Lama Dawa’s Troma Drubchen, Kunzang Dorje Rinpoche’s Rum—Bottoms Up & Into the Slammer

The following is a long story.  It is also a true story, at least as truthfully retold as I can remember.  There is magic in vajrayana and in relating with a genuine vajrayana guru.  Let’s celebrate it.  So I am writing all of this down because I feel like celebrating the magic that surrounds and imbues the actions of my gurus even though I cannot always understand and explain them.

When we enter into the circle of beings like Lama Dawa and Kunzang Dorje, we enter a different world and we better do it knowingly.  Otherwise there will be no end to the miscommunications, and of these I have seen plenty happening.  We do not have to totally deny our ordinary values and ideas, but we cannot insist on maintaining them as absolutes.  Ideally, we will be able to suspend them occasionally.  Enough inner freedom from stubborn clinging to only one view of reality helps.

The story takes place at Boudha and Svayambhu in Kathmandu.  The time is 2005, early in the year—the days directly after Losar, or Tibetan New Year.  Together with my ex-wife, we are visiting our root gurus, Lama Dawa and Kunzang Dorje (I am not into adding ‘Rinpoche’ here, and ‘Rinpoche’ there, and ‘Rinpoche’ everywhere, as from my observation these beings are to too obviously precious to be appropriated and thus belittled by way of adorning them with a honorific title, alone).  Over the phone Lama Dawa has strongly impressed on us that we should come, although we had just founded a new business in Goa a few months earlier.  But, hey, what’s business when compared to the invitation (or order) from the Lama!  He says it, and forcefully so, “I will conduct a Troma Drubchen and Dechen and Choyin have to attend.”

So, here we are in Kathmandu, rushing to see Lama directly after exiting the airport as this time we are on a tight schedule.  I am also excited to bring some ashes and bone fragments from the cremation of my mother.  Again, upon Lama’s orders, because he had said that they needed to be deposited in a certain location (on the hill with many prayer flags above Nagi Gompa).  A month and a half earlier Lama had done phowa for her at the moment of her passing just after Christmas 2004.  According to him she directly went to a pure land, and he knows where she is.  But when I keep babbling too much about the old phowa and cremation story, how we sang the short Troma verses at the Panjim Municipal cremation ground,  Lama puts things into perspective, “You are not here because you carried old bones from India, you are here for the drubchen.”

Considering how many other good things are happening in Dechen’s and my life, I am in a positive frame of mind these days, generally excited, as it turns out later may be over excited.  Since many others mainly from the west are also visiting Kathmandu and Lama for the occasion we see him only briefly that day.  Mainly he explains to us where to show up for the event, which is going to be held in a private home near Svayambhu.  We will drive there every day from our friends’ Adam’s & Sapana’s house starting tomorrow early in the morning, as this is where and with whom we are also staying.

We reach the place, to be confronted with a rather frosty welcome, if you can call it a ‘welcome’ at all.  Hardly anyone of the US sangha greets us with more than a token ‘hi’, not really looking us in the eye.  I find it strange, especially since my ex is from the US and has always been really chummy with everyone.  Dechen being Dechen, she shrugs the whole thing off, rolling her eyeballs and uttering the word, “Americans!”  As if this would explain anything!  Although, being one she may know something that I don’t.

Regarding the possible reasons for the cold shoulder treatment, particularly one comes to mind, but in such situations one can never be sure.  One has to be careful with not projecting too much.  However, if the suspected reason is indeed the reason, this would suggest a serious misinterpretation of Lama’s past actions. Thinley Norbu expresses it indirectly yet to perfection, “The minds of all ordinary beings are magicians whose magic is a deceptive trick through which truth is made untrue or untruth is made true for pleasure or for suffering… We will always be fooled or tricked until all black magicians have become transformed into white wisdom magicians, and until we have transformed our neurotic mind into wisdom mind.”  Ordinary mind cannot interpret any of a true Lama’s words, gestures and actions correctly, simply because these words, actions and gestures are used for the purpose of questioning, even transcending ordinary mind.  Which is why we cannot use ordinary mind as a yardstick.

Finally, Lama Dawa also arrives together with the two khandros Kunzang and Kalsang, one at his side the other as usual hanging back a little.  He looks subdued, unhappy and disturbed may be, and definitely not as enthusiastic as he normally would be when sharing the teachings and ceremonies that are really close to his heart (and if you have read the previous blog you will know how close to his heart Troma practice is).  He gives a short introduction and then lets Khandro Kunzang lead the group through the feasts, occasionally correcting a melody, or adding a few explanations.

