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One Collector's Story: A Metallic Love Obsession

I entered the world of collecting at approximately age five, when I found myself roaming my aunt's house picking up knickknacks.  Later I amassed a fine collection of marbles of various colors and designs, some, rare "cat eyes."  At approximately age eight, I began visiting my cousin routinely  because she lived across the street from a store with a machine that sold trinkets for a quarter.  I kept many trinkets in my cigar box.  As I reached the age of womanhood, I began my pop bead collection which, when attached properly together, stretched out for miles and included pearl scent pink and ivory plastic beads.   As an adult, my main collections were of paperweights, mutual funds  and dot com names. 


Now, since my most recent pilgrimage to sacred Tibet, a sea change has occurred in my collecting preferences.  It started in Kathmandu.  As fate would have it, a celestial being befriended me and bestowed upon me a most lovely, unique and valuable dorje thog.  After that first exposure to thogchag ownership, I found myself wandering around the antique shops, unconsciously looking for something that would really excite me.  Then, I saw another one:  A Thogchag!  It was a smooth, gleaming, oblong conch.  I related to it instantly! But the dealer wanted $400 and  I didn't buy it. 

In retrospect, I realize these early Kathmandu experiences were  the genesis of a metallic love obsession that was to be even further energized a week later in Lhasa.  They were so cute, these little treasures, so varied in subject, patina, wear and metal content!  It was such fun wondering which ones were real and which were fakes!  Did I get a great deal or was I robbed?  They also told a fascinating, albeit disjointed,  story about Tibet, they absolutely
radiated energy, AND,  they fit in my waist pack!


Now, at home in Boise, especially when I find myself missing Tibet, I often take my growing collection of thogs out of  their little box.  I place them on the bed near me, admire them and  polish them lovingly with a soft cloth.  I fantasize and wonder:  who, or what,  carried or wore them, enjoyed them.   Perhaps a handsome nomad; perhaps a gentle yak.  Sometimes I string them on red or rainbow colored string.   I wear them and hang them on just about anything and everything.  I rub them  frequently for good health and long life. 


So, this is my life, life in the Thogchag Preta Realm.    Desire, passion, obsession, always wanting more…    I may never get out; at least not in this lifetime!   But, what to do?

(Next month (okay, century): "My Life in the Rehab Center")