Big Ten towns always hold unexpected, memorable treats for the visitor willing to seek them out.
I’ll never forget my first visit to the University of Nebraska State Museum’s Elephant Hall, where a collection of eight complete mastodon skeletons — unlike anything else in the world — displays the history of elephant evolution.
At the University of Wisconsin Arboretum, I was captivated by the more subtle dreamlike charms of Longenecker Gardens, where I was briefly propelled into a reverie born of the scent, color and motion from a spring storm of millions of white and pink crab apple flower petals.
During my recent visit to Bloomington, Ind., that charming little town proved no exception to the rule. Among the most memorable — and unlikely — places I found was the Tibetan Mongolian Buddhist Cultural Center.
The center was founded by the Dalai Lama’s oldest brother while he was a professor of Tibetan studies at Indiana University. The Dalai Lama himself has visited the center several times and consecrated the cornerstone for the temple.
The center is located on 108 peaceful, mostly wooded acres just outside town.
After entering the brightly colored gates, the first thing a visitor notices is the Dharma Wheel Pagoda. The dharma prayer wheel is an ancient device traditionally turned by hand, wind or water. But this particular wheel is turned by solar power.
Dotting the grounds are other beautiful and colorful Tibetan and Mongolian Buddhist buildings, including the traditional pagodalike structures known as stupas.
Although the center evokes the sights of Tibet and Mongolia, home never felt far away. I immediately noticed a portable basketball hoop set up in the main parking lot, where I also encountered a flock of that most American of birds, the wild turkey.
I picked up a map of the grounds and had a brief orientation at the Cultural Building, which also contains the Happy Yak gift shop. (Buddhists are pragmatic about commercialism, which I can appreciate.) I was also invited to stop in at the temple and monastery building, pull up a cushion and meditate if I’d like.
And so I did.
The main altar in the temple was covered with brightly colored paintings and textiles and peopled with gold Buddhas and bodhisattvas, as well as a portrait of the Dalai Lama.
One goal of the center is to promote interfaith harmony. In that spirit, sacred objects and texts from other religions are also displayed near the altar. (I sat near the Christian display, perhaps just to make clear where my rooting interests lie.)
I was alone in the large altar room throughout my stay. A sign invited me to light a small altar candle, which I did.
I know little of formal meditation, but I concentrated on slow, deep breathing. Sitting on the comfortable floor on my comfortable pillow, with my sensory input limited to the faint odor of the burning candle and the low rumble of the air-conditioning system, I tried to clear my mind and focus on the quietude.
Perhaps it worked. After what I guessed was about 20 minutes, I broke my meditation. Oddly, the clock indicated that almost an hour had passed.
I had somehow lost 35 minutes. But I had gained a bit of serenity, and a lasting memory. Steve Stephens is the travel writer. He can be reached at 614-461-5201 or by e-mail.