#Tibetan Thangka Painting

[poligraf]

« Eleven-Headed Thousand-Armed Avalokiteshvara » [Unidentified Artist]

[nancydrewwouldnever]

Unknown Tibetan Artist, Thangka of Four Mandalas of the Vajravali Series, ca. 1429-1456, gouache on cotton (The Rubin Museum of Art, New York)

[queenoftreasures]

Discovering Tibet at Norbulingka Institute, Dharamshala

After his exile from Tibet in 1959, the 14th Dalai Lama established his home in the beautiful mountain town of Dharamshala, Himachal Pradesh, India. Keeping the spiritual and peaceful country alive in India, the Tibetan community offers arts and culture courses at the serene Norbulingka Institute of Tibetan Culture For most of us, Tibet is a land lost in time. Most of the first-generation people…

[sanrielle]

Amazing fanart by Joanacchi! Posted here on tumblr with their blessing. Each one is based on a style that reflects a particular ancient culture's art history. (See below for descriptions provided by the artist!)

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Aang: Tibetan Thangka

"Thangkas are traditional Tibetan tapestries that have been used for religious and educational purposes since ancient times! The techniques applied can vary greatly, but they usually use silk or cotton fabrics to paint or embroider on. What you can depict in a Thangka is really versatile, and I wanted to represent things that make up Aang as a character."

Zuko and Azula: Japanese Ukiyo-e

"Ukiyo-e is a style that has been around Japan between the 17th and 19th century, and focused mainly in representing daily life, theater(kabuki), natural landscapes, and sometimes historical characters or legends!

Ukiyo-e was developed to be more of a fast and commercial type of art, so many drawings we see are actually woodblock prints, so the artist could do many copies of the same art!

I based my Zuko and Azula pieces on the work of Utagawa Kuniyoshi (1798-1861) one of the last ukiyo-e masters in Japan! He has a specific piece which featured a fire demon fighting a lord that fought back with lighting, and that really matched Zuko and Azula's main techniques!”

Toph: Chinese Portraiture from Ming and Qing Dynasties

"Ming Dynasty (1368-1644) was one of the longest in China! It was also a period where lots of artistic evolutions were happening, especially when it comes to use of colour! There was not a predilection for portraits during this time, but there are a lot of pieces depicting idealized women and goddesses from the standards of the time. For this portrait of Toph, I imagined something that maybe their parents commissioned, depicting a soft and delicate Toph which we know is not what she is about ♥️

Qing Dynasty (1644-1912) was the last Chinese Dynasty to reign before the Revolution. One of the most famous emperors of this period was Qianlong, and he really liked Western art! He commissioned a lot of portraits of his subordinates, and I chose a portrait of one of his bodyguards as a reference for the second Toph portrait, which I believe is much more like how she would want to be represented! The poem on top talks about the bodyguards' achievements during a specific war. I had no time to come up with a poem for Toph, so I just used the same one for the composition!”

Sokka and Katara: Inuit Lithograph

"For a long time, Inuit art expressed itself in utilitarian ways. The Nomadic lifestyle of early Inuit tribes played a huge part in that: most art pieces are carved in useful tools, clothing, or children's toys, small and easy to be transported, and depicted scenes and patterns representing their daily lives!

That changed a lot during the colonization. Since the settling of the Inuit tribes, many art pieces began to be created in order to be exported to foreigns, so they started to sculpt bigger and more decorative pieces.

Lithography, which is a type of printmaking, was introduced to Inuit people by James Houston, that learned the technique from the japanese. The art form was quickly embraced by the inuit, as part of the process is very similar to carving. Prints that are produced by inuit artists are still being sold today!

As lithography is not an old art style and it's still commercially relevant to the Inuit communities, since creating these in 2021 I have been donating regularly to the Inuit Art Foundation, not only all the money I get from selling some prints of these but a bit more, at least once a year. Hopefully, I can increase donations this year!”

[johnwickb1tsch]

Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick (AND x Constantine😜) Imagine WIP Part 9

Here we go my lovelies! @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @tammykelly @lilspookymeh @kurai-hono-blog

Wick could have been an asshole about buying a brand new kitchen, sundries included–but instead he merely shrugs off Constantine's hostile question. "Seemed like the least I could do."

