【赫芬顿邮报 20140226】我带达赖去滑雪

满仓

【中文标题】我带达赖去滑雪
【原文标题】The Dalai Lama’s Ski Trip
【登载媒体】赫芬顿邮报
【原文作者】Douglas Preston
【原文链接】http://www.slate.com/articles/life/culturebox/2014/02/dalai_lama_at_a_santa_fe_ski_resort_tells_waitress_the_meaning_of_life.html



1991年4月，达赖喇嘛在新墨西哥州的缆车上。

80年代中期，我在新墨西哥州圣达非靠给杂志写稿勉强度日，突然接到了一个特殊的任务。从那以后，我结识了一群西藏流亡者。他们住在峡谷路，经营一些出售西藏地毯、珠宝和宗教用品的小生意。这些西藏人之所以定居在圣达非，是因为这里的山峰、土屋和高原景色让他们想起了家乡。

这个藏人社区的创始人是帕焦土登。土登在小时候因中国人的入侵而逃离西藏，他和家人翻越喜马拉雅山，骑着牦牛和马匹经历多年史诗般的旅程到达尼泊尔，又转向印度，他在西南部城市本地治里和其它西藏难民进入一所学校。有一天，达赖喇嘛参观了他的课堂。多年后，土登在达兰莎拉得到一个与达赖喇嘛面谈的机会。达赖对他说，他一直没有忘记本地治里教室里后排那个聪明的男孩，把手举得高高的回答所有的问题，其他孩子都有点被吓蒙了。于是他们开始保持联系，土登最后来到了圣达非。

达赖喇嘛在1989年被授予诺贝尔奖。听说他要到美国来，土登邀请他来圣达非访问。达赖喇嘛接受了邀请，说他愿意在这里待一个星期。那时候，他还不是今天这样的国际名人，随从只有6、7个喇嘛，大部分人都不会说英语。他没有经纪人、先遣员、翻译、发言人和向导，也没有钱。访问的日期逐渐邻近，土登有些慌了。他也没有钱，甚至没有计划组织这次访问。于是他给唯一一个在政府里的熟人詹姆斯•卢瑟福打电话，这个年轻人在州政府大楼里经营一个画廊。卢瑟福算不上是新墨西哥州的政治掮客，但是他有罕见的组织天赋。他同意接手安排达赖喇嘛一行。

卢瑟福打了很多电话。他从一个富有的艺术品商人处借来一辆加长豪华轿车，让他的哥哥鲁斯蒂当司机。他说服圣达非郊外一个豪华度假村恩坎塔多的业主，给达赖喇嘛和他的随从提供免费食物和住宿。他联系了警察局安排安保事项。

卢瑟福其中一个电话是打给我的，他让我当达赖喇嘛的新闻秘书。我向卢瑟福解释说你找错人了，我一点经验也没有，请我去肯定会搞糟。卢瑟福说他没有时间和我争辩。只要任何人向他提出问题，达赖喇嘛都会停下来回应。他对所有人都一视同仁，从美国总统到街边的乞丐，让每一个人都得到他全部的关注。必须有人确保达赖喇嘛不被这些问题拖住，而这个人就是我。

我实在太缺钱了，只好同意。在卢瑟福要挂断电话的时候，我问他会付我多少钱。他摆出一付不敢相信的态度，说他对我的贪婪表示遗憾。有幸与法王共度一周时间，怎么还想要钱？恰恰相反，志愿者都应该付出，而不是索取。他手上就拿着一张捐款表，问我想捐多少？

我捐了50美元。

达赖喇嘛在1991年4月1日抵达圣达非。从每天早6点到深夜，我都陪在他身边。和他一起旅行简直是一场冒险。他心情愉快、充满热情、爱讲俏皮话，他会大笑、提问题、摸他的光头，用蹩脚的英语开玩笑。他真的会停下来与任何人讲话，无论有多少人推着他去下一个活动地点。他和你说话的时候，他似乎关闭了整个世界的大门，把他全部的感情、关注、爱心和兴趣都集中在你身上。

