Visiting Bodh Gaya in Perennial 1975

“Bodh Gaya is, in reality, little more than a shantytown.  At first visitors tend to be shocked and stunned by the dust, dirt, beggars & poverty they find there – although in recent years the situation has been slowly improving (unfortunately).

“Once you leave the madness and chaos of the town and enter the inner circle of the Mahabodhi Temple, the atmosphere suddenly becomes so potent, it’s as if you fall into a dreamlike trance.”

-Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse

Writing about the long ago visit (I haven’t been back there since) is, despite appearances, not a trip down memory lane.  All it does, is bringing to light pure presence.  It doesn’t retell ‘something that happened years ago’; it evokes the ‘forever in’ – however which way we care to define ‘in’ (which we’d actually better not do).  From our original full vision, the past-present-future grid could very well turn out to be a much less reliable method of orientation than assumed.  It is at best provisional.  What could possibly exist or manifest outside the 'now', which itself does not even constitute a point in time.

In 1975, Bodh Gaya definitely isn’t a shantytown.  It rather presents itself as a sleepy, dreamy village, & very charming.  It’s not dirty, but fundamentally clean, in the dusty Indian way that is primordially clean, not just Mr. Clean or Mr. Proper clean.  In 1975, even the dust in India can be clean.  Mind you, this is the time before plastic packaging.  So, no garbage, none whatsoever anywhere in the country of birth of the past, present & future Buddhas!  Whatever you can throw away after you’re through with your snack or tea or meal is biodegradable.

Nothing much going on in Bodh Gaya either: no throng of elevated lamas, no other kinds of VIPs visiting, no guesthouses, no cheap hotels, no busy dharma scene, no bustling crowds, no hawkers, hardly any beggars other than the few who are wearing orange robes (and are genuine).  And this although I am here in peak pilgrimage season, around the full moon of February, arriving shortly before and leaving shortly thereafter… 

It feels wonderful to arrive in Gaya station on a madly overcrowded local train from Varanasi at around 7 or 8 in the morning, and to take my seat on a bicycle riksha to Bodh Gaya like enthroned on a throne, backpack at the feet.  In 1975, almost all of India still exudes this uniquely & alluring Indian fragrance, a mixture of dried, leaves, cow dung & a faint whiff of beedi smoke.   There must be millions of more ingredients that make the air smell the way it does, but I can’t name them.  India is so rich, too rich for words.  Anyway, this fragrance is like a promise of many other sensory pleasures that are also possible.  In 1975, in a very different way, India holds such promises and dispenses them to those willing to receive.

And thus, on a fine February morning of this very year, I am pedaled to Vajrasana on a dirt road by a dark skinned man with wiry calf muscles,… I inhale, in almost a lustful way, the fragrance of India, while exhaling the stale breath of Frankfurt & Moscow airport.  Naturally, only a kilometer or so after leaving the station, Gaya ends and we are riding through open fields, which remain open almost all the way to the stupa. Imagine!

Where to stay in Bodh Gaya?  I have no clue as no Lonely Planet guide exists to tell me.  I reach the Bodhi Tree, look around at a few monasteries (they are indeed very few & they have guest rooms or dorms).  But eventually I decide to instead take up residence on the camp bed of a tea stall, in direct view & located about 30 yards from the Bodhi Tree; that is from the place, where the Buddha (in a manner of speaking) keeps sitting and keeps discovering the Middle Path, this day as much as any other.  Yes, it is plain to see, plain as daylight that HE does, even now. 

In 1975, no outside barrier has been erected yet to separate me, or anyone, from the tree, or from the Buddha under it.  Not many people show up either.  They do come in trickles, irregular intervals. The only constant fixture is a young Tibetan man who is doing prostrations on a prostration board at a mad pace.  He himself tells me that he is doing over 3,000 per day in order to complete the 100,000 within the month he has off his job.  He starts way before sunup & finishes after sundown.  His wife brings him snacks, tea & three meals, every day.  I admire his devotion & stamina.  He looks very healthy, inside & out.

DJKR is right in what he writes, when I enter the actual temple and prostrate my way all around it, “the atmosphere is so potent, it is as if I fall into a dreamlike trance.”  But then, it also quite feels like waking up after a thousand years or more of fitful slumber, or like taking a shower under a mountain spring.  Is it life changing when I do these prostrations for more than one round, of course?  I wonder.  I am wondering…. But then, who is this that is doing such kind of wondering? And where from does the idea of merit come in, in all of this.  Pure magic must have inherent merit & radiate it outward like the sun radiates light & warmth, isn't it? 

