American eating. Because this is Rinpoche’s first trip to the West, such explanations are called for. Once the platters have been passed around, Adam plunges into an exchange with Rinpoche that seems to go on and on. Restless and somewhat irritated, I ask Adam to translate a bit so as to include Sapana and me in the conversation. “This stuff—the business side of dharma—isn’t worth translating ,” Adam says. “But why don’t you ask Rinpoche a direct question.” There’s been no real conversation between Rinpoche and me since the evening a few weeks back when Rinpoche asked me if I was a Buddhist. “I’m not interested in religion,” I confessed, “or ritualized systems of belief.” Rinpoche is not easily put off about matters to which he has dedicated most of his fifty-one years. He responded by saying that there were things I could do that were not very ritualistic and that might yield, in Adam’s phrase, greater understanding. “Thank you,” I replied. “I’ll keep that in mind.” “What surprises you about the U.S.?” I ask. My six-word question requires almost six minutes of interpretative work on Adam’s part. Watching my son’s gestures as he reformulates the question inTibetan, I can tell that he is suggesting possible avenues of response. Rinpoche remains silent. I can’t tell if he is puzzled by the notion of surprise or indifferent to this line of inquiry. “Try again,” Adam suggests, adding that people often ask Rinpoche about his life in Tibet. At another moment, I might willingly have taken that suggestion. Now, however, if there is to be a conversation, I want at least a piece of it to be on my terms. It’s not Rinpoche’s history that I’m after, but how he crosses cultures. On the food front he does well enough. He’s a sturdily built man with a healthy appetite . At breakfast he is happy with granola (because he knows oats) and milk. He’ll eat toast, if it’s o...