Constantine glares, but lets it go, begrudgingly sitting down to a delectable meal cooked by the man he knows, deep down, that you've never been able to forget. 

At Tex's midday administering of magical medicine, he takes your hand after you finish, refusing to let go. "Set with me a while, Rattlesnake." He pats the couch, on which there is no room unless you were to sit in his lap–undoubtedly his hope.

With a sigh and a knowing smirk you settle back in your chair. Your eyes are drawn to the burn upon his chest. He will carry that mark for the rest of his life, even if the magic is lifted.

You think on what Papa Midnite said to Constantine. "Take some big feeling..."

It kind of floors you, to think of the energy it took for Constantine to conjure that working out of thin air.

For you.

You told him a little bit about the boys. How they hurt you–and, how they saved your life. How you loved them, and how they destroyed you in their abandonment. No matter how you framed it, Constantine blamed them for the bullet wound forever seared in your side.

However, it wasn’t so simple as that. 

"Whacha thinking, baby girl?"

You just shake your head with a tired smile. "Nothing important."

"Hmm. You gonna make me guess? Alright. You're thinkin'...bout that time in Mexico it was just you an me and the stars, out by the pool in our birthday suits."

You snort–quite against your will, it turns into a giggle. 

"No..."

"Uh huh. You’re missin' my wicked tongue up between your thighs. I know that look."

"That's enough of that," you say, trying to stand. But he has your hand, and he tugs you so that you fall down to sit on the edge of the couch–and half on him. Your faces hover just centimeters away. You watch with horror a he tries to lean in, capitalizing on the opportunity. By the skin of your teeth, your heart in your throat, you just barely manage to turn your head.

"Didn't you miss me, rattlesnake?" he asks, his deep voice all sultry and low just wrecking you to the bone.

You dare reach up to caress his cheek with the blade of your thumb. "Of course I did. But there’s no going back, Tex. Maybe...that time is behind us." Just saying it hurts like a knife between the ribs, but you go on, “Maybe you and John did the right thing, letting me go.”

He just narrows his dark eyes at hearing that. You hate the way it gives you such a thrill, to the base of your spine, and lower still. “I thought you were mad about that? Hell, I’m still mad about that. I miss you so much I can hardly think straight. There’s just…” He frowns while he says it, but you know it’s just because he’d literally rather take a bullet than talk about his feelings. His grip on your hand tightens; he glares down at your silver rings like they owe him money.  “There ain’t no point to anything, when you’re gone. Do you know what I mean?”

You close your eyes; for a moment you feel as though the floor has dropped out from under you, because you know exactly what he means. You lived it for months after they booted you, drifting from country to country, an empty husk of a woman, a gaping black hole where your heart used to be. Only after moving to LA, thinking about going back to school, and meeting Constantine, did your life start to feel like it had some meaning again. 

“Yeah. I know what you mean,” you answer quietly. “But how did you think this would go? You’d knock on my door, and I’d just uproot my whole life for you again?”

“Maybe?” The confusion on his handsome face is almost cute. You realize he really did think it would be that easy, and you snort, looking away to a framed Tibetan Thangka painting on the wall. This man. As ever, you’re torn between kissing him and killing him. You have to keep reminding yourself that the former option is not even on the table. 

“At least give me some credit. I coulda come in with guns blazin' but instead I brought flowers."

“You want credit?”

“Yeah. I’m practically a changed man. And I wouldn’t mind an apology from Wizard Boy either.”

"You've got to be kidding me." The pair on this man never ceases to amaze you.

"We were just having a little bit of friendly fisticuffs, but he fucked me up pretty good. That’s called unnecessary escalation.”

He would know. 

"Spare me the macho bullshit. There’s no such thing as friendly fisticuffs. You were going to hurt my boyfriend, and you absolutely deserved what he gave you. You’re lucky he got Midnite to lift it."

Only a beat later do you realize you called Constantine your boyfriend within earshot of everyone, which you never do, because you both hate labels and the word just seems too high school for what you actually are to each other–but there’s no going back now. 

“But–”

At last, at last, you are in a position where you don’t have to swallow his gaslighting. “No buts. You can behave yourself, Tex, or you can go. I mean it.” 

Maybe drawn by the sound of your raised voice, Constantine chooses that moment to intervene, appearing at the foot of the couch with a magnificent frown. 

“Well well, if it ain’t The Boy Who Lived.”