However, the group doesn’t come together in the course of this first day, doesn’t become one organic whole, merging in devotion while practicing—not at all.  The chanting instead sounds hollow.  It sounds as if everybody is standing beside himself—disembodied.   During mealtimes, there is a sense of alienation, people hurrying off into hiding in this or that corner, so to speak.  Which again seems odd.  You get what I mean when you recall from similar incidents in your life how these special vibes feel that can permeate an entire room when nobody dares to speak what is on their hearts or crossing their minds, while everyone makes an effort to toe an artificial line that has been given for them to follow, but which is not their own.

The next morning Lama doesn’t appear in Svayambhu.  He is staying behind in Boudha with Kalsang.  It is said that he is sick, and in the course of the afternoon that same day or in the morning of day three (I don’t remember which), it is formally announced that Lama has given the order to discontinue the drubchen.  By way of clarification he lets us know that he is shutting the event down because he has taken ill, and because the obstacle of disharmony in the sangha makes continuing impossible. 

Unfortunately this same leitmotif of sangha disharmony will reappear again several times in years to come and for the remainder of our precious Lama Dawa’s life: whenever the disharmony in the sangha rises above what one might label as the common and ‘normal’ human preference (come to think of it, what’s normal about it?) for indulging in negative states of mind, he falls ill.  He really can’t take it when people fight with each other over nothing, with him in the middle, especially if one party insists on him taking their side; or even if only one party fights, and the other shrugs it off.  Naturally, I have never seen him taking sides, but his fine-tuned and samaya bound yogic nervous system can’t deal with this kind of disruption, without his body becoming disturbed, and sometimes severely so.  In which case, he somatizes and processes the whole external sangha mess, in order to be released in and through his body.  It’s kind of hard on him.

After leaving Svayambhu that day when the drubchen is called off, the four of us, Adam, Sapana, Dechen & myself, get together and talk.  We come to the conclusion that at least the four of us could continue with the feasts.  By the way, Adam is now generally known as Lama Rangbar, but at the time he was still just resourceful and dear Adam.  As we don’t want to disturb Lama Dawa in Boudha, Adam calls him instead and asks over the phone, if it is okay that we continue with the drubchen among our small group of four.  Lama says that it is.  So the next day we do the practice and everything goes well.  We feel good and virtuous, and, at least for myself I can say so, a little smug if not infinitely superior to the rest of the group.  “Look at me, what I can do! I can uphold the practice when others can’t.”  Rubbish that!  Which display of arrogance on my part may be one of the factors nicely setting me up for the roller coaster to happen the following day!

In the morning on the following day, after the first feast, Adam and Sapana have to attend to some job in regarding the solar panel business, whereas Dechen and I are expected at Kunzang Dorje’s apartment, on the top floor of the ‘Kathmandu Saraswati Bhawan’.  We take a cab.  We reach.  We are happy to see Rinpoche and Anila.  We do prostrations and give kata and offering.  The Lama is also in an expansive mood.  As Losar is the occasion, it’s all smiles and small talk, of course through Kalsang translating.  And since over the course of the years we have done and shared a few things together apart from just receiving precious instructions from Rinpoche, we are naturally close—a feeling that is mutual.  Rinpoche doesn’t behave and act formal in these moments.

After the first tidbits of the news and gossip from Goa have been disclosed (Rinpoche is a great and avid gossiper himself when the mood is right), Kunzang Dorje asks, if we prefer chang or rum to drink.  Dechen doesn’t like alcohol much.  She opts for chang, so do Rinpoche and Anila.  I, splendid and on top of the world as I feel on this wonderful morning, I choose rum.  I even rationalize to myself in my head, why. “It is not good for the lama’s health if he has this rum so I should have it because I am younger and physically stronger.  Whatever of it I drink today cannot damage him tomorrow.”  Or some such vanity! 

Besides, we cannot stay very long because Dechen has promised to meet a friend at Svayambhu at 10, before we return to Adam’s and Sapana’s to take up the drubchen, after our social and their job obligations have been fulfilled, so to speak.  And since there is not much time as well as in order to make good on my declared intention of ‘protecting the yogi Kunzang Dorje from the ill effects of rum’, I empty three or four water glass size glasses of the stuff neat within half an hour to forty-five minutes, which amounts to nearly a full bottle.  You can imagine the effects that are going to set in, in due course!

