poem for CTR

For CTR

I.

I saw some green

on the beginning of earth hour

Hospice of light in the city's

diminished garden.

A jumble, a ruse, of impossible

Avenues

by lateral means.

Up and down no longer viable but true.

I saw some green--

smoke on the mountain rising

as we looked to the sky.

Then,

there was nothing.

II.

Let me tell you of other ports;

Hunger's ruined feast

at the portal of entries

this city glimmering against her black

planetarium.

Guardians at the gate

Lead us into the nameless.

III.

Birds chatter amid cow plops of wet snow.

Cemetery of kisses*

falling in dissolution

reigning over

hard periphery of angled thoughts

condensed into conversation

for some green song I saw

while still a fire in your tombs.*

Twenty years later, still alive.

*italics from Pablo Neruda

Jacqueline Gens Brattleboro, Vermont April, 2007

LOTUS SUN

In the poetry of your presence

No words are needed

The delight in your eyes

Reflects the moon

Movement of your hands

Is liquid sunshine

Fragrance of mind

Like a lotus bloom

As the Vidyadhara gave the guru yoga ngondro transmission to a small group in 1977, this song spontaneously arose. -Olive Colon

Tribute to CTR

I first saw you on forbidden film as I fixed computers at DDL
The magical words and offerings
And I, a novice sitter forlorn at the new death
That brought me here to your seat
In the heart of the mandala

Sitting...

In the staff house…
Stories from the elders
Gin and tonic musings
Laughing and sharing
...I only saw the drunkenness...

In the barn...
Thinking, just thinking, don't worry, no problem...
Just sit, it's ok
...I only saw the dharma...

In the shrine room...
Chanting your words
Feeling the drum
And the warm morning sunshine
...I only saw the love of my life...

At the Abbey...
I felt the rush of painful feelings
Loss and the escape of one-pointedness
Watching everything come and go
...I saw only the complexity...

At the airport...
Longing for Asia
Looking for something else
I despised your shenpa
...I saw only the mirror...
In the arms of my wife...
The interconnectedness
Of you and I hangs lightly
On her breath in the morning...

- Greg Demmons

Greg Demmons
Visiting Professor
Liberal Arts Division
Gachon University of Medicine and Science

Haunted / Desperately Seeking an Exorcist

Every morning it wakes me up

Bouncing on the bed like a newborn baby

Wanting to go out and play

Yelling, "Change my nappie."

 

Every night it crawls into bed with me

Old and complaining like Methuselah

Snoring

Then wanting me to take it to the bathroom for a pee

Or the kitchen for a snack

 

It's teeth are falling out

There's dakini writing on its nails

It's breath is like an old dead kipper

Or fresh as frost morning sunlight

 

In desperation I say,

"Don't you have somewhere else to stay?

Didn't you die twenty years ago?"

"No," it replies,

"You're the one that died;

I'm quite happy here alive."

 

Please reply. Will do anything

for a good night's sleep or holiday.

Signed, Lulu the Fan Dancer

P.S.  The first wag that replies,

"There's no hope,"

gets a blue pancake on the head.

 

                                - John Riley Perks

April 4, 2007

In morning rain

twenty years ago, a robin

today the full moon.

        -Reed Bye

From the Tehran meditation group

Good morning:

I thought at the time that government of Iran and U.S. are in bitter conflict. By the kindness of CTR's heart, we are practicing meditation and hearing his teaching in Tehran. May we all be at ease and live at peace. Thank you for your wonderful work.

Raana Bastani, Tehran

For Trungpa Rinpoche

Once again, last evening,

you described to us

what you saw, who you met and what was said

in the cave at Taktsang

 

It is nearly forty years

since you were there, for several weeks,

high on that cliff

overlooking the Paro valley.

 

They say the Queen of Bhutan

arranged for you to do a retreat there,

in the place where Padmasambhava, Guru Rinpoche

manifest as Dorje Trollo.

 

The story goes that for days on end

nothing happened;

nothing but frustration,

nothing but Bhutanese gin and an unhappy companion.

