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Tashi Choephel (བཀྲ་ཤིས་ཆོས་འཕེལ།) is the founder of Be Dur Ye, a center devoted to the production of Tibetan incense for ritual, home purification, and healing. The name of the factory (Be Dur Ye, བཻཌཱུརྱ་བོད་སྤོས།) carries a layered meaning: it recalls a precious Tibetan blue gem, whose pure deep color resembles that of the Buddha of Medicine, and it also echoes the blessing of one of Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche, who directly consecrated the project and encouraged Tashi Choephel to put his deep medical knowledge into practice. Indeed, his life has been dedicated to the study of Tibetan medicine, which required intense training in Tibetan language, philosophy, and botanical knowledge. Through this formation, he developed a refined understanding of medicinal plants and, especially, of how they can be combined in the traditional manufacture of Tibetan incense. He began the Be Dur Ye factory in 2011, first establishing the workshop in a very small house. At that time, there were no machines, the quantity of ingredients was very limited, and he worked with only two basic sets of herbs. 

Little by little, he began travelling to other areas to collect specific plants and materials, preparing the blends and grinding them himself. Over the years, the incense was increasingly appreciated, and the project gradually expanded until he was able to buy land and build the current factory. Today, the incense is sold to monasteries, county-level hospitals, Chinese companies, and individual customers, but the center still preserves the spirit of its humble beginning: deep knowledge, patience, and a close relationship with the land.

The vision behind the factory is rooted in the idea that incense is not merely a product, but a carrier of Tibetan medical and spiritual knowledge. In Tibetan culture, incense has a strong religious and healing character: it is believed to purify spaces, calm the mind, support health, and create harmony between human beings and the unseen world. There is the faith that, through the proper use of incense, harmful forces can be pacified, and benevolent deities can offer protection. For this reason, the combinations are not arbitrary, but are based on methods described in Tibetan Buddhist and medical texts. Tashi Choephel’s work stands precisely at this intersection between healing and ritual, between the body and the invisible. 

His commitment is also evident in the fact that the incense-combinations are entirely natural: not a single chemical is used. All the ingredients, thirty-one in total, are made up of herbs, plants, and minerals, and on the most basic level six key herbs are combined to create the fragrance itself. Yet each plant has its own role, and its own life shaped by altitude, climate, and season. In this way, incense becomes not just an object, but a composition of landscapes, knowledge, and relationships between humans and nature.

This richness of ingredients gives Be Dur Ye its very distinctive character. Most of the herbs used for incense are also part of Tibetan medicine, and each one contributes a specific quality, not only to the smell but also to the balance and efficacy of the final blend. Some plants grow under rocks at altitudes above 4000 meters and are valued for helping to regulate blood pressure. 

Rhodiola (སྲོ་ལོ་དམར་པོ།, srolo dmarpo), native to the Tibetan Plateau, is known as a powerful adaptogen, useful against altitude sickness, fatigue, and emotional exhaustion, while also strengthening the lungs and heart. Red Sandalwood (ཙན་དན་དམར་པོ།, tsan dan dmarpo), brought from India, is used for its cooling and purifying properties, while Kailash aster (ལུག་མིག, lug mig), found in alpine meadows and scree slopes, is associated with the treatment of fever, lung conditions, and inflammation. Other ingredients include the fragrant orchid (དབང་པོ་ལག་པ, dbangpo lagpa), valued as a nourishing tonic and also used as a natural binder because of its sticky quality; Tibetan cumin (གོ་སྙོད,  go snyod), appreciated as a digestive aid; sweet wormwood (གུལ་མོ་, gul mo), known for clearing “heat” from the body; local plants such as Kimpa (མཁན་པ།, mkhan pa), which helps the incense burn evenly; and Soka (སུར་དཀར།, sur dkar), a small-leaf azalea used to improve energy and immunity. Some ingredients are striking not for their scent, but for the role they play in the balance of the composition: amber, travertine, stone-and-soil mixtures from very high altitudes, and even treated seashell fragments, which soften the overall fragrance. 

