I don’t know if I can have children: How a Buddhist master in Bhutan changed my perspective

My right hand spins the golden prayer wheels outside the temple in a series of slow, intentional movements as I shift my shoulders slightly to adjust the weight on my back. Think hopeful thoughts, I remind myself with every step around the temple complex in Bhutan’s Punakha District, while also wondering how I appear to the other visitors with a wooden phallus, larger than my torso, strapped to my back.

“You’ll need to carry this phallus around the temple like a baby,” my Druk Asia guide Yuden Tenzin had explained inside, translating the instructions of the maroon-robed lama (monk). The straps sit comfortably on my shoulders like the straps of the many backpacks I’ve carried on adventure travels around the world—although to anyone observing me for the first time performing this ritual, I perhaps don’t look like someone who’s hiked around New Zealand, snowshoed past Greenland’s glaciers, or cycled though mountain trails in Switzerland.

My thoughts flit from ‘What am I doing?’ to ‘I must really want this’ to ‘Do I look… desperate?’
It’s obvious to my tour group why I’m performing the ritual. We’re at Chimi Lhakhang, a 15th-century Buddhist temple devoted to the maverick saint Lama Drukpa Kuenley whose unorthodox beliefs and teachings earned him the nickname the ‘Divine Madman’. This is Bhutan’s famous temple of fertility, where childless couples come to pray for a child.

For most of my adult life, I’ve struggled with the idea of religion, despite having faith in a higher power. Unlike my more religious husband, I do not visit temples to pray, touch the feet of holy men, or bow my head in prayer every day before the idols that sit in the marble shrine in our home. Like him, I was raised a Hindu, but my family wasn’t religious. At 20, after the sudden passing of my mother and older sister, my interest in matters of religion disappeared in an abyss of all-consuming grief.

While my husband and I have not come here as pilgrims, we can’t deny that a tiny flicker of hope had risen in our hearts when we saw our Bhutan itinerary included a visit to the temple. It couldn’t hurt to get a blessing, we’d reasoned. And after a year of dealing with unexplained infertility, we need all the divine help we can get.

According to legends, the Divine Madman used his phallus, known as the ‘Thunderbolt of Flaming Wisdom’, to subdue demons, demonesses, and evil spirits. In fact, around Bhutan, you’ll see colorful murals of phalluses, winged or adorned with designs, painted outside of homes as symbols of fertility and protection.

Surely, as a supremely enlightened Buddhist master, he had seen through my façade and recognized me for the non-believer I feared I was. Do blessings and rituals work on those who didn’t know what faith was?

So, while my husband waits in the temple’s courtyard as instructed, I follow Yuden inside where the smell of burning incense and butter lamps fill the air. With the three-foot wooden phallus, a symbol of the Divine Madman’s blessing, on my back, I’m asked by the head monk to make three circumambulations around the temple, while praying and thinking positive thoughts. Inside, other women stand before a statue of Lama Drukpa Kuenley, waiting their turn, eyes shut and hands clasped in prayer.

Looking down at my feet, I desperately search the depths of my being for faith. How will I know what that felt like, as someone who has largely failed to connect with religious rituals and traditions?

We’re traveling around Bhutan on a Neykor (spiritual) trip with His Eminence (H.E.) Khedrupchen Rinpoche, a revered Buddhist master. Earlier, when we’d arrived at the temple, he’d asked me, with a hint of surprise, “You’ll be doing the ritual? Really?”

I was convinced he, as a supremely enlightened Buddhist master, had seen through my façade, recognizing me for the non-believer I feared I was. Do blessings and rituals work on those who didn’t know what faith is? I’d wondered.

But now, it’s out in the open: My desire to have a child and my ‘failure’ at it. I feel naked and vulnerable, the strong image I usually project to the world ripped apart. Over lunch that day, H.E. Khedrupchen Rinpoche had said, “The Divine Madman transcended the boundary of shame and no shame. The phallus represents the uncovered nature of the true self. At least try to be naked in your mind for yourself.”

Echoing in my head, his words begin to replace my shame with self-acceptance.

I join my hands, bow my head for the lama to give me his blessing, and try to believe in its effectiveness. After a year of meeting fertility specialists, obsessively tracking ovulation, switching between supposedly fertility-boosting meal plans, emotional breakdowns, and psychotherapy sessions, here I am learning to submit to the idea that my husband and I aren’t in charge. A higher power is, and somehow, things might just go as we hope if we simply surrender.