You know he’s just making yet another Harry Potter reference, but considering Constantine’s history, this nickname makes you flinch. Maybe it’s a mistake on your part, but you bristle. “Don’t call him that.”

Constantine, however, betrays nothing, just crossing his arms with that blandly judgy expression. “It’s alright, y/n. He loves childrens’ books–a man has to stick to his reading level.” You don't feel like arguing about the complexity of the later books, so you let the arrow fly.

You lift an eyebrow, side-eyeing Tex. “You do know an awful lot about Harry Potter for a grown ass man your age.”

For possibly the first time ever Tex actually looks sheepish. “Had to read something while I was in the shit.”

Tex never really told you much about his tour of duty in the Middle East. Bradford had intimated that it didn’t end well–but you weren’t exactly keen to take everything that asshole had said with any sort of seriousness. The thought of him holed up in a mud hut reading about Hogwarts kind of pulls at your heartstrings for some ridiculous reason. 

“So what you want, Wizard Boy?” demands Tex, insouciantly refusing to let go of your hand, despite you tugging on it.

“I was going to check your chakras for malevolence, but I'm having second thoughts now.”

“Sounds illegal in five states.”

Constantine snorts. “You want me to double check Midnite's handiwork or not? If there's a trace of darkness left it could spread– and you'll be fucked all over again.”

“Not the way I like, I'm guessin’.”

“Probably not. But then again, you seemed to like Desdemona at the club. You want an introduction?” Constantine has a sly look on his handsome face as he asks this. It must be the succubus you'd run off– the thought of Tex in contact with her again makes you vibrate with jealousy. It is sharp, and fierce, and utterly fucking irrational.

You should encourage Tex to find someone else.

Your heart just doesn't agree.

“I'll…leave you two to it,” you say, reluctantly standing to pull away out of Tex's grip.

Only belatedly, after you've retreated to your room, do you realize that maybe Constantine interrupted your tête a tête with Tex for his sake, rather than yours.

***

John Wick whips you all up a beautiful dinner of sauteed meat and vegetables, complimented with a nice bottle of dry red wine that you're sure did not come from Trader Joe's. You play his sous chef, chopping up veggies, and it almost feels like old times in the kitchen, although he never would have given you access to a big sharp knife before. As though you ever would have had the nerve to stab him. 

Tex was another matter.

At first you all sit down to share a semi-awkward meal, peppered with halting silences–until the second bottle of wine comes out, and then things flow more smoothly. It starts with Constantine cracking a joke at Tex's expense, which is surprisingly backed by Wick with a witty aside. Tex responds good naturedly, for once, and you just sit back and watch with a smile, a warm glow in your chest that feels too close to bliss to possibly last.

You help Wick with the dishes, drying as he washes because your dish rack is tiny. “You look tired, sweetheart,” he says after the last plate, bending down to kiss your forehead. You forget. You fucking forget that there are two other people there, one of whom is your current lover, and out of longing and pure habit you tilt your head back for the second staggeringly sweet kiss on your lips that always followed. 

Only a long beat later do you realize what you've done, with Wick's shining dark eyes looking down on you, missing nothing. You gasp like a scandalized school girl, taking a small step back. “You're right,” you agree. “I am tired. Good night, everyone.” You're such a coward you can't even lift your head to look at any of them, though you can feel their eyes upon you as you scurry away.

Once in the sanctuary of your room you collapse on the bed, clutching the coverlet in your claws for hands, so embarrassed by your slip that you could die. You know that Constantine loves you, even if he’s never outright said it, and honestly probably never will–and this is how you repay him. 

You really are a piece of work.

***

After you retreat, a silence falls over the kitchen, the three formidable men eyeing each other like wolves amidst a power struggle, trying to decide who is the weakest link and who is alpha. It’s Constantine who stands without a word, fetching his green glass bottle of Ardbeg single-malt scotch and setting it down in the middle of the table with a thunk. Then he produces three glasses–none matching–and pours out a finger for each. 

“Gentlemen.” He looks between the two assassins seated at his table, a part of him flabbergasted as to how he’d even ended up in this situation. Before he met you, if someone told him someday he would find a woman he loved more than the air he breathed, he would have laughed them out of the room. 

Not now. 