 
The locals are all very charming & innocent, or so they seem  The tea stall charges 10 Rupees for the bed per night, & the owner keeps an eye on the bag pack when I am out exploring.  10 Rupees go a long way in 1975. Anyway, it feels like nobody would steal anything under the shadow of this tree.  Really.  These are still the perennial days.

Amusingly annoying & repetitive (from my imagined western superiority complex point of view) discussions unfold with some Indian folks my age, “Why does Jackie Kennedy marry this Mr. Onassis, which is not a nice thing to do for a widow, especially one of a President?”  “How many brothers and sisters do you have?” “How come you are not married at your age?”  “Is it really true that one can have sex in the west, without being married?”  When I answer, they seriously think I am boasting.  And when I on occasion speak broken Hindi thanks to my tutor back at Marburg University, their national pride is flattered.

But in the background, there is always the tree. 

I am not feeling so special about the tree all the time, or devotional in a fussy preoccupied way.  But the whole situation is, special, I mean, imbued with sacredness.  No reason to feel small, though.  No reason to feel big, either. Vajrasana is the most natural of places, as Shakymuni is the most natural of people, far more natural than the way we normally are.  This is the overall & lasting impression that the visit imprints in the mindstream.  Nothing can change it.  Shakyamuni is, embodies the natural state of being.  To inborn & outer naturalness, we bow.

Not too far away from my privileged residence, there is also the newly erected Japanese temple, which richly smells of the sandal, so lavishly used for the woodwork inside. The place is a feast for all the senses.  Zen doesn’t seem to be so austere after all.  But we are in India, and India can be such a sensuous place. 

The Thai monastery leaves my heart unmoved.  It is just esthetically beautiful.  The whiff of liberation appears to be off on a stroll elsewhere, however.  But such are momentary, fleeting & in a way meaningless thoughts, not judgments.  They don’t last, they don’t leave any trace.

I do many Vajra Guru mantras putting my recently acquired mala to good use.  I chant Tatyatha Om Muni Muni Maha Muni Shakyamuniye Svaha, half out loud & also silently, completely inwardly directed.  But what is inside?  What is outside?  It is not that I am pondering such questions in any ponderous way.  They reverberate from up deep in a totally open manner.  They are the ground, not just the background noise. And the ground is so fundamental, it doesn't beg for a direct answer.

I also do the 100 syllables of Vajrasattva, many times.  I invoke Manjushri, many times as Manjushri seems to resonate with me, or I with him.  Whatever practice arises and flows through, I don’t even ask myself once, “Is this the right thing to do, at this place?”  “Or should I be doing something else?”  It all seems to be doing itself, although I am also clearly the doer.  Or am I?  I do more prostrations & then get illumined by innumerable butter lamps after sunset on the full moon night. How beautifully touching in an otherworldly way, but right in this world.

Under the Bodhi Tree, I am indeed having the time of my young life even though I can have the time of my young life in many different ways & at many different places, not always permeated by holy murmur – but nevertheless pure in whatever which way it presents itself.  There is this knowingness speaking without uttering a sound that leaves no doubt.  Whence does it come?  Don't know, don't know!  This irrepressible knowingness, it is such a gift.  

One day, a slightly older & definitely more sophisticated and seasoned practitioner than I, from Argentina shares chai with me at the stall.  We connect in this carefree manner that only the young or the young at heart can spontaneously enact.  He tells me about Khamtrul Rinpoche & the Lama Dances at Tashi Jong. 

When I am hearing him speak, I am fired up.  Again, I am ‘in’ & I am ‘on’.

As Tarthang Tulku later emphatically stresses in a personal meeting in 1984, “Khamtrul Rinpoche’s bodhichitta is second to none, his bodhichitta is vast.”  Tarthang then keeps talking about Khamtrul in the present tense, and for quite a while, although ‘my’ Khamtrul VIII, the one we are talking about, is deceased by then.  Tarthang's use of the present tense despite the fact, however, is so obviously intentional that even a dull person such as myself can notice the subtle nuance.  Khamtrul's bodhichitta is ever-present.  All good heart pure intentions are ever-present.

Thanks to the Bodhi Tree, this marvelous bodhichitta can touch & suffuse this bodymind already in perennial 1975.  But this is another story.



