Ok I’m a storyteller it’s part of the job to embroider, exaggerate, lie. As well as to attempt to tell the Truth according to ones capability, which, not being God, will always be limited.

But the doctor said this is definately a sprain and after a week of rather acute pain every time I by accident put weight on it or even not, and it was looking more swollen and there was a black bit developing at the bottom. Then the good nun Lobsang took me in to the small town. She drove at first, then as she doesn’t have a license she got a monk to drive. The hospital was the size of a small narrow shop. But as soon as we got in the doc came, a small man with impeccable Inglish (Indian English which I far prefer), prodded a bit and sent me to Xray at the back. Yes, he confirmed, it’s fractured. First time for me, he put a half caste on as it was so swollen. He wants to come to Norway, said he would give me Norwegian prices, and charged roughly £22, or 220 kroner for everything. On the way back the monk put on some groovy Hindi pop. That music makes those rides so romantic, I see myself with bits of cloth blowing in the wind, gorgeous men dancing gaily beside the car.

I’m so limited. One leg gone, and I seem to shrink to 20% capacity.
I was last here, at this monastery, in this very room at the guest house 8 years ago. At that time with my mum and my daughter Mari, then 13.

Two events stand out from that time.
We had come in February for the Tibetan new year, the biggest festival in the Tibetan year. We stayed for three weeks and there were storms, thunder, lightening and rain most every day. Very unusual for that time of year. The rituals take place overs weeks but there is one day where they open and invite absolutely anyone who wants to come from the Indian communities around, or the spread diaspora of Bøn practioners. Food is provided for all, there is masked dances, a big party. Rain would really spoil it so when we awoke to a sudden change of weather and bright sun we were very happy.

Going out of the guesthouse early that morning His Holiness the Abbot was walking on top of the high monastery wall above and shouted down to us to come up. Then he showed us the kitchen where the biggest pots I have ever seen of food were being stirred with spoons the size of spades.

‘Really lucky about the weather,’ we said. ‘Actually, no, hard work.’ he said. ‘ Have been praying all night, must go and pray again now, you go drink Tibetan tea.’

The other incident also concerned him. Towards the end of the stay I was walking down to the guesthouse. ( Talented I was then, to be able to walk, a blessing.)

For some reason that day I was within the Temple of my body, and thus open to the great world around me.
He said to the monks there, ‘Look, she come here many years before, just girl. Now see, she meditating down the path.’
It’s a rare and wonderful thing to be truly seen. Not just your new nail varnish or broken leg, but seen in the fullness of your being.