Then, suddenly, in a few hours,

the entire sadhana came into your mind

and was written down.

 

Now we can pick it up,

as we did last night,

and join you in that sacred world

where ‘all thoughts vanish into emptiness

like the imprint of a bird in the sky’;

and where, ‘although we live in the

slime and muck of the dark age’,

we still aspire to see the face of sanity.

 

It seems this was always what you did for us;

invite us into the world of the lineage,

into the world of sanity,

into the world that waits, unconditionally,

just a shift in view away;

the world that is none other

than the one we live in every day.

 

For Trungpa Rinpoche on the occasion of participating in a Sadhana of Mahamudra feast, April 4, 2007, the twentieth anniversary of his parinirvana.

 

Mountain Drum (David Whitehorn)

5April 2007, Halifax

 

 

C.T. Mukpo's Open Heart Club Clan

(With a tip of the hat to Sgt. Pepper!)

It was twenty years ago today,

having shown us how to work and play,

how to comb our hair and change our style,

and eventually how to smile,

he left on our own to do

the act we've worked on all these years:

C.T. Mukpo's Open Heart Club Clan

We're C.T. Mukpo's Open Heart Club Clan,

We're learning to enjoy the show

We're C.T. Mukpo's Open Heart Club Clan

Sit down, wake up, and then let go

C.T. Mukpo's Open, C.T. Mukpo's Open,

C.T. Mukpo's Open Heart Club Clan

We sit and try to be here

Our minds aren't always still

Sometimes we can't wait for the gong

and oryoki takes so long

we wish we were at home!

But we know wherever we may go

and whatever we may think we know

that the guru's never very far

if we know our minds for what they are

We're glad he introduced us to

the path of gentle joy and tears

We're C.T. Mukpo's Open Heart Club Clan 

We're C.T. Mukpo's Open Heart Club Clan,

we like to shout Ki Ki So So

We're C.T. Mukpo's Open Heart Club Clan

we're raising windhorse as we go

C.T. Mukpo's Open, C.T. Mukpo's Open

C.T. Mukpo's Open Heart Club Clan

We're C.T. Mukpo's Open Heart Club Clan,

we hope you have enjoyed our song

We're C.T. Mukpo's no more mopin' Open Heart Club Clan

and now we hope you'll come along

We're C.T. Mukpo's Open, C.T. Mukpo's Open

C.T. Mukpo's Open Heart Club Clan

 

Performed at the parinirvana feast at KCL to general acclaim from dathunees, Vajrayoginis, first-timer simplicity participants, staff and assorted riff-raff.

Invoking the energy

Invoking the energy of CTR can really only be done with extreme skill, extreme gap, or a lot of poetry. At the NYC feast on Wednesday night, we had a lot of the third by two awesome women, no less. Anne Waldman and Lanny Harrison rocked the shrine room, invoking Alan Ginsberg, "vintage Anne", and "vintage Lanny", among others. There are many stories to tell about Chogyam Trungpa, but the good ones all have something in common: humility, fearlessness, and a direct hit to your conventional mind. Lanny and Anne brought all three into the completely packed NYC shrine room, and I felt my heart for the first time in a while, beating, like it's supposed to.

Catherine Fordham

An Offering in Appreciation

Sitting here

Lost in thought

A taste of limitless freshness cuts through, illuminates

Nothing changed

And keeps changing

But when?

 

DJ

 

Parinirvana

Parinirvana

For a long time
I had many dreams
That you had come back
And I cried my joy to you.
We had a private joke
When the sangha saw
A video of the old days
And didn't recognize themselves.
You were always as close
As my own mind.
I told you everything.
You taught me to stay true,
Gave me the courage
To stay true.

When I read of
Rev. Ryuichi Yamamoto,
A youthful tantric master
From Kyoto, Japan,
A child prodigy
And Shingon master
Coming to North America
To tour Shambhala Centers
And learn more about
Chogyam Trungpa's teachings,
I rejoiced, knowing it was you.
My heart leapt:
He's come back!
He's arriving on the 20th Parinirvana!
He'll set everything right again!