他每天凌晨3:30起床，打坐冥想几个小时。他一般很早就会睡觉，但是在圣达非他不得不出席很多晚宴。所以，每天午餐之后，我们都带他回恩坎塔多睡午觉。

媒体记者从各地涌来报道这个消息，规模比我们预想的要大很多。经常有数十个记者和电视转播团队围住我们，我搞不清自己在做什么。在那个星期里，很多人都对我发脾气，有个家伙叫我“可恶的白痴”，但我总算应付过去了。达赖喇嘛与政客、电影明星、新世纪宗教领袖、亿万富翁和普韦布洛印度领导人见面。在他行程的倒数第二天，达赖喇嘛与新墨西哥州的参议员杰夫•宾加曼、皮特•多梅尼西和州长布鲁斯•金共进午餐。有人在餐桌上提到圣达非有一处滑雪场，达赖喇嘛抓住这个话题问了很多有关滑雪的问题——怎样滑、难不难、谁爱滑、有多快、怎样才能不摔倒。

午餐之后，记者团散去了，如果没有其它的安排，达赖喇嘛和他的僧侣们都会回到恩坎塔多休息。但是这次的确出现了特殊情况。在回宾馆的路上，达赖喇嘛的轿车突然靠边停下。我坐在后面土登的车里，于是也靠边停车。达赖喇嘛从后面下车，坐到副驾驶的位置，我们可以看到他在兴致勃勃地与司机鲁斯蒂交谈。一会儿，鲁斯蒂下车向我们走来，带这一付忧心忡忡的表情。他靠在车窗上。

“达赖喇嘛说他不累，想去山上看看滑雪。我该怎么做？”

卢瑟福说：“如果达赖喇嘛想去雪场，我们就去。”

于是车队调头，重新穿过市区，向山上开去。40分钟之后我们到达了雪场，当时已经是滑雪季的末尾，但雪场依然开放。我们在大门处停车，僧侣们纷纷下车。

卢瑟福说：“在这儿等着，我去找人。”

他消失在大门的指示牌后面，几分钟之后，他带着雪场的主人班尼•阿布鲁佐走过来。阿布鲁佐吃惊地发现达赖喇嘛和他的僧侣们只穿着袍子站在雪地里。
那是4月晴好的一天，绝佳的滑雪天气，气温在50度上下，雪道上挤满了人群，场地里铺满被职业选手称为“马铃薯泥”的雪。达赖喇嘛和他的僧侣怀着极大的兴趣观看这项活动，包括嗡嗡响的缆车、来来往往的滑雪爱好者和直插云霄的雪道。

“我们可以上山去吗？”达赖喇嘛问卢瑟福。

卢瑟福问阿布鲁佐：“达赖喇嘛想上山去看看。”

“你是说坐缆车？穿成那个样子？”

“你就说行不行。”

“行是行，只有他还是……”阿布鲁佐冲其他僧侣摆摆脑袋。

卢瑟福说：“所有人，我们都要上到山顶。”

阿布鲁佐和缆车操作员说了几句话，他赶开排队的滑雪者，给我们让出一条路。一百多位滑雪者难以置信地看着4个僧侣手挽手迈着小碎步从下面走上来。在他们紫褐色的袍子下面，达赖喇嘛和僧侣穿的都是牛津尖角皮鞋。穿这种鞋走在雪地上简直是悲剧，僧侣们东倒西歪，我敢肯定一个人摔倒所有人都会跟着摔倒。

我们终于走到了缆车，操作员让缆车座椅一排排地开过来，我们可以4个人坐在一起。我坐在达赖喇嘛旁边，左边是土登。

达赖喇嘛转向我，说：“我来到你们的镇上，看到周围有很多高山，美丽的山峰。所以我整个星期都想来山上看看。”达赖喇嘛的语言很有激情，他会强调重要的字眼。“我以前只听说过这项运动，滑雪，但是从来没见过。”

“在我们上山时，你可以看到脚下的滑雪者。”我说。

“好！好！”

缆车开始上行。这是比较老旧的座椅式缆车，没有可以放下来保护的安全杠，但达赖喇嘛似乎根本不在意，他兴高采烈地谈论雪道上的景色。一旦他身体前倾，抓着座椅扶手的骨节已经发白的土登就会用藏语提醒他。后来他对我说，他一直在乞求法王坐好，不要太靠前。

“他们滑得真快呀！”达赖喇嘛说，“还有孩子！看那个小孩！”