How the mighty are brought low, and pride goeth before a fall, and all that proverbial biblical bullshit that is old as time and yet somehow still applies. Despite all our advances, humans are still essentially the same animal we were when we first left the cave and started walking upright–or when God created Adam out of dirt, whichever you find more believable.  

“I believe we find ourselves at an impasse.”

“How you figure?” asks Tex, knocking back his drink and helping himself to another. 

“Does being in love with the same woman ring a bell?”

Wick smirks, watching the exchange between the two, sipping his scotch sparingly. He does not contradict Constantine’s assessment, but in his succinct way he drives home the finer point. “More importantly, that woman is in love with all of us.”

The thought pulls something like a growl from deep in Constantine’s chest, but in the end he acknowledges, “Exactly.”

Tex smirks, leaning on his elbows. “Don’t be sore, Wizard Boy. Be grateful we broke her in for you.”

Constantine seems to count to ten under his breath, restraining himself from unleashing a curse on this fucking cowboy again. “You’re gonna have to give me pointers on how you manage not to murder him daily,” he says to Wick. 

“I only listen to about half of what he says,” Wick admits with a smirk, a humorous glitter in his dark eyes.

“Good to know. My point is, if I curse you both into the Seventh Circle, it would hurt her. Likewise, if you two were to dig me a shallow grave out in the desert. You hurt her enough the first time. Do you follow?”

Wick nods, grasping Constantine’s train of thought immediately. Tex, however, has to chew on it a little–maybe because he’d hoped, for once, to finally have this girl to himself. 

“You’re saying you don’t mind sharin’,” finally says Tex with a shit-eating grin, leaning back in his chair. 

“Oh, I mind,” Constantine is sure to clarify. “But it’s up to her, if she wants you or not. If she decides she wants you to go–I will make you go. If she wants you to stay…” He spreads his big hands, as though to say, we’ll figure it out. Somehow.  

Tex narrows his eyes, clearly debating if he should pick a fight over the make you go part, or take it as it sits on the table. “And how do you propose we let her know what we decided about this?”

Constantine snorts at that, draining his glass and standing from the table. “That’s your problem, Howdy Doody. Good night–and may the best man win.” The two assassins watch as John Constantine crosses to your bedroom, and practically shuts the door in their faces. 

***

You are drifting on the edge of sleep when Constantine crawls into bed with you. You smile as you feel the familiar pattern of the depression in the mattress, and moan with surprise as he covers your mouth with his. You taste the Ardbeg on his tongue, which explains some of his ardor, but not all. The fury of his kisses on your lips and neck pulls an involuntary moan from deep in your lungs, his big hands digging into the flesh of your thigh, pulling you on top of him. 

“John…?” Utterly star-struck, you blink down at him, disheveled in your pajama t-shirt and your hair a mess. He reaches up to cup your cheek, dwarfing your face in his large hand, studying you like there will be a test later. He opens his mouth like there’s something he wants to say to you, but he can’t quite get it out, the words stuck in his throat. 

You think you know what it is, and your heart warms for it, that tingling thrill filling your chest and spreading outwards. You’re not even mad, that he can’t say it, because you get him. This is not the week you’re going to push him out of his comfort zone, more than you already have. Most of LA would laugh to hear it, but John Constantine has been a veritable fucking saint the past couple of days, and you’re so grateful to him. 

“It’s ok,” you say softly, tracing the line of his square jaw. “I know.” 

He frowns, almost like he wants to argue, but in the end he just shakes his head and pulls you to him.

You want to apologize for almost kissing John Wick right in fucking front of him–but that sticks in your throat too. You guess you’re both just a little raw tonight.

He peels off your t-shirt greedily as he guides you down. Hungry lips and a teasing tongue find the sensitive tips of your breasts, making you squirm with longing above him. You know you’ve already soaked through the laughable barrier of your panties, and are probably leaving an unsightly stain on his nice (200 dollar, he likes to tell you with a smirk) white shirt–but if the Chinese laundry down the street can get out demon blood stains, what’s a little cum?

You let out a cry of longing as he releases your nipple with a pop; the ache between your thighs is already nearly unbearable, and you can't stop yourself from grinding against his lean torso. You shut your mouth as soon as you open it, conscious of the paper thin walls and the two dangerous men on the other side of them.

“You like that, baby?” he taunts, hooking his fingers in your panties to tug them down.

“You know I do,” you pant. 