Then I read: "Please contact
Miss Kiku Masamuni,"
And read the date: April 1st.
And I got the joke,
Which only increased my longing.

There will never be another like you.


Tharpa Nordzin

PS:  Thanks to whoever wrote that joke.  Good one!

Mud Season in These Parts (near Karme Choling)

Did it look like this
when you first surveyed the ground--
barren, brown,
and everywhere you look,
mud?
Takes a keen eye
to see summer's flowers or autumn's abundance
in this mess.

But then a keen eye comes from experience
and you brought lifetimes of it to these parts.
You also brought
other provisions useful
to one hoping to coax from earth its full bounty:
strong back willing to bend
energy to work around the clock
sense of humor that never gives up
and patience, patience, patience

A farmer with the land bred in his bones
sees late snow blanket hill and rutted road
and smiling says
like his father before him
"It's a poor man's fertilizer."
So, with a twinkling eye
you looked at our lives
and pronounced:
"the field of bodhi and the manure of experience."
What a nice way to put it.

We were full of it.
Full of ourselves, mostly,
and our glorious crusade to change the world.
You stopped us in our tracks
with a simple question:
Why do you want to do that?
And when we had blustered and blabbered
and rendered the air full of opinions
your response stopped us further:
If you say so, sweetheart!

Before generations of farmers,
the earliest people in these parts
studied their world
with keen eyes and open hearts.
They must have.
How else could they have known
that the tall trees,
all brilliant flash in fall,
in spring hold other wealth,
hidden?
They learned to pick the time,
to tap and to refine
the sap,
and so to know
essential sweetness,
wisdom they passed on.

You saw beneath the wild surface
untended and untapped
the seed of what we might become
the sweetness we could share
if we could just be coaxed
to drop our tricks
stop trying to fix
what had never been broken
and settle down to find
what had been running in our veins the whole time
unconquerable, pulsing, true.

Now, after twenty years
of non-stop thunderstorm
raining blessings through all seasons,
we too have begun to develop keen eyes.
We find ourselves
tending unlikely crops for these intemperate climes,
lotus gardens and coconuts of wakefulness.
Following your example,
we know not to worry about seeing the harvest.
Shoulders to the wheel of dharma,
we just do it,
steadily working through the slime and muck.

Did it look like this to you,
I asked when I started this poem yesterday,
mud everywhere?
Your answer brought a big laugh--
poor man's fertilizer
overnight
brown to white.


Carol Hyman
Barnet, Vermont

Chogyam and Jesus

It is Holy week and I am thinking about Trungpa Rinpoche.

As a Christian who practices Buddhist meditation, I have spent much time reflecting on the confluence of different religious traditions. In a culture where Christian faith is often associated with political views and lifestyles that make me bristle, I am perennially tempted to jettison what is left of it and start over. But it's not so easy. The symbols and practices of the church still have currency for me and stir my soul. I am still drawn to the deep waters of Christian faith. So it seems ironic that this week, Jesus' Passion is overshadowed by the passion of the Vidyadhara. And yet, maybe less an irony than a sign. Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche had a lot in common with Jesus, the Christ.

- Both had a vivid sense of a living spiritual tradition.
- Both were descended of and devoted to a lineage.
- Both revolutionized traditional teachings for a new generation, and brought them to life for a new people.
- Both invited students and disciples into their intimate presence, where they learned by word and deed.
- Both preached peace, and modeled deep commitment to being of benefit to society.
- Both surprised their followers: they weren't the type of leaders expected by early adherents. They did unexpected things that shocked both the orthodox and the followers.
- Both attracted a lot of attention, and yet many people turned away because the teachings were too radical, or too demanding.
- Both were prepared for and unafraid of their deaths, while their students denied and resisted.
- Both instituted a new community which carried on after their passing.
- Both had students who recorded their words and actions for the benefit of many: the Shambhala teachings may be likened to the New Testament, an expansion of the tradition based on the existing canon.