我们的下边是初学者滑道，滑雪者的速度并不快。正在这时，一个专业滑雪者都高坡上滑下来，呼啸而过。达赖喇嘛说：“看啊……太快了！他要撞倒栏杆了！”他用手拢在嘴上，向下面的滑雪者大喊：“小心栏杆！”他疯狂地挥着手：“小心栏杆！”

滑雪者根本不知道这位慈悲菩萨的14代化身为救他的性命大喊，在靠近高压线塔时，做了一个干净利落的转身，继续娴熟地向山下滑去。
在一连串的惊叹词之后，达赖喇嘛向后坐好，双手紧握。“看到了吗？啊！滑雪真是一个美妙的运动！”

我们到达了山顶。阿布鲁佐让缆车停下，这样我们可以从容地下车。僧侣们和达赖喇嘛走下缆车，小心翼翼地在雪地上走过。

“看这景色！”达赖喇嘛喊道，他靠在雪场边界的栏杆上，眼前山峦起伏。他停在栏杆处，注视南方。圣达非雪场位于桑里代克里斯托山脉的最南端，是北美洲海拔最高的雪场之一。雪杉和蓝色的山脊延伸到5000英尺深的山沟里，消失在地平线上。
我们站在那里，达赖喇嘛兴高采烈第谈论景色、山峰、雪和沙漠。之后，他陷入了沉默，在一个掺杂了悲伤情绪的声音中，他说：“这里就像西藏一样。”

僧侣们欣赏了一会景色，达赖喇嘛指着山的另一面，那里有1.2万英尺高的山峰，说：“来啊，这边景色更好！”他们聚在一起，在雪地上迅速走过去。

“等等！”有人大喊，“别站在缆车前面！”

但是太晚了。我可以看到操作员和保安都慌乱地试图停住缆车，但是他们都无法及时够到按钮。4个十来岁的女孩子从缆车座椅上直接滑下斜坡，一阵尖叫声传来，就是那种只有十来岁的女孩才能发出的刺耳尖叫声。他们撞上了达赖喇嘛和僧侣们，就好像是红色和黄色的保龄球瓶。女孩和僧侣们滚在一起，手臂、腿、雪板、雪杆和尖角鞋混在一起。

我们赶紧冲过去，担心达赖喇嘛受伤。我们看到他趟在雪地上，面部扭曲、嘴大张着，发出奇怪的声音。他的脊椎断了吗？我们要不要移动他？接下拉我们发现他根本没有受伤，只是在尽量控制自己不要大笑。

“在雪道上，随时要小心！”他说。

我们把僧侣和女孩们分开，带着达赖喇嘛离开坡道，到一个安全的地方欣赏新墨西哥的雪山景色。

他对我说：“你知道，西藏有大雪山，”他停了一下，“我想，如果西藏自由了，我们也会有滑雪运动！”

我们回到山下，到休息处享受饼干和热巧克力。达赖喇嘛对于山顶上的景色非常兴奋，他向阿布鲁佐详细询问了这项运动，惊讶地听说一条腿的人也可以滑雪。

达赖喇嘛问土登：“你的孩子们，他们也滑雪吗？”

土登说是的。

“西藏孩子也会滑雪！”他说，兴高采烈地边笑边拍手，“是的，这是非常好的运动！”

在我们准备离开的时候，一个年轻的女服务员开始清理我们的桌子。她的头发零乱、肮脏，头上戴着一个珠子发带。她停下来听我们的谈话，然后停下手里的活，坐下来。过了一会，在我们谈话的间隙，她对达赖喇嘛说：“你不喜欢饼干吗？”

“我不饿，谢谢。”

“我能……嗯……问一个问题吗？”

“请说。”

她极为严肃地说：“生活的意义是什么？”

在与达赖喇嘛相处的整个星期里，人们问到了所有可能的问题，唯独没有这个问题。人们不敢提出这个真正有含义的大问题。桌子上出现了短暂的沉默。

达赖喇嘛很快给出了回答。他竖起一根手指，指向前，好像她是全世界唯一一个和他对话的人：“生活的意义就是幸福。难回答的问题并不是‘生活的意义是什么？’，这是个简单的问题。难的是幸福来源于什么，金钱？房子？成就？朋友？还是……”他停了一下，“同情心和好心肠？这是所有人都必须回答的问题：真正的幸福是什么？”他着重强调了一下最后的问题，之后陷入沉默，微笑着看着她。

“谢谢，”她说，“谢谢。”她站起来收拾好盘子和杯子，把它们端走了。




原文：

The Dalai Lama on a chairlift in the mountains of New Mexico, April 1991.