What if this were the blessing that works, I think, the one part in the machinery of events that would now be set into motion by this ritual performed, even by a non-believer like me?

“You’ll be blessed with a girl,” Yuden translates for the monk after I pick a note from a wad of traditional names presented to me, supposed to indicate the gender of the baby I’ll be blessed with. Before I step out, I leaf through the pages of an album with photos of rosy-cheeked babies and smiling parents whose prayers had been answered after visiting the temple.

Later that day, after the sun dips below the horizon, leaving slivers of fog in the moonlit valley, we sit cross-legged in a quiet room at Zhingkham Resort in Punakha. Through the wood-framed windows, the fortress of Punakha Dzong, which houses courtyards, temples, and monks’ quarters, cuts a resplendent sight flanked by shadowy Himalayan peaks.

In a soothing voice, H.E. Khedrupchen Rinpoche begins to lead us into meditation. Am I doing this right? I think.

“Let the thoughts pass, what matters is awareness,” he tells us, so I let the question linger until it passes. With my eyes shut, I begin to feel weightless, like a leaf on a branch swaying in the valley breeze. Later, he explains how this state of awareness—of simply recognizing and acknowledging our feelings and emotions—can help us break free from the paralyzing, tormenting power they wield over us.

Prayer wheels, each containing a scroll of mantras (religious texts), are spun clockwise to accumulate good karma (merit) and bring enlightenment to all sentient beings … I spin and spin, hoping that some of this good karma might offset any demerits I’d accumulated from being unreligious.

Bhutan’s deep-rooted spirituality reverberates through its glacial valleys, dense forests, and hilltop villages, a verdant landscape punctuated by over 2,000 lhakhangs (temples), goenpas (monasteries), and chortens (shrines) that stand guardian-like at high mountain passes, river crossings, hillsides, and bridges.

Some date as far back as the 7th century, when Vajrayana Buddhism, also known as Tibetan Buddhism, was introduced in Bhutan. Legend has it that the Tibetan King Songtsen Gampo built 108 temples around the Himalayas in a single day to defeat a demoness who wreaked havoc and prevented the spread of Buddhism in the region.

Inside their whitewashed walls, under red, blue, and yellow silk banners, stand large statues of the Buddha, Guru Rinpoche, who introduced Tantric Buddhism to Bhutan; Zhabdrung Ngawang Namgyel, the founder of Bhutan who unified the country; and other lamas and deities. Paintings on the walls tell stories of powerful deities and demons, and the air is thick with Himalayan incense and the resonance of prayers.

After a few days, I begin to recognize the bodhisattvas (deities on the path to enlightenment). Seated on a blooming lotus is the compassionate White Tara with her third eye on her forehead—she brings long life, peace, prosperity, and good health. A wrathful figure surrounded by a halo of flames, Vajrapani, the bodhisattva of power, wears a crown and a tiger hide loincloth. He sends chills down my spine. He embodies strength, vitality, and courage.

“Actually, there are no gods in Buddhism,” H. E. Khedrupchen Rinpoche says over dinner one evening, explaining that the deities are manifestations of various consciousnesses, and their physical representation in paintings and sculptures are an influence of Hinduism. “The true nature of your mind is divine,” he adds, suggesting that praying to them or the Buddha means bowing to your own divine mind.

At precarious cliff edges, on hiking trails, and above high mountain roads, colorful prayer flags flutter in the breeze. After sensing our situation, and perhaps our disappointment, our guide Yuden leads me by the hand to a spot a few meters away, close to Chele La Pass, 3,988 meters above sea level, and Bhutan’s highest motorable road. There, with the heartfelt concern of a friend, he helps my husband and I tie a string of prayer flags to tree branches. “It must be a windy spot,” he insists, adding, “You are blessed.”

Prayer wheels, each containing a scroll of mantras (religious texts), are spun clockwise to accumulate good karma (merit) and bring enlightenment to all sentient beings. I too circumambulate and spin every prayer wheel I see—at Kyichu Lhakhang in Paro, Bhutan’s oldest temple; at Chele La Pass; and on the trail while hiking to Paro Taktsang, the clifftop monastery also known as Tiger’s Nest. I spin and spin, hoping that some of this good karma might offset any demerits I’d accumulated from being ‘unreligious’.