They start in the taxi on the way to Svayambhu.  As I said, this is 2005, which means that the legitimate King of Nepal and his entire family have been murdered a few months or weeks ago (I don’t remember which).  The motive supposedly had been some jealousy within the court, and in the end the alleged perpetrator from within the family was finally shot by some palace guard: a typical cock and bull story, if there ever was one.  I cannot believe any of it and proceed to explain to the poor taxi driver the conspiracy the way I, in my infinite wisdom, had seen it had unfold: background, motif, execution and pay-off.  The poor fellow looks visibly harassed, probably more because of the energy that exude than because of my tirade, which just may go over his head.  Still, it is extremely impolite (and potentially dangerous) to label someone’s new King, well, an accomplice to murder—even if just in hypothesis.  Speaking on top of my voice and gesticulating widely, I am getting increasingly delirious, and don’t even remember how and when we arrive at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to Svayambhu.

Now before I proceed to the next episode in this long story I have to add a bit of background information that can explain, at least in part, the events that are going to unfold.  The friend that Dechen wants to see is our dharma sister, likewise Kunzang Dorje’s student, and so far I have always treated her with perfect politeness.  I haven’t seen much of her anyway.  Between her and Dechen it’s more of a girlfriend-to-girlfriend thing, with the husband occasionally but rarely, like today, tagging along. 

We meet her in a time of personal upheaval.  Toward the end of the previous year Rinpoche had made her an offer that, I believed then and still believe now, as a vajrayana practitioner having taken empowerments from such an accomplished yogi, one simply cannot refuse without seriously compromising the relationship.  Namely, Kunzang Dorje had put the following choice before her, “Next week”, he had said, “a new three year retreat with a group of students is starting in Pharping.  I have reserved the last open spot for you and want you to go.  It’s on me.  You will incur no costs.  I will take care of you for the entire retreat period.  In addition, I will take proper care of your son for the entire time.  He will not be lacking anything, not even love, and I will pay for his school fees in a good school as well.” 

To some, this may sound like a dream come true, but the friend had turned down the offer.  When I first heard about it right after it had happened, I strongly conceptualized in my head that she had made the wrong decision that she had let her teacher down terribly.  Those who know the yogi Kunzang Dorje and the level of his realization will appreciate that his indeed was one of the possibly rarest, kindest and most sublime of offers. 

Of course, none of these events are actually my business, but the effects of the rum, or whatever or whomever else taking over my body make it so on this particular day.  Why? I can only speculate.  Part of it is certainly due to some innate inveterate sense of self-righteousness, but this is only part of it.  As I said in the beginning, “When we enter into the circle of beings like Lama Dawa and Kunzang Dorje, we enter a different world and we better do it with our senses open.”

From this point the telling gets a little tricky as I am going to report incidents of which I have no conscious memory.  However, I trust Dechen.  I believe that she recounted the events correctly later when I am again ‘myself’ (if there ever is such a thing).  According to Dechen, the moment we arrive I set my eyes on her friend waiting for us, I run towards her, shouting, “Liar, liar!”  And then I start to clobber her good, not dishing out a little beating, no much more fiercely and forceful, going at her with my fists, letting them rain down on her, continuing to scream on top of my voice that she is a hypocrite and not worth Kunzang Dorje’s one more breath, one more word… and so on. 

Two Nepali policemen come running trying to stop and subdue me.  They can’t.  I just lift them both by the collar and off the ground as if this is the kind of exercise that I do as a warm up before my workout every day.  A moment later I simply dump them on the ground and shift my focus with renewed energy on the object of my wrath.  Dechen says whatever I do and scream doesn’t look personal.  It isn’t me either.  She says she has never seen anything like it, and working as a Vegas showgirl in Japan, she’s been around the block.  For the policemen, who according to Dechen for a few moments look totally flabbergasted, I express only disdain and heap them with scorn.  I call them ‘limp dicks’ and utter other similar choice compliments.  But all of this is totally out of character.  In real life I am not the type that gets physical, absolutely abhorring violence of any kind.  My last fistfight probably happened in the schoolyard in fourth or fifth grade. 

Naturally, Dechen is trying to pacify me, but I am not able to hear her.  I don’t hear anything, anyone.  I don’t see anyone or anything either.  I am nature herself erupting, a volcano of wrath, unstoppable and spitting out lava and debris in the form of my fists hammering down on the enemy, the obstructor: this LIAR! 

Fortunately, Dechens friend is able to block many of the blows with her arms, protecting her face and head.  Finally, more police come running, and it takes five of them to subdue me.  Normally they would beat me to pulp with their bamboo lathis.  But for inexplicable reasons they hesitate. They don’t do what they normally would.  They simply wrestle me to the ground and put me in handcuffs, and handcuffed they lead me to the Svayambhu police station. 

Through all these events I am either unconscious or in a different realm where ordinary daytime consciousness cannot follow, totally unaware of what I do and what is happening to me.  I am truly not myself.  And I don’t know who I am.  The moment I reach Svayambhu on this bright and beautiful morning, it is definitely not only the rum that has taken possession of me.  Something else has.

