The Breath of God by Jeffrey Small

Bhutan, and I am here at the monastery now of my own accord.”
    â€œDo you know why we are the last independent Buddhist kingdom in the Himalayas?”
    For the first time, Grant thought he detected a tension in Kinley—a slight stiffening of his posture and an edge to his voice that he’d never heard before. “A hundred years ago the only entrance into our country was on horseback or on foot over treacherous mountain terrain. Today we are but a two-hour flight from China and India, the two most populous countries in the world. Through the Internet, our children experience influences beyond our control. It is no longer possible to isolate ourselves from the world.”
    â€œSo we disregard our traditions?” Dorji reclined further in his throne.
    Kinley shook his head. “Why can’t we embrace our heritage and open our
minds to other Buddhist traditions at the same time? Feel the different parts of the elephant and decide for ourselves which works best.”
    For the first time, Grant better understood Kinley’s teaching methods. Although Grant’s knowledge of the differences among the various schools of Buddhism was limited, he had been curious about Kinley’s use of koans, which were part of the Japanese Zen tradition, not his own.
    â€œDifferent teachings?” Lama Dorji shook his head. “Why teach what is inferior? We practice Vajrayana, the highest form of Buddhism.” He pointed at Grant and Kristin with his staff. Grant was acutely aware that all eyes in the temple were upon him. The lama’s voice took on a tone that was almost sad. “Kinley, I know your intentions are pure, but I fear that your time in the West has polluted you. Those kinds of influences are the reason we choose the monastic life. We isolate ourselves from the temptations of the material world, an existence that the West”—the staff pointed at Grant and Kristin wiggled back and forth—“upholds as their ideal.”
    Kinley was immobile but for the breath going in and out of his chest. Then he bowed deeply from the waist. “Yes, Lama Dorji, I understand you clearly, la .”
    Grant stared at his friend. That was it? He couldn’t believe Kinley would just give up.
    Lama Dorji leaned forward in his throne and snatched another betel nut from the plate. “You are fortunate the Je Khenpo favors you.”
    â€œI am fortunate indeed.” Kinley bowed again and then took Grant’s arm to leave.
    â€œYou, Mr. Matthews,” Lama Dorji said, surprising Grant by using his name. “Now that you have healed, I expect you will leave the monastery tomorrow. You will find a suitable hotel in town.”
    Grant felt a pressure on his chest that made it difficult to take in as much oxygen as he needed at that moment. Afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he spoke, he merely nodded and let Kinley lead them toward the sunlight pouring through the open temple door.
    â€œAnd Kinley,” the lama called across the temple when they reached the door. Every monk young and old watched. “If I were you, I would be careful about who you spend time with.” He pointed his staff at Kristin. “You wouldn’t want
your brothers to get the wrong idea. Talk can spread quickly in the goemba .”
    Once they were outside in the warm afternoon sun, Grant said, “How could you let—”
    â€œTo continue the discussion would have served no purpose other than to cause more conflict and to feed my own pride.”
    â€œHis insinuations don’t affect you?” Kristin asked.
    Kinley shrugged. “I felt frustration, but I didn’t fight it. Instead I let it take its course, flowing through my body. I watched it as I might watch a log float down a river until it disappeared around a bend.”
    Grant shook his head. Kinley had explained this technique of watching one’s emotions and destructive thoughts like one might watch a movie