There are also plants such as Pompi (སྤང་སྤོས།, spang spos), and Dongku (ཏང་ཀུན།, tang kun), each carrying its own medicinal, aromatic, or structural function within the incense. What emerges from this world is almost a geography of scent and healing: alpine roots, forest-edge flowers, grassland herbs, stones, minerals, and traces of the sea all meeting in one carefully measured formula.

The making process itself reflects this same balance between tradition and adaptation. Be Dur Ye produces incense in two main forms: the standard long filament shape and the stupa shape. The filament incense is made with a specific machine, while the stupa-shaped incense is still entirely handmade. In the past, yak horn was used as a press, a reminder of how deeply this knowledge is tied to older local ways of working. For the stupa incense, all the herbs are first combined and ground into a fine flour. Alcohol is then added, and the mixture is left to ferment for three days, during which it gradually develops its own smell. After that, it is pressed and worked into a dough, using body force and manual pressure, before being shaped by hand. The process is slow and physical, requiring sensitivity as much as technique. It is not only a matter of producing incense, but of bringing together ingredients, time, and embodied knowledge in the right proportion.

Looking to the future, Tashi Choephel’s path is one of continuity and thoughtful growth. He plans to further develop the existing factory by restructuring the current building into two distinct spaces: one dedicated to the workshop, warehouse, and raw materials, and the other conceived as a physical shop. This next step reflects a clear intention: to strengthen the practical side of the business while remaining faithful to its foundations. In this sense, the future of Be Dur Ye does lie in giving tradition the space and structure to continue living. Through incense, Tashi Choephel is not simply producing an object of fragrance; he is preserving a form of Tibetan knowledge in which medicine, ritual, landscape, and care for life and nature are still inseparable.

Dzaken Tsang Pottery Center, founded by Jamyang Gelek (འཇམ་དབྱངས་དགེ་ལེགས།), stands at the origin of nearly all the pottery centers scattered throughout Menshod Town. There is a reason for this: it was the first place where anyone could walk in, learn, practice, and eventually become a pottery master. 

However, the roots of this center go back much further than its formal opening, reaching into a family history of more than five generations. During the time of the Dege Kingdom, Jamyang Gelek’s family paid their taxes through the production of clay utensils, and their craftsmanship was so highly regarded that they were given a house near the king. An old story still remembered in the family speaks to the dignity of that work: because firing clay produced a great deal of smoke, Jamyang’s father and grandfather once worried that it might disturb the king or harm his health. When they apologized, the king replied that they were not animals, but people who understood that such smoke was simply part of the labor necessary to create the handcrafts, to practically survive. Smoke was necessary, a part of that highly-regarded manufacturing process.

Jamyang Gelek inherited not only a craft, but a profound sense of its value. Yet his path into pottery was not immediate. Yet his path into pottery was not immediate. When he was young, he became interested in a metalsmith workshop run by an elderly artisan and wanted to learn from him; his father did encourage it, believing that metalsmithing was a better choice than pottery-making. As a pottery master himself, he knew too well how demanding and dangerous this work could be: the exhausting journeys to collect raw materials in remote places, the suffering of the yaks forced to carry heavy loads, and the toll it took on the body. Jamyang’s father himself had suffered greatly, to the point that he was unable to walk for years, and he interpreted that pain as a kind of consequence for the hardship endured by the yaks. He did not want his son to inherit such a difficult life. What really changed Jamyang’s course was the encouragement of an elder physician in the community, Lodrö Phuntsok (བློ་གྲོས་ཕུན་ཚོགས།), who called him one day and asked what he was doing with his life. When Jamyang replied that he was herding yaks, the physician reminded him of his family’s lineage and told him that such a heritage could not simply be abandoned. Someone had to carry it forward. Jamyang then spoke again with his father, and slowly the awareness grew stronger: pottery was diminishing, and if no one took responsibility for it, a vital part of the community’s heritage could disappear. 