PS: I have my own reasons not to use the HE & HH honorifics at the appropriate spaces and for the same reasons don't add the title Rinpoche every time when I write the name of a holy Guru-Lama.  Rest assured that it is not done of of disrespect, but paradoxically, very much out of respect.

The Song of Her Achievement

The Grand Hyatt in Boudha served as your first dharma hall

when your innermost mirror beckoned you to life

out of the blue in the sacred space of neatly set tables

over the din of plates & silverware the voice broke forth

that knows no bounds & no exclusion

you celebrated the subsequent day of your refuge

by emptying half a bottle of rum neat & mean

and then by beating up this stubborn man in your life

making good use of feet & fists

to underscore your love with raging devotion

you hit the board at the feet of the great stupa

many mornings before sunrise thus paying homage

to your teacher’s teachers without hesitation

including in ways that brought the wives’ wrath on your head

yet you remained pure & did not waver

you gave birth to a daughter but did not forsake the promise

you had made to yourself then moved to far away lands

never abandoning the narrow path straight yet slippery

except for brief moments when due to lack of awareness

you also faltered like we all do in this degenerate age

now in the long dream of retreat

you met your teachers this time in dreams

manifesting as cloud land of auspicious portent

for which I salute you Dorje Damema losing what needs to be lost

as you truly begin to live up to the meaning of your name

this we acknowledge as fact

nothing that we late born ones may do

can match the Lake-Born’s original achievements

but our striving against all odds

carries its own light that keeps on shining

no less

therefore even when stumbling keep on walking

in the footsteps of the heroes and heroines past

proceed with the humble joy of vajra pride &

continue to offer the only offering

that has value in the eyes & heart of the Buddha

your own body breath & mind to the guru

who is your dreamland own body breath & mind

never separate from these two

who are not

& thus we acknowledge each other

dedicated to Dorje Damema after one of her times of seclusion

May It Be Auspicious

A ‘Broken Samaya’ Story as Told by Lama Dawa

People like funny anecdotes, because they make them laugh. Acharya Dawa Chhodak Rinpoche, dear Lama Dawa now inseparable ever-present dharmakaya, was a master storyteller, and he made us laugh often and a lot.  He could make fun of everything, even the most serious issues.  He could also make fun of himself.  He was one of the least stuck-up people that I have ever had the pleasure to associate with.  First he would make us laugh.  Then he would turn serious.  Then laugh again. When he laughed the second time, the audience was often left aghast.  Should we laugh?  Or should we cry?

He told me the following story of a broken samaya at least on three different occasions, so he must have attached some importance to giving this as an example for how muddled and befuddled everything is in the ‘brave new western Buddhist world’.  For those who don’t know the meaning of samaya: simply put, these are pledges and promises not to be broken.  In tantra our word is our bond.  If you cannot trust your own word, the bond is torn.  If you cannot build a stupa on the solidity of your own word, the essence of the teachings will vanish into thin air.  I don’t know if Lama shared this same story with many others.  Little does it matter, if he did or didn’t.  What matters is that it sheds a not very flattering light, on our typical approach to and our all too often general lack of respect for the sacredness of the Buddhist tantric teachings, not to mention the integrity of the guru, or the inviolability of our own word. 

“One day many years ago”, Lama Dawa began, “one western dharma friend came to see me (at which point he named the person by name), offering a kata for requesting a teaching and said, ‘Lama Dawa, Chatral Sangye Dorje Rinpoche is sending me to you.  He has given me all the empowerments for all the Dudjom Tersar protectors, except Rahula.  He said that I should come to you and that you would certainly give me the Rahula teaching and empowerment if I requested them from you in his name.’”

At which point Lama Dawa paused to let that sink in.  He also chuckled. Then he continued.

“I wasn’t sure (more directly stated: ‘I knew this was a lie’).  That’s why I asked him to come back some other time. Now, it so happened that a few days later I met Chatral Rinpoche in Pharping himself.  I told him about the request, which made him chuckle as well.  Then Sangye Dorje explained why.  ‘This is indeed curious, as the same person had come to see me a few weeks ago with the same request, stating that Lama Dawa had given him all the protectors except for Rahula, and that Lama Dawa had then sent him to me for Rahula teachings and empowerments.’  Sangye Dorje and I both had a good laugh.”