“Then let me hear you,” he invites with a wicked smirk, shifting down so that you are nearly sitting on his face. You don’t know what was said out there, but you are starting to get the idea that John Constantine is up to something. But before you can even begin to think what to do about it, he pulls you forward with an undeniable grip on your thighs, and his tongue is laving up your slit.

“Fuck.”

This exclamation is not quiet, and neither are the ones after it. You practically shake the walls with your cries when you cum on his tongue, your body rendered into a quivering mess of over-stimulated nerves. He does not grant you mercy, even when you beg him, and by the time he is done with you, you are halfway to your second orgasm.

“Do you want me baby?” he demands, panting from his champion cunnilingus league exertions as he undresses himself. There is a desperation in his tone you’ve never quite heard before, and you have a feeling he’s not just talking about sex.

“I need you,” you tell him, and you mean every word. It wins you every inch of his hard cock buried inside you, and you can’t stop yourself from moaning, as though there is no room for breath in your body when filled with his impressive manhood. He grips you hard enough to bruise, his face buried in the bend of your neck.

He drives himself inside of you, hips pumping with the fury of his need, but he’s prepared you for it. It’s all you can do just to hold on, to the bed, to him, letting him use you exactly the way he wants to, because you know the past couple of days have been anything but easy for him. 

When his thumb finds your clit you think you might die from the overwhelming sensation of it. “No,” you beg, somehow smiling through your exasperation. “Please. Mercy.”

He just pays you that impish curl of lips that always seriously makes you question which side he's playing for. “You can take it,” he informs you. “For me?” The way he pouts down at you while simultaneously rearranging your insides should be illegal.

“Fuck,” you swear again, and he grins down at you, knowing he’s got you in the bag. With your ankles around his ears he slows down for you, but still fills you to the absolute brim, working you in just the rhythm he knows you need with the tip of his too-clever thumb. There is a heart wrenching beauty in making love like this. The two of you have reached an understanding of each other's bodies, a point of familiarity in which you just know, and yet somehow each time is better than the last.

It isn't long before you cum on his cock with a ragged scream that you know there’s no way in hell the boys didn’t hear, yet you cannot stop it, you cannot care, because the man inside you has rendered you into a vessel for this mind-bending pleasure and in this moment, you belong completely to him. His hips snap against yours, and soon he follows with your greedy little cunt fluttering around him, spilling himself inside you with a loud groan.

He collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. You revel in the sticky warmth of his seed seeping between your thighs, his heart a furious drumbeat beneath your ear. “Jesus fucking Christ,” is all you can manage to wheeze against the warmth of his chest.

“Right initials,” he pants, pressing lips to your hair. “Wrong guy.”

Thinking you really might have lost your mind, you start to cackle, and you can’t stop until you literally can’t breathe. You do not even have the energy to clean up, falling asleep in the beautiful mess John made of you, and maybe it’s just you, but even in his sleep John Constantine seems to hold you more tightly than he ever has before.

------------

😬

it's on? 😈😈😈

@sweetwolfcupcake @treedaddymcpuffpuff @tammykelly

[talonabraxas]

Arya Tara Matrix 'Green Tara' Talon Abraxas

Green Tara (English); Shyama Tara (Sanskrit); Drolma (Tibetan); Droljang (Tibetan)

Tara is known as Jetsun Drolma in Tibetan and she is a very important figure in Tibetan Buddhism. She is known as the ‘saviouress’ and is considered the embodiment of the activity of all the Buddhas. In the Tara Tantras, it is said that she was a Bodhisattva disciple of the Buddha of another world system. Her name was Yeshe Dawa and she had deep faith in the Buddha of that world system and made tremendous offerings to him. She went to receive teachings and engaged in deep meditations as well. At one time, she received a special teaching on the development of Bodhicitta – the infinitely compassionate mental state of a Bodhisattva.

[santoschristos]

Clarity and emptiness are inseparably united in the true nature of mind, which is beyond all concepts of existence and non-existence. --Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche

Namaste. Tibetan Thangka painting

[sidewalkchemistry]

Thangkas of White Tara, Guru Rinpoche, Shakyamuni Buddha, and Chenrezig

"...the Peony has long been a deeply significant flower for Chinese culture (cultivated all the way back to 900 BC), and it’s also commonly known to the Chinese as the "Flower of Riches and Honor." It is common to see Peonies in paintings, ceramics and other household items in Asia.