He began learning seriously from his father and continued until 2008. By then, what had once been simply a family workshop at home had become a place open to others, where anyone willing to learn could come and study free of charge. Although the center formally began in 2001, its spirit was created in those earlier years of teaching and making within the home. At first, Jamyang himself had little faith that pottery could have a future beyond its traditional use, which was largely tied to monasteries and daily life, and not especially profitable. Yet again, the encouragement of Karpu, the son of Lodrö Phuntsok, and Lodrö Phuntsok himself proved decisive. They urged him to continue and even took him to workshops and factories across China, where he began to see how clay could be shaped not only into traditional crafts, but into a much wider range of products. That journey opened his vision. From there, by blending traditional techniques with innovation in design, Dzaken Tsang Pottery Center began to attract many customers from outside the region, while remaining deeply rooted in Tibetan pottery heritage. 

To be a pottery master here, however, means much more than shaping clay: it also means directly entering the landscape and retrieving the raw material by hand. In earlier times, horses were used for transport; today, motorbikes may help with part of the journey, but in steep stretches of mountain path they often have to be carried on one’s back. The materials themselves are still collected exactly as they always were, from the same places, using the same traditional knowledge. Among the most important stones there is a pale stone called Ratsima (རྭ་ཚིལ་མ།), a name given because of its color, meaning the “fat of gods”. It is considered the finest material, but also the hardest to obtain, as it can only be found locally in one place at around 5000 meters above sea level. It is also known as the golden stone, and when broken it reveals different layers and types of stone within it. Another essential material, the black stone and its related soil, Ser-Dor (གསེར་རྡོ།), can also only be found in one specific place in the Menshod area, at more than 4000 meters. 

There, artisans often need to dig as deep as fifteen meters into the ground, lowering themselves into a rocky pit and collecting the material with a basket. This process is as dangerous as it is uncertain: they dig without knowing whether they will actually find the stone they need. Beyond the physical danger, there is also the possibility of failure, and in the worst case, if someone dies during the process, the body often cannot be recovered, meaning that even the ordinary funeral rites cannot be performed. And yet, despite all this, they continue. They continue because the traditional method is still considered the only true way to be an authentic Tibetan pottery master. In this sense, the effort is entirely worth it. 

Historically, many of the products made at the center developed in response to practical needs and are still closely tied to food and drink. From cups to cooking pots, these objects carry the memory of daily Tibetan life. Importantly, the center’s pottery has also undergone scientific examination by the Foshan Ceramics Research Institute, which certified these products as safe for food use. Among the most meaningful objects is the Chomtik (ཆང་ཏིག), a container for barley wine traditionally used only on special occasions such as weddings, New Year, or the first day of cultivating the land. After filling it with barley wine, people would place butter onto its five openings and slowly pour it into cups. It was especially important during the first day of spring cultivation, a moment when work and celebration came together in the fields through food, drink, and shared labor.

Another vessel, the Saleh (ས་ལེབ།), derives its name from “sa”, meaning soil, and “leh,” meaning “flat; flat pot”. It too was brought to the fields on the first day of cultivation. In earlier times, it served as a tea container, covered with a blanket and sealed with Yuma to preserve the heat. Its ability to keep tea warm was one of its most valued qualities, especially for those working long hours outdoors. Together, these two containers were indispensable companions in the fields, and the latter was also a fundamental object for yak herders, as it could be placed directly over the fire after a long cold day. 

Another remarkable object is an ancient container associated with the Chamdo region. It has been unearthed from the soil not so long ago and believed to carry a very long history. It was traditionally used during weddings, as its shape proves, resembling two hearts joined into one body with a single opening, seems. Although its exact name is unknown, it is said to be among the most valuable pottery items of the Tibet Museum in Lhasa. 

Another deeply symbolic object is the Luse (ལྷུང་བཟེད།), known as the alms bowl of Sakyamuni. According to tradition, when the Buddha renounced everything, this was the vessel he carried. Monks still use this form today to eat tsampa and hold food, especially during the forty-nine-day prayer sessions. Its unusual shape, which cannot stand on its own without support, is linked to a story: Sakyamuni, passing house by house for food, once opened the door to a goddess, who gave him a bracelet, which revealed to be the missing piece for the bowl to stand on. The unity, others’ compassion and help were the key. 