On our last evening with H.E. Khedrupchen Rinpoche, humility washes over me as I bow my head before him to ask for a blessing. It’s only a few days since we’d met the 34-year-old spiritual teacher who had renounced his vows and described himself as “a yogi, not a monk”.

Already, I’d heard him admit that he’d once stood at Paro International Airport surrounded by airport officials, having just missed a flight to Delhi for a work commitment, burping beer after a late night with friends, much to his embarrassment. I’d also watched him drop witty one-liners and enthusiastically air-guitar to the beats of a song playing on the bus, asking me, “Do you have the lyrics so we can sing together?”

On our journey from the Phobjikha Valley to Paro, our days with H.E. Khedrupchen Rinpoche feel like a montage of meditation sessions, insightful talks about Buddhist teachings, and candid discussions of our life journeys. Just as effortlessly as he’d become a friend to us, he slips into the role of a spiritual master, whose ancient wisdom has the power to transform lives. Recognized as the fifth reincarnation of great spiritual master Kyabgon Monla Khedrup Jigme Kundrol, he is the founder and president of a non-profit religious organization; Supreme Head of Rephel Mebar Lhakhang, a historically significant 1,200-year old temple in Trongsa; and founder and spiritual director of Sangchen Ogyen Tsuklag Monastery in Trongsa and Phajo Gonpa Gomde, a yogi retreat center.

The lessons from Bhutan have culminated in small habits that add up, such as daily meditation, breathwork, practicing gratitude, showing compassion through meaningful acts, being aware of my emotions and mindful of my words.

Delivered in the crisp, cool air lakeside or over casual tea breaks, his teachings about karmic debt, ignorance, soul advancement, and the manifestation of various consciousnesses are profound, yet easy to wrap my head around. Explaining the Wheel of Life—the cycle of birth and rebirth in samsara (suffering), depicted on temple walls and in traditional thangka art around Bhutan—he draws our attention to the forces of desire, anger, and ignorance, and how they affect our karma (actions) across multiple lifetimes, and keep us entrapped, away from nirvana (enlightenment).

“Awareness,” he says, “is a step outside of these entrapments.” In the days to come, I remind myself of this, seeking comfort in the idea that my desire to give birth to a child is a tiny part in the totality of my existence. That perhaps I can free myself from being too attached to the outcome.

Unexpectedly, his teachings feel like truths that had been hiding in plain sight. He’s a spiritual master I could bow down to, someone who did not take himself too seriously, and can admit to being a flawed and imperfect human, like the rest of us. That got me thinking, Is self-acceptance the prerequisite to be able to develop true faith?

Four months on, there are still moments of despair, most often with the monthly appearance of my period, when my tracker doesn’t detect ovulation, or when I’m referred to yet another specialist who might be able to help with a problem that hasn’t yet been diagnosed. But my mind now knows how to practice awareness rather than get swept away by sadness or disappointment. And that’s empowering.

The lessons from Bhutan have culminated in small habits that add up, such as daily meditation, breathwork, practicing gratitude, showing compassion through meaningful acts, being aware of my emotions, and mindful of my words. These days, I am unapologetic about working less, and instead, take the time to explore new paths to inner calm, whether that’s through regular sound healing sessions or hypnotherapy—things I’d have once described as ‘woo woo’.

While my situation hasn’t changed, my perspective has. I now understand that the cards I’ve been dealt are exactly what I need and can handle in this season of my life. Maybe someday, I will birth a child. And if that doesn’t happen, there will be something else that will reveal itself as the catalyst that pushes my soul forth on its destined path.

Faith might be the fortitude that develops from the belief that even if you never get what you desire, you will certainly get what’s right for you. These days, the holes in the fabric of my imperfect faith are fewer and far between. Soft and comforting, I wrap it around myself like a cherished, well-worn blanket.

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The writer traveled as a guest of  Bhutan specialists Druk Asia who offer spiritually immersive 11-day Neykor journeys around Bhutan with His Eminence Khedrupchen Rinpoche on an itinerary that covers Paro, Bumthang, Trongsa, Gangtey, Punakha, and the Tiger’s Nest Hike.

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