Lama Dawa paused again.  He laughed merrily then added, “Some people are just too clever for their own good.”  Then he crinkled his face as if in pain. “All samaya was broken, totally broken.  How to put that back together again, I don’t know.”  Stated differently: this person’s word is worthless.  It is like a broken bond.  How could I possibly trust him and work with him?  How could he possibly progress?

Should we laugh now, or should we cry?

And yet there wasn’t the least bit of complaining in Lama’s voice when he told the story.  He didn’t blame the person.  There was actually only a sense of all-penetrating love.  There was no value judgment in his voice, only a deep tinge of sadness.  He had just stated something, which from his point of view clearly could be regarded as a sign that the essence of the teachings won’t survive for much longer, even though their lifeless empty shell might stick around for quite a while.

Everyone is free to draw his or her own conclusions.

Refuge Is the Common Ground

Considering that all vajrayana or diamond vehicle lineages

are intended and designed to help those 

who really want to discover the truth

of the Buddha's teachings

 by the way of experiencing their essence in this very lifetime,

it becomes obvious that there needs to be

a common ground on which the work can proceed.

 Refuge is that common ground.

The Buddha’s enlightened motivation was and, through the ongoing activities of his lineage holders to the present day still is, to point out a workable path, which leads from suffering to the liberation from suffering.  It is a radical path that can guide us where all concepts cease to matter, way beyond any clinging to a stagnant peace – way beyond some kind of imaginary Buddhist Heaven, or misunderstood nirvana: it can lead us to wakefulness in every instant, even in and through every physical appearance.  

If we wholeheartedly want to enter and apply our energies to it, this path of wakefulness is available to us all. For this, we need to agree with its overall purpose of leading us from a sloppy, unskillful, and overall unwholesome to a decidedly more orderly, more skillful, and more wholesome mode of being.  Simply speaking, the Buddha’s intent, if we can call it that is to make life a whole lot easier.  Which is not the same as ‘comfortable’.  Merely ’being comfortable’ is not really the idea here, either.  And it cannot be.  If the Buddha’s is a path of emancipation from self- or mind-created suffering, ‘easy’ cannot possibly figure in the equation. Sometimes the going on the path will get rough and comfort only comes when we feel our way and go through unpleasant patches, without sidestepping them.

If we want to venture out on this path we need to say so before we start.  We need to state our intention.  We need to make it clear to self and others that freedom from suffering for self and others is what we want to pursue; wish to embody and share with all beings in all worlds. – Yes: the outlook has to be impartial, all-encompassing.  Otherwise the path will fall short of the goal of complete wakefulness. 

According to the Mahayana and Vajrayana discourses and instructions, we state this our intention by taking refuge in the guru, the Buddha, the dharma and the sangha.  Thus, through mahayana refuge, the guru (or Lama, in Tibetan) starts to play a pivotal role in our life.  Taking refuge is the first step. It provides the energy link with a more enlightened kind of family and friends whose help and support we need.

Now, there exist a great many misconceptions about ‘gurus’ and no less about the idea of ‘taking refuge’.

First of all, the guru is not a god.  Neither is he or she a tyrant.  He or she simply plays out the role of an outer manifestation of our own inborn, yet hidden sanity.  Thus, the ‘guru’, represents the mirror of the student’s, or any human being’s natural wakefulness.  Every human, and deep down every other kind of being, too, has the seed of this awareness, this wakefulness.  But only few can access it, live from it.  Only in a few it becomes a ripe, luscious, delightful fruit. 

Similarly, as most of us cannot wake up in the middle of the night or at 5AM without the support of an alarm, most of us likewise cannot awaken from the deep slumber of our mental projections and karmic hallucinations, without the help of fully trained, authentic guru, or lama, who possesses an unbroken lineage. 

Yet, the guru is not who he or she is because of his or her status, or because of superior birth.  The guru’s ‘power’ is solely based on the fact that he or she has submitted to and fully gone through the same kind of training that we are requesting to undergo.  From other areas of life we all know that submitting to any kind of discipline will increase our command over this particular area, and indirectly over all other areas of our own life – how much more enlightened discipline!  Therefore, the secret of the guru’s ‘power’ lies in nothing else but the fact that he or she has disciplined his or her mind with the help of the Buddha’s teachings, by following his or her guru’s instructions and example.  By doing this, the guru received all the necessary tools of time tested mind training, now at his or her disposal, for helping us with the taming of our own minds. 