Through such objects, the center does not simply preserve pottery as an art form, but as a living archive of Tibetan domestic and agricultural culture. Today, seventeen people work and learn at Dzaken Tsang Pottery Center, and the workshop remains as much a place of teaching as of production. Jamyang’s own family is part of this continuity: one of his daughters, trained in Tibetan medicine, now works at Dzongsar Tibetan Hospital, while his younger daughter, only 21 years old, is already involved in business management. Knowing Chinese, she supports her father in exhibitions and communication with Chinese customers, and has become increasingly active in the marketing and development of the center. Introduced to the family business from an early age and encouraged also by Dawa Drolma (Khyenle Arts Center), she now holds ten percent of the business and represents an important bridge between the workshop and the outside world. 

Yet perhaps the most distinctive feature of Dzaken Tsang Pottery Center lies in its people-centered business model. Jamyang does not run the workshop with the primary goal of maximizing private profit. Instead, the income generated by the center is shared among the artisans according to their skill, experience, and time of work, while he himself takes only 5% as a master fee. In practice, this means that the center functions more as a collaborative structure than a conventional business. Equal treatment and shared benefit are central to the way it operates. Among his students, six or seven have already become skilled masters and chosen to remain with him, supporting the life of this collective workshop. New students are still welcomed: during the first year, there is neither salary nor teaching fee, but from the second year onward they begin receiving income according to the same shared system. In this way, the center continues to sustain both the craft and the people who dedicate their lives to it. Looking to the future, Jamyang Gelek says that he will continue to work for as long as he is able. More importantly, he is determined to preserve this model of working fairly and collectively, where the aim is not money for money’s sake, but the sustaining of people, knowledge, and dignity. In this way, the products of Dzaken Tsang Pottery Center continue to carry a soul: the soul born from traditional techniques, rare and demanding materials, and a workshop built on sharing rather than individual gain.

The Dzongsar Tibetan Hospital complex is one of the living guardians of Sowa Rigpa (གསོ་བ་རིག་པ།), the Tibetan “Science of Healing”, and carries forward a lineage whose roots go back centuries. Its inheritance is traced through the medical wisdom transmitted from master to disciple, beginning with Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo (འཇམ་དབྱངས་མཁྱེན་བརྩེ་དབང་པོ།), regarded as the founder-master of the Dzongsar Tibetan Medical Lineage and one of the closest disciples of Choedak Gyaltso (ཆོས་གྲགས་རྒྱལ་མཚོ།). Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo mastered both the theory and the practice of Tibetan medicine on the basis of the classical medical texts written by the two Yuthog Yonten Gonpos and their successors. The lineage then continued through Shuchu Kunga Gyaltsen (ཤུག་ཆུ་ཀུན་དགའ་རྒྱལ་མཚན།), the second lineage master and disciple of Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo; Nyira Kanga Singge (གནས་ར་ཀུན་དགའ་སེང་གེ), the third lineage master, who served as imperial physician to the Dege king and founded the Dzongsar Tibetan Medical School; and Tsering Phuntsok (ཚེ་རིང་ཕུན་ཚོགས།), the fourth lineage master, who was the personal physician of Choekyi Lodro (ཆོས་ཀྱི་བློ་གྲོས།), the second Khyentse Rinpoche. The fifth lineage master is Lodrö Phuntsok (བློ་གྲོས་ཕུན་ཚོགས།), the present principal of Dzongsar Tibetan Hospital, main disciple of Tsering Phuntsok and also disciple of Troru Tsenam (ཁྲོ་རུ་ཚེ་རྣམ།), former president and professor of the Tibetan Traditional Medical College. 

