Tibet: A Civilization Above the Clouds
Understanding Tibet
Tibet was one of the places in the world I approached with the greatest curiosity.
For years, it had existed in my mind as separate pieces: the Himalayas, Tibetan Buddhism, the Dalai Lama, the Potala Palace, prayer flags, monks in crimson robes, questions about history, China, religion, identity and a way of life shaped at one of the highest inhabited places on Earth.
I knew some of its history. Still, I had the feeling that I knew many dots without fully understanding how they connected.
The flight from Beijing to Lhasa took about four hours, crossing a vast part of China from east to west. The landscape beneath me gradually changed until mountains seemed to fill the horizon. Lhasa lies at almost 12,000 feet above sea level, in a river valley north of the Himalayas.
The Tibetan Plateau extends across a vast area of western China and into neighboring countries. It is a geographical region, distinct from the Tibet Autonomous Region, which is part of China. Much of it rises above 12,000 feet, with the Himalayas forming its great southern wall. Mount Everest, at 29,032 feet, rises on the Tibet and Nepal border, and several of the highest mountains on Earth belong to the same Himalayan system.
The Tibet Autonomous Region occupies the southern part of the plateau, with Lhasa as its capital. It is sparsely populated in relation to its vast territory, with about 3.65 million people.
I had crossed China geographically, and I was about to enter a world that felt culturally distinct from everything I had experienced in Beijing.
My first welcome was a khata, the traditional white ceremonial scarf offered as a gesture of goodwill, respect and auspicious wishes. It was a simple gesture that immediately placed me inside a culture whose symbols and rituals I was only beginning to understand.
Lhasa municipality, the regional capital and largest urban center, had approximately 868,000 residents, although that number includes a large municipal area extending well beyond the urban center.
Historically, much of the population lived in farming communities, villages, monasteries and pastoral areas across the plateau. In the highest grasslands, herding has shaped life for centuries. Yak, sheep and goats can survive conditions in which agriculture becomes difficult, and forms of pastoral and seasonal migration developed around grazing, weather and altitude.
The Tibetan language is an essential part of Tibet’s cultural identity. Tibetan belongs to the Tibetic branch of the broader Sino-Tibetan language family and exists in several regional varieties, including central, eastern and western forms. The language has its own writing system and a literary tradition closely connected to Buddhist scholarship.
In Lhasa, I saw Tibetan and Mandarin written side by side on signs throughout the city.
The geography helps explain why a distinctive civilization developed here. Distance, altitude, mountains and climate created physical separation, while Buddhism became increasingly woven into Tibetan philosophy, education, art, architecture and daily life.
In the seventh century, a powerful Tibetan Empire emerged here. In later centuries, relationships with Mongol rulers, Chinese dynasties and neighboring states changed repeatedly, while institutions of Tibetan Buddhism grew in influence.
From the seventeenth century, successive Dalai Lamas held major religious authority and, for substantial periods, political authority as well.
In Tibetan Buddhist tradition, the Dalai Lama is regarded as a manifestation of the bodhisattva of compassion, and each successive Dalai Lama is believed to be the reincarnation of his predecessor.
After the Dalai Lama dies, religious authorities traditionally search for a child believed to be his reincarnation.
Another important spiritual figure is the Panchen Lama, whose lineage has historically played a role in recognizing and educating successive Dalai Lamas.
The recognition of these spiritual leaders is rooted in centuries of Tibetan Buddhist tradition, while the Chinese government also asserts authority over the process, making their succession a subject of disagreement.
The twentieth century changed Tibet profoundly. In 1950, military forces of the newly established People’s Republic of China entered eastern Tibet.
An agreement between representatives of Tibet and the central Chinese government followed in 1951, though the circumstances and interpretation of that agreement remain contested.
Following an uprising in Lhasa in 1959, the Fourteenth Dalai Lama fled to India. Today, Tibet is part of China, officially designated as the Tibet Autonomous Region.
Chinese government narratives and Tibetan exile narratives interpret important parts of this history very differently.
Those facts matter, but once I arrived, Tibet stopped being a collection of facts. It became people.
Lhasa: A City of Living Traditions
Lhasa has been a center of Tibetan political, cultural and religious life for centuries. Its name is commonly translated as “place of the gods” or “holy place.” The city sits in the Lhasa River valley, surrounded by mountains, under a vast blue sky that seems even larger at that altitude.
Several of the places most closely associated with Tibetan Buddhism are concentrated here. Jokhang Temple stands in the old city, encircled by Barkhor Street. The Potala Palace rises dramatically above Lhasa on Red Mountain. Sera Monastery lies farther north near the foothills.