In the mid ’80s, I was living in Santa Fe, N.M., making a shabby living writing magazine articles, when a peculiar assignment came my way. I had become friendly with a group of Tibetan exiles who lived in a compound on Canyon Road, where they ran a business selling Tibetan rugs, jewelry, and religious items. The Tibetans had settled in Santa Fe because its mountains, adobe buildings, and high-altitude environment reminded them of home.

The founder of the Tibetan community was a man named Paljor Thondup. Thondup had escaped the Chinese invasion of Tibet as a kid, crossing the Himalayas with his family in an epic, multiyear journey by yak and horseback. Thondup made it to Nepal and from there to India, where he enrolled in a school in the southeastern city of Pondicherry with other Tibetan refugees. One day, the Dalai Lama visited his class. Many years later, in Dharamsala, India, Thondup talked his way into a private audience with the Dalai Lama, who told Thondup that he had never forgotten the bright teenager in the back of the Pondicherry classroom, waving his hand and answering every question, while the other students sat dumbstruck with awe. They established a connection. And Thondup eventually made his way to Santa Fe.

The Dalai Lama received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1989. Thondup, who had heard that he was planning a tour of the United States, invited him to visit Santa Fe. The Dalai Lama accepted and said he would be happy to come for a week. At the time, he wasn’t the international celebrity he is today. He traveled with only a half-dozen monks, most of whom spoke no English. He had no handlers, advance men, interpreters, press people, or travel coordinators. Nor did he have any money. As the date of the visit approached, Thondup went into a panic. He had no money to pay for the visit and no idea how to organize it. He called the only person he knew in government, a young man named James Rutherford, who ran the governor’s art gallery in the state capitol building. Rutherford was not exactly a power broker in the state of New Mexico, but he had a rare gift for organization. He undertook to arrange the Dalai Lama’s visit.

Rutherford began making phone calls. He borrowed a stretch limousine from a wealthy art dealer, and he asked his brother, Rusty, to drive it. He persuaded the proprietors of Rancho Encantado, a luxury resort outside Santa Fe, to provide the Dalai Lama and his monks with free food and lodging. He called the state police and arranged for a security detail.

Among the many phone calls Rutherford made, one was to me. He asked me to act as the Dalai Lama’s press secretary. I explained to Rutherford that he had the wrong person, that I had no experience in that line, and that it would surely be a disaster. Rutherford said that he didn’t have time to argue. The Dalai Lama, he explained, was a person who would stop and talk to anyone who asked him a question. He treated all people the same, from the president of the United States to a bum on the street, giving every person his full time and attention. Someone had to manage the press and keep the Dalai Lama from being buttonholed. And that person was going to be me.

I desperately needed the money, and so I agreed. As Rutherford was about to ring off, I asked how much I’d be paid. He was incredulous and told me he was saddened by my avarice. How could I even think about being paid for the privilege of spending a week with His Holiness? On the contrary, the volunteers were expected to give, not get. He had the pledge sheet right in front of him; how much could he put me down for?

I pledged $50.

The Dalai Lama arrived in Santa Fe on April 1, 1991. I was by his side every day from 6 a.m. until late in the evening. Traveling with him was an adventure. He was cheerful and full of enthusiasm—making quips, laughing, asking questions, rubbing his shaved head, and joking about his bad English. He did in fact stop and talk to anyone, no matter how many people were trying to rush him to his next appointment. When he spoke to you, it was as if he shut out the rest of the world to focus his entire sympathy, attention, care, and interest on you.

He rose every morning at 3:30 a.m. and meditated for several hours. While he normally went to bed early, in Santa Fe he had to attend dinners most evenings until late. As a result, every day after lunch we took him back to Rancho Encantado for a nap.