Aside from the Lotus flower it is one of the most common flowers painted as a sacred offering flower in thangkas, or Tibetan paintings. It is commonly seen in Chinese, Korean and Japanese art as well."

[mahgnib]

Carmen Mensink, “Flying Goddess Playing the Lute”, 2015, in the style of Tibetan thangka scroll painting.

[lahija-del-molinero]

Thangka painting depicting The Dakini Vajravarahi (Do rje pag mo) Tibetan, 19th century

Tibetan School

[hindulivesmatter]

I was browsing on internet looking at bodhisattva tara painting from nepal and tibet. I mistakingly the painting of parvati and shiva as bodhisattva tara and avalokitesvara. Even in tibetan thangka i mistakingly see saraswati as bodhisattva tara just because both of them have white skin

Their paintings and sculptures are always so pretty aahhhhhh.

I recently went to Sikkim last year, and we visited multiple monasteries and I think it was my favorite part of the whole trip. The colors, the incense, the serenity. Love it all.

[poligraf]

« Mahakala, Protector of the Tent » (Unknown Artist)

[honestfield]

yesterday, as I was taking a tram I looked through the window and noticed a billboard (actually, THE billboard in the heart of the city center) in the midst of an ad-switching spectacle. the emerging ad folded at the top with a delicate hesitation of an origami swan, resembled an element of a Tibetan buddhist Thangka SO!!!, i leapt off the tram and quickly hopped on another one to revisit the scene and take a picture. upon my return, just one stop later,, the billboard had undergone the full transformation, now flaunting the face of our terrestrial bodhisattva timothée chalamet gazing down at me. oh buddha you’re my favourite

(thangka fun fact: the fabric draped over the top of the Thangka serves a practical function during travel—acting as a protective layer, keeping the thangka safe from paint abrasion etc!! This allowes the Thangka to be conveniently rolled up like a spring roll yaaay But!! if the painting is depicting any dangerous deity then the curtain is kept lowered at all times-this ensures that only those prepared to confront them may do so respecting the spiritual significance of the depictions.))

X, wandzia

[preeti2345]

Exploring McLeod Ganj: The Heart of Tibetan Culture in India

Nestled in the picturesque Dhauladhar range of the Himalayas, McLeod Ganj is a charming hill station in the Indian state of Himachal Pradesh. Known as "Little Lhasa" due to its large Tibetan population and being the residence of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama, this quaint town is a blend of Tibetan and Indian cultures. With its serene monasteries, vibrant bazaars, and breathtaking landscapes, McLeod Ganj offers a unique experience for every traveler. Here’s a comprehensive guide to exploring McLeod Ganj from Delhi.

Getting to McLeod Ganj

McLeod Ganj is well connected by road, rail, and air. The nearest airport is Kangra Airport, about 20 kilometers away. From there, you can hire a taxi or take a bus to reach McLeod Ganj. The nearest railway station is Pathankot, about 90 kilometers away, and regular buses and taxis are available from there. If you prefer a road trip, McLeod Ganj is well connected by a network of highways from major cities like Delhi and Chandigarh.

Best Time to Visit

The best time to visit McLeod Ganj is from March to June and September to November. During these months, the weather is pleasant and perfect for sightseeing and outdoor activities. The monsoon season (July to August) sees heavy rainfall, which might hamper travel plans, while winters (December to February) can be quite cold, with occasional snowfall.

Top Attractions in McLeod Ganj

Tsuglagkhang Complex

The Tsuglagkhang Complex is the official residence of the Dalai Lama. It houses the Namgyal Monastery, Tibet Museum, and the main temple. The complex is a spiritual center and a must-visit for those seeking peace and enlightenment.

Bhagsunag Waterfall

Located about 2 kilometers from McLeod Ganj, the Bhagsunag Waterfall is a popular spot for nature lovers. The cascading waters and surrounding lush greenery provide a perfect backdrop for photography and picnics.

Dal Lake

This small yet serene lake is surrounded by deodar trees and offers a peaceful retreat from the hustle and bustle of town life. A stroll around the lake or a paddleboat ride can be very refreshing.