Once I understood where these places were in relation to one another, I also began to understand that each represented a different part of Tibetan life.
Everywhere I went, there were large numbers of local people. I rarely had the sensation of entering a historical monument that existed primarily for visitors. People were praying, walking sacred routes, turning prayer wheels, climbing through the Potala Palace, carrying children, accompanying elderly relatives, visiting monasteries, studying, talking and moving through these places as part of their own daily lives.
Barkhor Street and Jokhang Temple: Where Faith Becomes a Way of Life
One afternoon I went to Barkhor Street expecting to see one of the oldest areas of Lhasa and its bazaars. Instead, I became fascinated by the people.
Jokhang Temple dates to the seventh century and is regarded as one of the most sacred temples in Tibetan Buddhism.
The historic Barkhor Street forms a walking route around the temple.
Hundreds of people were walking clockwise along this route, performing the kora, a traditional Buddhist practice known as circumambulation, in which worshippers walk around a holy site as an expression of devotion.
I began walking with them.
Some held prayer beads, moving them slowly through their fingers, others carried small prayer wheels, turning them as they walked and mantras were repeated quietly.
People stopped to pray. Some performed full body prostrations, bringing their hands together above their heads, lowering themselves completely to the ground, stretching forward, rising, taking several steps and beginning again.
The shops remained open, vendors were selling their goods, families walked together, conversations continued and children moved through the crowd.
Life was happening everywhere and prayer was happening right in the middle of it.
I had often thought of prayer as something for which we deliberately stop. We become quiet, create space, close our eyes and pray. Around Jokhang Temple I saw another possibility.
Prayer had become part of walking, part of breathing, part of everyday life.
The longer I walked with everyone else, the less I felt that I was standing outside the experience observing it. I was moving in the same direction, following the same circle, surrounded by the sound of prayer and the steady rhythm of people walking.
There was wonder, then reverence, then a deep sense of presence.
Yesterday seemed very far away. Tomorrow did too. There was simply that street, that circle, those people and the next step. For a while, I felt completely held by the moment.
The Potala Palace: A Monument to Tibet’s Spiritual Heritage
The Potala Palace dominates Lhasa from Red Mountain at about 12,000 feet above sea level.
Its history goes back to the seventh century, while much of the enormous structure visible today was developed beginning in the seventeenth century.
The palace complex consists of two principal sections: the White Palace which served primarily as the Dalai Lama’s residence and administrative center, and the Red Palace, devoted mainly to religious ceremonies, chapels and sacred shrines.
Together, they formed the winter residence of successive Dalai Lamas and served as a center of Tibetan religious and political administration.
Today the Potala Palace, together with Jokhang Temple and Norbulingka, forms a UNESCO World Heritage property.
Nothing quite prepares you for the physical presence of Potala Palace. Climbing through it meant ascending more than a thousand steps while my body was still adapting to the altitude. Breathing demanded attention and every staircase seemed to reveal another staircase.
Inside the palace, the physical effort disappeared into something much larger.
There were extraordinary colors, murals, painted scrolls, sculptures, manuscripts, textiles and gilded stupas containing the remains of former Dalai Lamas.
UNESCO records hundreds of murals and thousands of painted scrolls within the complex.
My guide explained one detail after another, the symbolism, the history and the meaning behind what I was seeing, until I reached a point where I simply could not take everything in.
I was so enveloped in the experience, mesmerized by everything around me, with every sense seemingly heightened by the extraordinary richness of what I was witnessing.
I remember the intensity of the colors, the smell of incense, the monks quietly polishing and caring for the palace, and the Tibetan men and women moving through the rooms in deep prayer and devotion.
The Potala Palace was filled with history, and still it felt profoundly alive.
Standing there, surrounded by incense, prayer, color and centuries of accumulated meaning, I understood that the Tibet I had come to learn about was not simply preserved inside an extraordinary palace.
It was alive all around me.
There was also a certain humility in realizing how little I understood. Every object seemed to lead toward another story, another symbol, another century, another layer of Buddhist thought.
Sera Monastery: Where Learning Meets Debate
Sera Monastery introduced me to another dimension of Tibetan Buddhism: its intellectual tradition.
Founded in 1419, Sera became one of Tibet’s great monastic universities. Tibetan monasteries historically served as far more than places of worship. They were communities of religious practice, education and scholarship where monks studied Buddhist texts, memorized teachings, participated in rituals and trained in philosophy and logic.
I watched one of Sera’s best known traditions, monastic debate.