The press converged from several states to cover the story, which was far bigger than we anticipated. There were scores of reporters and television crews. I had no idea what I was doing. During the course of the week, many people were angry with me and one fellow called me a “fucking idiot.” But I muddled through. The Dalai Lama met politicians, movie stars, New Age gurus, billionaires, and Pueblo Indian leaders. On the penultimate day of his visit, the Dalai Lama had lunch with Jeff Bingaman and Pete Domenici, the senators from New Mexico, and Bruce King, the state’s governor. During the luncheon, someone mentioned that Santa Fe had a ski area. The Dalai Lama seized on this news and began asking questions about skiing—how it was done, if it was difficult, who did it, how fast they went, how did they keep from falling down.

After lunch, the press corps dispersed. Nothing usually happened when the Dalai Lama and his monks retired to Rancho Encantado for their afternoon nap. But this time something did happen. Halfway to the hotel, the Dalai Lama’s limo pulled to the side of the road. I was following behind the limo in Thondup’s car, and so we pulled over, too. The Dalai Lama got out of the back of the limo and into the front seat. We could see him speaking animatedly with Rusty, the driver. A moment later Rusty got out of the limo and came over to us with a worried expression on his face. He leaned in the window.

“The Dalai Lama says he isn’t tired and wants to go into the mountains to see skiing. What should I do?”

“If the Dalai Lama wants to go to the ski basin,” Rutherford said, “We go to the ski basin.”

The limo made a U-turn, and we all drove back through town and headed into the mountains. Forty minutes later we found ourselves at the ski basin. It was the tail end of the ski season but the mountain was still open. We pulled up below the main lodge. The monks piled out of the limo.

“Wait here while I get somebody,” Rutherford said.

He disappeared in the direction of the lodge and returned five minutes later with Benny Abruzzo, whose family owned the ski area. Abruzzo was astonished to find the Dalai Lama and his monks milling about in the snow, dressed only in their robes.

It was a splendid April day, perfect for spring skiing—the temperature in the upper 50s, the slopes crowded, the snow of the kind skiers call “mashed potatoes.” The Dalai Lama and his monks looked around with keen interest at the activity, the humming lifts, the skiers coming and going, and the slopes rising into blue sky.

“Can we go up mountain?” the Dalai Lama asked Rutherford.

Rutherford turned to Abruzzo. “The Dalai Lama wants to go up the mountain.”

“You mean, ride the lift? Dressed like that?”

“Well, can he do it?”

“I suppose so. Just him, or …?” Abruzzo nodded at the other monks.

“Everyone,” Rutherford said. “Let’s all go to the top.”

Abruzzo spoke to the operator of the quad chair. Then he shooed back the line of skiers to make way for us, and opened the ropes. A hundred skiers stared in disbelief as the four monks, in a tight group, gripping each other’s arms and taking tiny steps, came forward. Underneath their maroon and saffron robes the Dalai Lama and his monks all wore the same footwear: Oxford wingtip shoes. Wingtips are terrible in the snow. The monks were slipping and sliding and I was sure that one would fall and bring down the rest.

We made it to the lift without spilling, and the operator stopped the machine, one row of chairs at a time, to allow everyone to sit down in groups of four. I ended up sitting next to the Dalai Lama, with Thondup to my left.

The Dalai Lama turned to me. “When I come to your town,” he said, “I see big mountains all around. Beautiful mountains. And so all week I want to go to mountains.” The Dalai Lama had a vigorous way of speaking, in which he emphasized certain words. “And I hear much about this sport, skiing. I never see skiing before.”

“You’ll see skiing right below us as we ride up,” I said.

“Good! Good!”

We started up the mountain. The chairlift was old and there were no safety bars that could be lowered for protection, but this didn’t seem to bother the Dalai Lama, who spoke animatedly about everything he saw on the slopes. As he pointed and leaned forward into space, Thondup, who was gripping the arm of the chair with whitened knuckles, kept admonishing him in Tibetan. Later he told me that he was begging His Holiness to please sit back, hold the seat, and not lean out so much.

“How fast they go!” the Dalai Lama said. “And children skiing! Look at little boy!”

We were looking down on the bunny slope and the skiers weren’t moving fast at all. Just then, an expert skier entered from a higher slope, whipping along. The Dalai Lama saw him and said, “Look—too fast! He going to hit post!” He cupped his hands, shouting down to the oblivious skier, “Look out for post!” He waved frantically. “Look out for post!”

The skier, who had no idea that the 14th incarnation of the Bodhisattva of Compassion was crying out to save his life, made a crisp little check as he approached the pylon, altering his line of descent, and continued expertly down the hill.