Contrary to what is written in some charmingly convincing books, if we are serious about our desire for waking up from our mind’s confusion, we cannot do so without a guru.  We cannot succeed by relying on our own confused minds limited by the same kind of concepts, which allegedly we wish to overcome. Undoubtedly, we need to first understand such concepts, and by understanding, overcome them. For this, the input of someone who has gone through the process before and knows the territory from experience is absolutely required.  Without him or her, we’ll inevitably get lost. A confused mind cannot transcend confusion.  It is only good at pretending.  The ordinary confused mind is a consummate liar.

In other words, we need the guru because he or she embodies the hidden best in us, which through the guru’s pointing-out instructions of the teachings and practices of the Buddha, we will gradually rediscover.

If the ‘guru’ is for real and not a fraudster or trickster, he or she will refuse to play god, or slothfully content himself/herself with sitting on a pedestal, receiving devotions and pat heads.  It will not occur to a genuine guru even in moments when he or she rightfully assumes his or her seat on a throne for the practical purpose of offering a formal teaching or of presiding over a ceremony to exhibit such pretense to enlightened energy when there is none. 

Again, being a ‘guru’ is a job, not about status.  Any real guru just wants to work with you and show you how you can work with yourself, with your mind – and with the bodies and minds of countless other beings that populate this universe, from your mother-in-law to some troubled entity trapped in the bardo, or some frightened and therefore angry nature spirit – or your cat, even your car.  The realm of enlightened intent and activity is vast.  The guru pushes you into this vastness, propels you into selfless action.

From this logically follows that taking refuge involves a lot more than seeking and clinging to a safe haven from all of the world’s troubles that you ordinarily would rather wish to avoid.  When properly understood and applied, taking Buddhist refuge is anything but an act of avoidance.  In the words of the Vidyadhara Chogyam Trungpa,

“Taking refuge is a leap.  It is not so much leaping out as it is leaping in.  You are letting yourself become as decent a person as possible.  You are renouncing the samsaric ugliness that surrounds us, and the pain that goes with it…. You begin to realize that things could be orderly, peaceful, and right on the dot; and at the same time you see how sloppy and confused the world is.  Therefore, you take refuge.  You vow to yourself that you’ll never give into that sloppiness.” 

Likewise Lama Dawa points out, in the teaching session before giving refuge that,

“When taking refuge in the guru, you are actually taking refuge in your own awareness; when taking refuge in the Buddha you are actually taking refuge in your own mind, inseparable from awareness; when taking refuge in the dharma you are actually taking refuge in your own word; and when taking refuge in the sangha you are actually taking refuge in your own actions.”

The two short quotes should suffice to clarify that taking Buddhist refuge, as the Buddha himself would like it to be understood, does not have anything in common with becoming someone’s, even the Buddha’s, blind follower.  Sheep don’t have it in them to become successful Buddhist practitioners. 

Just pause and think about the ramifications of these explanations for a moment:  If you want, actually even can, take complete refuge in your guru then you automatically understand how inseparable his/her and your awareness are.  If this is the case, where does this inseparability leave the concept of ‘you’ vs. ‘him/her’?  Where does the ‘guru’ end, and ‘you’ begin?

Likewise, if you can take refuge in your own mind, you then can fully trust it, without a shred of a doubt.  But what kind of a mind would it be, which you feel comfortable with, unreservedly, trusting?  Can it be that mind that you know for its fickleness, its ceaseless shifting viewpoints and positions?  Can it really be the same mind that you only know too well?  And which tires you to no end, with its lack of stability? 

Or, if you can trust, take refuge in your own word, your own speech, what kind of a speech would it be?  Can you take refuge in mindless chatter, in lies and conceit?  What quality do your words need to have so that you can take refuge in them?

How would it feel, and what quality would your actions be made of, that you can seek refuge in them, knowing that they will leave absolutely no negative traces, and no positive ones either, to cling to – much like drawings in water, or clouds in the sky, perfect gestures of reality itself. 

What kind of being in the world does such refuge reflect?  Ultimately, who is taking such refuge, and in what?

Of course, there are many more aspects to and teachings on refuge that can open new horizons, yet remain closer to what people would normally understand when first hearing the word ‘refuge’.  But even these more common explanations all encourage taking action while simultaneously they discourage the attitude of waiting for things to happen.

As was stated in the beginning, no one can really enter the path of the Buddha without taking it as his or her refuge. If we want to cross the river, we have to choose our raft – and better make sure that it is solidly built.  It may even need to be strong enough to withstand a hurricane.