One monk sat while another stood before him, posing questions with dramatic gestures and a forceful clap of the hands. Answers were examined, reasoning was tested and contradictions were challenged. The movement and sound created tremendous energy, yet underneath it was a disciplined method of learning.
They were studying Buddhist philosophy. I found myself fascinated by the method.
What happens when what you believe must withstand a question?
There is something compelling in an educational tradition that is centuries old and that places questioning at the center of learning.
We naturally become attached to what we know, especially once an idea has become part of how we understand the world.
Sera Monastery offered me another possibility. Give an idea enough room to be questioned, and understanding can grow deeper.
That thought has remained with me far beyond Tibet.
A Yoga Class in Mandarin: Finding Connection Beyond Language
One of my most intimate memories of Tibet happened in an ordinary yoga room.
I attended a Tibetan yoga class on a Friday evening in Lhasa. The room was full, and I was the only foreigner.
Before class, the instructor came to explain that she would teach entirely in Mandarin. The practice included meditation, visualization and work with the chakras. Yoga is part of my regular life, so I told her that I was excited to experience the class exactly as it was and that I would follow the flow.
She smiled.
“I cannot teach the class in two languages, but I will say some words in English for you.”
She did.
Every now and then, among all the Mandarin, I would suddenly hear several English words meant only for me.
That alone touched me.
What happened afterward stayed with me even more.
Besides the instructor, nobody in the room spoke English. As everyone began leaving, I found myself making eye contact with one person after another. People came close and smiled. I smiled back. I could feel curiosity, warmth and welcome.
For several minutes, an entire conversation happened without a single word.
The moment carried even greater meaning because of the week that had brought me there.
Exactly one week earlier, the night before leaving home, I had spent nine hours in an emergency room. Since then, I had flown across the world, arrived in Beijing, climbed the Great Wall, flown to Tibet, experienced altitude sickness and that same day climbed more than a thousand steps through the Potala Palace.
By evening my mind was telling me to stay in my room and rest. My body was telling me something else.
Yoga felt like exactly what it needed.
I listened.
By the end of class I was quiet, open and completely present. Then came those smiles, one after another, and the simple warmth between people who shared almost no language filled me with an extraordinary joy.
I walked outside feeling almost as though I were levitating.
Even now, that experience is difficult to explain because so little of it had to do with words.
It became one of those experiences I think of as a soul memory.
What Tibet Left With Me: A Journey Beyond Geography
Tibet had occupied a place in my imagination for years, and the more I learned during my days there, the more I became aware of how much remained beyond my understanding. Its history, religion, culture and relationship with modern China carry layers of complexity that deserve curiosity, humility and a willingness to keep learning.
I thought often about what it means for a culture to remain alive. Tibetan identity was everywhere around me, in the language, clothing, architecture, monasteries, prayer, rituals and the rhythm of daily life. Roads, hotels, shops and modern technology existed alongside religious traditions practiced for centuries.
The people walking around Jokhang Temple, the monks debating philosophy at Sera, the Tibetan families moving through the Potala Palace were living expressions of a culture whose history continues into the present.
Those experiences also made the questions surrounding Tibet's future more human.
Cultural identity lives through language, family, memory, faith and the practices passed from one generation to another. Modernization brings change, while the continuity of a culture depends on the people who carry it forward.
Watching Tibetan life unfold around me gave those questions a meaning that history books and political discussions alone could never provide.
When I left Lhasa for Chengdu, the high, dry plateau gradually gave way to the green, humid landscape of Sichuan. Within a short flight, I was entering another world, another expression of China's extraordinary geographical and cultural diversity. I remember looking out and thinking about everything I had experienced during those days in Tibet.
I had arrived with fragments of knowledge, eager to connect them. Now they had become experiences I could feel and remember. Buddhism had the faces of people walking beside me around Jokhang Temple.
The Potala Palace carried the smell of incense, the intensity of its colors and the devotion of the people moving through its rooms.
Philosophy had the sound of monks clapping their hands at Sera.
Human connection had the warmth of women smiling at me after a yoga class in a language I did not understand.
Tibet remains with me in the faces, the prayers, the mountains, the smiles and that extraordinary feeling of being completely present among people whose world I had traveled so far to encounter.
What I will remember most clearly is how Tibet made me feel: physically humbled, intellectually curious, spiritually open and deeply aware that understanding a place begins only when the ideas we carry finally meet the lives being lived there.
For years, Tibet had lived in my imagination. Now it lives in my memory, in my senses, in my heart, my soul and in the part of me that will always carry the wonder of having been there.
Travel by Design, Not by Default.
Until the next horizon,
Coach • Traveler • Believer in Intentional Living