At the police station, they throw me in the holding cell, where according to Dechen I fell into broken and fitful sleep—intermittedly calling the police further profanities, mostly denigrating their manhood.  Dechen is right there in front of the cell, prostrating to me in between in order to signal to the officers that this is no ordinary case of drunkenness.  She is allowed a few phone calls.  She contacts Lama Dawa first, and Adam second.

When Adam and Sapana appear at the police station, it is 5 pm and I am about to wake from my excursion into the fields of oblivion.  I am back in my body and myself, which return is a gradual process.  It doesn’t happen all at once.  For the first time, I see myself behind bars, and don’t have the faintest clue why.  I cannot recall what happened between getting up in the morning and waking up in the slammer.  Dechen explains, but I still don’t get much of what she is saying.  In the meantime, Adam and Sapana, are negotiating with the police in Nepali.  Thank God for native speakers!  I am lucky that Dechens’ friend, the victim of my violent assault, did not press charges before she left for home.  No case has to be filed.  Which means, if the insulted and manhandled police officers also agree to not press charges it is as if nothing ever happened.

At 9pm, and after apologizing profusely to the officers I am free to go.  We are in the car driving to Adam’s and Sapana’s house.  Only the next morning does the full impact of what happened and the potential disastrous consequences dawn on me. 

I go see Lama Dawa the same day.  He pokes fun at the mighty German who can grab little Nepalis by the collar by the half dozen as if hanging them out to dry.   “Our Choyin Dorje is strong like a bull.  It took five officers to wrestle him to the gound…” and on and on.  Lama Dawa can be such a good actor, hiding what he thinks behind the display (or more often behind a totally expressionless poker face).  When I am asking him to explain to me what really happened, he declines to comment and changes the subject. 

I also go see Kunzang Dorje upstairs, who reacts with his typical grunt that rises from the depths of his throat (a sound he often makes), followed by a pointed oH Ya!—that can mean everything and nothing.  He then only laughs and offers me more rum which I politely decline.  He is kind enough to not force it on me, which he also has been known to sometimes do.

Afterwards Dechen says, “You are changed forever.  Your energy is not the same. Seriously not!” I can neither agree nor disagree.  After the event, I didn’t feel a changed man at all.  I only felt strange at first, and then normal again.  However, in one sense Dechen is right: dramatic change are about to descend upon our lives in the later course of 2005 and in 2006, when Dechen and I split.   For both of us another and in some ways very different life dawns, and today, on this very day when it starts, we know nothing of it yet.

Why am I telling this story, you ask? 

As stated above, “There is magic in vajrayana and in relating with a genuine vajrayana guru.”  Being with one is not child’s play.  Breaking samaya, putting ego above the guru’s wishes and decrees is serious stuff.  Fights within the sangha eventually kill the guru, in a way with the guru’s full knowledhe and consent.  We all need to be more careful. 

Yes, may be, we better don’t drink rum neat (of course, I never did after the incident).  May be we better not delude ourselves (as I did) that we can stomach more poison than a perfect tsalung yogi who in the best of times can hover six feet off the ground indefinitely (I am not kidding, Lama Dawa later told anecdotes from the times when he met Kunzang Dorje in Sikkim, in the course of his own training).   When we get to the bottom of it, the whole sequence of events in Boudha and Svayambhu that have been retold here cannot be about the rum and only the rum.  But neither can it be about me making claims as to appropriateness or inappropriateness of my behavior, rationalizing it one way or the other, although at first I did, because everybody wanted to hear their pet explanation.  Whatever is being said by way of explaining cannot be final and absolute.  But one thing is for sure: as yogic vajrayana practitioners, if we do not respect the magic, the magic will leave us.  We will be stranded on the desolate shores of some brittle, lifeless ‘Buddhist Presbyterianism’.  Dharma will have lost all power. 

In the last analysis there is no explanation.  When you are really connected to a true white robed yogi, whatever manifests, is the guru’s blessing and the guru’s magic.  Are we ready for such simplicity?  Can we allow ourselves to be so simple?  Not in the sense of merely repeating a pro forma statement that lacks bite, but from the depths of our being?    

In the end all that remains for me to do is to bow to these precious gurus who both now dwell in dharmakaya, continuing to shower blessings, available not for the petty requests, but for all of us who have the karmic link fully nevertheless whenever we truly need them—if we can only be humble enough to bring ourselves to calling upon them.

My ex-wife Dechen is doing very well for herself, by the way, (today in 2018) and I am happy for her to see and say so.  She is so utterly well because she is fulfilling one of her deepest aspirations, way up in the mountains of Humla, and with the perfect guide.