Lodrö Phuntsok, more than 50 years ago established the hospital, and since then, two of his core principles has remained unchanged: to devotedly preserve and transmit the Tibetan “Science of Healing” and to provide free clinical services to those who cannot afford them. Born in 1947 and now almost eighty years old, he has never stopped working, both as a physician and as a pillar of the wider community. His life has been devoted not only to the preservation of Tibetan medicine, but also to the preservation of Tibetan culture more broadly. As his son, Jamyang Putsok (འཇམ་དབྱངས་ཕུན་ཚོགས།), “Karpu” (སྐལ་བུ།) for the community, says, there has never been a single day without seeing his father at work; in his words, “Even during Tibetan New Year, my father would not take a single day off”. His sincerity, courage, and extraordinary discipline are remembered by everyone around him. He never raised his children with speeches about money or success, but always with the conviction that Tibetan medicine, this science of healing, is not only for Tibetans, but something that belongs to the whole world. 

Indeed, his role in the community extends far beyond the hospital itself: he was also the former chairperson of the Dzongsar Monastery Management Committee and led local villagers for thirty-two years in the reconstruction of Dzongsar Monastery, while also founding the Base of Dzongsar Handicrafts (རྫོང་སར་ལག་ཤེས་ལྟེ་གནས།) and inspiring his son, Karpu, to found the handicraft company Door to Tibetan Arts (བོད་བཟོ་ཀུན་ཁྱབ།), realities born with the intention of applying modern management concepts to the sustainable development of Tibetan cultural business and favor local employment. In many ways, he was among the pioneers who encouraged the rebuilding of workshops and factories in Menshod, offering both practical support and a wider vision to the community. 

The hospital itself was founded in 1975, beginning as a very small place and gradually growing into a complex of more than seven acres of land. Today, it serves people from more than one hundred administrative villages and has become a cornerstone not only for health care, but also for the training of physicians from neighboring Tibetan areas. The hospital is much more than a clinic: it includes a training center, a research center, a library, a museum, a factory, and a broader educational and charitable network. In this sense, Dzongsar Tibetan Hospital is a “community place” where an entire knowledge system is preserved, practiced, and passed on.

At the heart of the Sowa Rigpa knowledge is the rGyud-bzhi (རྒྱུད་བཞི།), The Four Medical Tantras, the foundational text of Tibetan medicine, traditionally attributed to Senior Yuthog Yonten Gonpo (གཡུ་ཐོག་རྙིང་མ་ཡོན་ཏན་མགོན་པོ།) in the 8th century, and later enriched and systematized by Junior Yuthog Yonten Gonpo (གཡུ་ཐོག་གསར་མ་ཡོན་ཏན་མགོན་པོ།) and his disciples in the 12^th century. This treaty forms the backbone of the hospital’s educational and medical work. The hospital’s training section includes a classroom, student dormitory rooms, and a dining hall, where a team of 4 full-time physicians, assisted by short-term doctors, teach the Dzongsar curriculum to around 160 current students coming from different provinces even from main land China and graduated students exceeds current number of students. Their education brings together local botanical knowledge, clinical practice, textual study, and oral transmission. The services developed by the hospital can be understood in three broad dimensions: the consultation and technical support of Tibetan medicine, the oral transmission and preservation of medical texts, and charitable medical services for remote Tibetan areas. 

The library is an especially precious part of this work. It preserves ancient Tibetan medical scriptures and rare woodblock prints, many of which are valuable not only for medicine but also for the preservation of old Tibetan intellectual culture as such. Among them are more than twenty volumes

(མཁྱེན་བརྩེ་བཀའ་བབ) compiled by the first reincarnation of Dzongsar Khyentse about Buddhism and Tibetan medicine, as well as volumes by the second reincarnation of Dzongsar Khyentse and by the students of the early lineage masters. Particularly important is the collection around the Four Medical Tantras, whose intellectual roots stretch back over a thousand years. The hospital also supports a private publishing and research effort through the Lodrö Research Institute of Tibetan Medicine (བློ་གྲོས་བོད་སྨན་ཞིབ་འཇུག་ཁང་།), where students and scholars can come to study. Among the preserved and compiled texts are also writings dealing with what today we would call mental health, showing that Tibetan medicine has long reflected not only on the body, but also on the mind and its suffering.