With an expostulation of wonder, the Dalai Lama sat back and clasped his hands together. “You see? Ah! Ah! This skiing is wonderful sport!”

We approached the top of the mountain. Abruzzo had organized the operation so that each quad chair stopped to unload its occupants. The monks and the Dalai Lama managed to get off the chairlift and make their way across the mushy snow in a group, shuffling cautiously.

“Look at view!” the Dalai Lama cried, heading toward the back boundary fence of the ski area, behind the lift, where the mountains dropped off. He halted at the fence and stared southward. The Santa Fe ski basin, situated on the southernmost peak in the Sangre de Cristo mountain range, is one of the highest ski areas in North America. The snow and fir trees and blue ridges fell away to a vast, vermilion desert 5,000 feet below, which stretched to a distant horizon.

As we stood, the Dalai Lama spoke enthusiastically about the view, the mountains, the snow and the desert. After a while he lapsed into silence and then, in a voice tinged with sadness, he said, “This look like Tibet.”

The monks admired the view a while longer, and then the Dalai Lama pointed to the opposite side of the area, which commanded a view of 12,000-foot peaks. “Come, another view over here!” And they set off, in a compact group, moving swiftly across the snow.

“Wait!” someone shouted. “Don’t walk in front of the lift!”

But it was too late. I could see the operator, caught off guard, scrambling to stop the lift, but he didn’t get to the button in time. Just then four teenage girls came off the quad chair and were skiing down the ramp straight at the group. A chorus of shrieks went up, of the piercing kind that only teenage girls can produce, and they plowed into the Dalai Lama and his monks, knocking them down like so many red and yellow bowling pins. Girls and monks all collapsed into a tangle of arms, legs, skis, poles, and wingtip shoes.

We rushed over, terrified that the Dalai Lama was injured. Our worst fears seemed realized when we saw him sprawled on the snow, his face distorted, his mouth open, producing an alarming sound. Was his back broken? Should we try to move him? And then we realized that he was not injured after all, but was helpless with laughter.

“At ski area, you keep eye open always!” he said.

We untangled the monks and the girls and steered the Dalai Lama away from the ramp, to gaze safely over the snowy mountains of New Mexico.

He turned to me. “You know, in Tibet we have big mountains.” He paused. “I think, if Tibet be free, we have good skiing!”

We rode the lift down and repaired to the lodge for cookies and hot chocolate. The Dalai Lama was exhilarated from his visit to the top of the mountain. He questioned Abruzzo minutely about the sport of skiing and was astonished to hear that even one-legged people could do it.

The Dalai Lama turned to Thondup. “Your children, they ski too?”

Thondup assured him that they did.

“Even Tibetan children ski!” he said, clapping his hands together and laughing delightedly. “Yes, this wonderful sport!”

As we finished, a young waitress with tangled, dirty-blond hair and a beaded headband began clearing our table. She stopped to listen to the conversation and finally sat down, abandoning her work. After a while, when there was a pause, she spoke to the Dalai Lama. “You didn’t like your cookie?”

“Not hungry, thank you.”

“Can I, um, ask a question?”

“Please.”

She spoke with complete seriousness. “What is the meaning of life?”

In my entire week with the Dalai Lama, every conceivable question had been asked—except this one. People had been afraid to ask the one—the really big—question. There was a brief, stunned silence at the table.

The Dalai Lama answered immediately. “The meaning of life is happiness.” He raised his finger, leaning forward, focusing on her as if she were the only person in the world. “Hard question is not, ‘What is meaning of life?’ That is easy question to answer! No, hard question is what make happiness. Money? Big house? Accomplishment? Friends? Or …” He paused. “Compassion and good heart? This is question all human beings must try to answer: What make true happiness?” He gave this last question a peculiar emphasis and then fell silent, gazing at her with a smile.

“Thank you,” she said, “thank you.” She got up and finished stacking the dirty dishes and cups, and took them away.

乐观人生

为幸勤工作的楼主致敬。。。

汉生

他一直想的是“他的西藏”，现在是中国人的西藏。他想逆转历史，拥有让我们看来是螳臂挡车的勇气。

满仓

坦率地说，翻完这篇文章，我觉得作者不是2B就是高级黑。