Triund Trek

The Triund Trek is a must-do for adventure enthusiasts. This moderately challenging trek offers stunning views of the Dhauladhar range and the Kangra valley. The trek can be completed in a day, but many prefer to camp overnight to enjoy the starry skies.

Namgyal Monastery

As the personal monastery of the Dalai Lama, Namgyal Monastery is a spiritual haven. Visitors can observe monks in prayer, participate in meditation sessions, and soak in the tranquil atmosphere.

Tibetan Culture and Cuisine

McLeod Ganj is a melting pot of Tibetan culture. The bustling markets are filled with Tibetan handicrafts, thangka paintings, and traditional jewelry. Don’t miss the chance to savor Tibetan cuisine at the local eateries. Momos (dumplings), thukpa (noodle soup), and butter tea are some of the must-try dishes. Nick’s Italian Kitchen and Tibet Kitchen are popular spots offering a mix of Tibetan and international cuisines.

Accommodation

McLeod Ganj offers a range of accommodation options to suit every budget. From luxury hotels like Fortune Park Moksha to budget-friendly guesthouses and homestays, there’s something for everyone. Consider staying at a Tibetan-run guesthouse for a more authentic experience.

Yoga and Meditation Retreats

For those looking to rejuvenate their mind and body, McLeod Ganj is home to several yoga and meditation centers. Tushita Meditation Centre offers courses in Buddhist meditation, while the Himalayan Iyengar Yoga Centre provides yoga classes and workshops. These retreats offer a serene environment for self-discovery and relaxation.

Volunteering Opportunities

McLeod Ganj is also a hub for volunteer activities. Several NGOs and organizations offer opportunities to teach English, work in healthcare, or assist with community development projects. Volunteering is a great way to give back to the community and immerse yourself in local culture.

Shopping in McLeod Ganj

The main market in McLeod Ganj is a shopper’s paradise. From Tibetan artifacts and souvenirs to books on Buddhism and spiritualism, there’s plenty to explore. The Tibetan Mini Market and Kotwali Bazaar are popular spots to pick up unique items. Don’t forget to bargain to get the best deals.

Sustainable Travel Tips

Respect Local Customs: Always be respectful of local customs and traditions, especially when visiting monasteries and religious sites.

Reduce Plastic Use: Carry a reusable water bottle and avoid single-use plastics to help keep the environment clean.

Support Local Businesses: Shop and dine at local businesses to support the community and get an authentic experience.

Leave No Trace: Follow the principle of leaving no trace by cleaning up after yourself and not disturbing the natural habitat.

Conclusion

McLeod Ganj is a destination that offers a perfect blend of spirituality, culture, and natural beauty. Whether you’re seeking adventure, tranquility, or a cultural immersion, this charming hill station has something for everyone. Plan your visit to McLeod Ganj and embark on a journey of discovery and peace.

[jadeseadragon]

🖌🎨 Ang Tsherin Sherpa (Nepalese-born 🇳🇵🇺🇸 American)

"Born in Kathmandu, Nepal in 1968, Tsherin Sherpa currently works and resides between California, USA and Nepal. From the age of 12, he studied traditional Tibetan thangka painting with his father Master Urgen Dorje.

In 1998, Sherpa immigrated to California, where he taught traditional thangka painting at various Buddhist Centers until he began to explore his own style-reimagining tantric motifs, symbols, colors and gestures placed in resolutely contemporary compositions."

[tsherinsherpa.com]

[quiltingwitch]

Shades of Alice by Faith Ringgold

From the Museum of Art and Design, NYC:

“Faith Ringgold is from a family of women who sew, including her mother's great-grandmother Susie Shannon, who was a quilter enslaved in antebellum Florida. Ringgold trained as a painter in the Western European tradition, and in the 1960s, as she became increasingly involved in civil rights activism, her artwork tackled the subjects of racial exclusion and violence in the US. Desiring her art to reflect her background, in the 1970s she began painting on unstretched canvases framed in sewn textiles inspired by Tibetan thangkas.

In 1980, in collaboration with her mother, she made her first story quilt, combining text, canvas, and figurative painting to portray the human experience, primarily through the lens of Black American history.

Representative of the children's stories Ringgold writes and paints, the quilt seen here is a revision of Alice in Wonderland, in which Alice is Black and Wonderland is an inner city populated by mice who are "wild about Michel Jackson." The story's text appears in rectangular blocks at the top and bottom of the quilt.”