This knowledge is not kept only for specialists. One of the hospital’s wider aims is to make these medical teachings accessible to the public and to share them with the broader community. This same spirit also informs its midwife training project, through which rural women in remote areas receive instruction on pregnancy preparation, health care, common illnesses during pregnancy, childbirth, and postpartum recovery. In this way, the hospital acts as the center of a much larger network whose purpose is clear: to improve health care in remote areas and to respond concretely to the medical needs of rural communities. Over the years, many small clinics have been established in surrounding areas, and more are still under construction.

Another important part of the Dzongsar Tibetan Hospital complex is its museum, which has recently received official recognition as a museum. It offers a rare opportunity to enter the material culture of Tibetan medicine. At its entrance stands a particularly moving historical object: an old offering box. From around 1980 to 2000, the hospital did not demand payment for medicine. If patients wished to contribute, they could simply place an offering in the box. This small object silently tells the story of a medical institution devoted to service before profit. 

The museum also preserves many old instruments once used by Tibetan physicians, including tools for bone adjustment and other practical treatments. Traditionally, there were specific methods for repairing broken bones: Deh (དེབ།), covering the injury to support healing; Zjoh (སྒྱོགས།), tying and stabilizing the broken parts with wooden supports; and Chin (ཆིངས།), using threads and ropes to secure the injured area. 

The museum further displays many of the ingredients used in Tibetan medicine and in the making of related products, most of them local to the Tibetan Plateau. This links directly to another key branch of the hospital’s activity: its production factory, where Tibetan medicines, incense, and more recently skin-care products are made according to traditional formulas and techniques, using herbs, plants, minerals, and natural ingredients that often grow above 4,000 meters. Even the storage of the medicines follows traditional methods, at an altitude of around 3,600 meters, in conditions considered appropriate to their nature. Tibetan Buddhism also plays a practical role in this process, since medicines are usually consecrated through blessings and the chanting of sutras before they are prescribed. This is not seen merely as a ritual addition, but as part of the medicine’s full efficacy. 

One of the most beautiful ways in which the hospital explains Tibetan medicine is through its collection of medical thangkas, visual teaching tools that translate complex theory into symbolic and accessible form. If one wants a broad overview of Tibetan medicine, a particular triptych of thangkas is almost unmissable. Across these three paintings, nearly the entire theoretical structure of Tibetan medicine is represented. Each thangka is organized around a tree, from whose trunk and branches different concepts unfold. 

The first tree presents the conditions of health and disease. On one side, it shows the healthy body and its formation; on the other, it depicts illness and the roots of disease. In this framework, disease arises from different imbalances, often connected to the elements and to the body’s internal conditions. 

The second tree concerns diagnosis: once a person is ill, the physician must understand the source of the illness. Here the branches show the methods of observation, touch, and inquiry. The doctor looks at the urine, the tongue, the face, and the expression; touches the body to assess pulse, skin, and temperature; and asks about the beginning of the illness and the patient’s overall condition.

 The third tree concerns treatment. It shows the four main ways of healing in Tibetan medicine: first through food, then through behaviour, then through medicine, and finally, if necessary, through more direct interventions such as bloodletting or burning. 

Another remarkable thangka in the museum depicts the formation of the body during pregnancy, showing different stages of fetal development. Here you can find animals, why? Visual explanatory function: at one stage the fetus resembles two fishes, at another a turtle, and later a boar, each animal symbolically evoking a phase of growth. 

The museum also preserves a mandala that plays a role in the moment of prescribing medicine. Before certain medicines are given, they are consecrated, and, as said, this is understood not simply as a religious gesture, but as an integral part of Tibetan healing itself. On the same floor of the museum, the complex also includes a prayer and mental healing hall, where mental suffering is approached through specifically Tibetan methods. According to the “Tibetan view”, many forms of suffering originate in the mind itself, and therefore cannot be fully resolved by physical medicine alone. Karpu and the hospital team have been working for years on a project dedicated to mental health, one that draws on Tibetan meditation, yoga, breath practices, and philosophical training as methods for restoring inner balance. This project is being developed with particular attention to the needs of the present, especially in urban contexts where mental health issues are increasing dramatically. As Karpu explains, in Tibetan medicine many mental disorders are connected to the poisons of ignorance, greed, and anger, and therefore the treatment must engage the mind itself. Meditation, when understood properly, is not only about sitting for a long time, but about learning the core method: how to work with thoughts, reactions, resentment, fear, and attachment. In this perspective, healing is inseparable from wisdom. These methods are seen as practical tools that can help people in a profound and sustainable way. This vision is one of the most forward-looking aspects of the hospital today, and it is also where the younger generation is beginning to take an important role.

Among this younger generation is Woeser Dorje (འོད་གསལ་རྡོ་རྗེ།), one of the youngest inheritors of the Dzongsar medical wisdom tradition. At only 29 years old, he represents a living bridge between the depth of Sowa Rigpa knowledge and its contemporary applications. He began studying Tibetan medicine at the age of 16, entering a path that is long, and demanding, both in terms of scholarship and practice. In this tradition, medicine cannot be approached in isolation: before becoming a physician, one must build a strong foundation in the five major sciences of Tibetan culture, beginning with Tibetan language at a high level in order to read and understand the original texts, and continuing with Buddhist philosophy and Tsema Ripa (ཚད་མ་རིག་པ།), a form of philosophical logic intended to cultivate the wisdom necessary to understand the nature of things and to arrive at the “right answer”. As Woeser Dorje says, even one of these subjects could take a lifetime to fully study, but, as doctors, we need to have a strong foundation of them, because you cannot really understand Tibetan medicine without Tibetan Buddhism or Tsema Ripa, they are interdependent. Within this framework, Woeser Dorje became a physician and a Tibetan yoga master. Indeed, Tibetan yoga is a branch of Tibetan medicine. As shown in the three-trees thangkas, in the classical structure of Tibetan healing, once a disease has been understood, treatment proceeds through food, behaviour, medicine, and, if necessary, more direct interventions. Yoga belongs to this second dimension: the healing of the body and mind through behaviour, breath, movement, and inner balance. For this reason, Woeser’s role is especially meaningful today. He has already gained experience in teaching Tibetan yoga in China, where there is growing interest in its benefits for physical well-being, emotional balance, and mental health. Although it may appear similar to other yoga traditions, Tibetan yoga has its own distinct methods, philosophy, and therapeutic purpose, and within the Dzongsar Hospital’s vision it is becoming an increasingly important part of how traditional Tibetan medicine can respond to the needs of the present.

As said, what makes this place especially powerful is that its work does not remain enclosed within the hospital walls. The Dzongsar Tibetan Hospital complex is deeply woven into the life of Menshod. Its advice, support, and vision have helped shape not only medicine, but also the revival of local craftsmanship and community-based development. The encouragement given to centers such as Dzaken Tsang Pottery Center and to figures like Dawa Drolma (Khyenle Arts Center) is part of this broader role, and these are only two examples of many others. We can say that the same sincerity that built the hospital also radiated outward into the life of the village. In Karpu’s words, his father had an extraordinary ability to choose the right path and the right method in whatever he did, because he was deeply rooted in the logic and inner truth of Buddhist philosophy. People support his work so strongly because they feel that what he built was done with a sincere heart. 

This legacy is what the next generation now carries forward. Thinking about the future, Karpu’s strongest focus is the development of Tibetan approaches to mental healing, which he sees as one of the most urgent needs of our time. In a world increasingly marked by stress, disconnection, and emotional suffering, he sees in Tibetan medicine, Tibetan yoga, and Buddhist-derived methods of mental cultivation not a path for the future. The future of Dzongsar Tibetan Hospital, then, is both the preservation of an ancient science and its courageous application to the needs of the present world: founded in lineage, grounded in compassion, and still alive to keep healing.