But Rinpoche did not rise from the grave on the third day to walk among his disciples, so maybe the Easter narrative is where this analogy breaks down. Or maybe not. Many of us reflect daily on his life and teachings. And the spirit of Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche surely dwells within the Shambhala community and continues to reveal basic goodness and propagate authentic presence in this world.

On this 20th anniversary of the Vidyadhara's parinirvana during Holy week, we all have much to celebrate.

Scott Kroeker
Maundy Thursday, 2007
Winnipeg, Manitoba

poem

Parinirvana of Chogyam Trungpa Chokyi Gyatso
04.05.2007

Earth's powdery breath exhaled this morning
Drawn in again for the meltdown
Deer's hoofs rhythmically pound the forest floor
Like pistons pulsing under my hood
Carburetor choking out its carbon load
I set out for the day's gleaning
Another automotive bardo as I sit
Nailed to the present moment

Once I lay naked next to the guru
In a beautiful moment of grace
I swam in a sea of liquid jewels
Pearls, rubies, and emeralds
Once he taught me to make Chinese tea
I, of Nihon the four islands,
Who wandered sacred Shinto precincts
And drank in 2000 years of sadness
These were only dreams of Trungpa
Who never knew me but
Is closer to me than my own face
Will I remember my true name
When he calls me from
Beyond this dream?

Dori Digenti
Lodro Sangmo

CHRONICLE: On Synchronicity

Upon my Aunt Rose's clear vinyl-fitted white sofa,
a third-grade boy by myself doing what I was told
to do, looking at National Geographic:

White & red pagoda-like cliffside retreat a
three-week walk from the nearest road awed
me at the thought of such profound solitude- *

Harkening back to my first inkling my mind always
revisits that paradigm shift stepping outside time
briefly in my aunt's parlour...

This November morning, the Monday following a
week-end Atlantic Regional Conference at Denma
Ling, sorting through issues of NG back to the 60s
at a drowsy used bookstore-slash-copy shop across
from the Dalhousie campus, biding my time till my
afternoon ride home from the heart of the province
to its right foot, in the September 1961 issue was an
article new to me, "Bhutan, the Mountain Kingdom."
It crossed my mind if that photo might surface.

Scanning past "America's First Manned Venture
Into Space: The Flight of Freedom 7," ....just so,
there it simply, suddenly, quietly was! Magnetized,
my eyes went with utter yearning sympathy as if
beyond the photo to the physical place.

Now this alone would be a momentous discovery,
ordinary miracle enough but what is more, under
the picture the caption says,

Known as Tiger's Nest, Taktshang Monastery
perches on a sheer granite cliff 3000' above the
Paro River Valley. Bhutanese believe that the
Indian mystic who brought Buddhism to Bhutan
and Tibet landed here on a flying tiger."

First I stumbled on heartfelt photo, childhood icon.
Then I was further stunned to see the exact location
(having no special meaning to me as a child at that
time but since that time assuming great importance)
for Taktshang is none other than Taktsang!

"Of tremendous significance to my future activity
were the ten days spent in [1968] retreat at Taktsang."
BORN IN TIBET Chogyam Trungpa, Rinpoche

"The message that I received . . . was that one must try
to expose spiritual materialism and all its trappings,
otherwise true spirituality could not develop. I began
to realize that I would have to take daring steps in my
life." Ibid.

36 years! since first setting eyes on and imprinting
that photo in NYC (left-hand side of left-hand page),
finding it again in Halifax amidst aisles of yellow
bestsellers - o flash of recognition - twenty years
since - happy accident! - I took Trungpa - a decade
after his retreat at Taktsang, a decade before he died -
as my root-guru.

* Nowhere in the article does it say anything about it
being a three-week walk from the nearest road.

Dawa Choga
Pembroke Shore, Nova Scotia [1997]

Simple Gratitude

I cannot think of anyone who could not benefit from the Shambhala Teachings.

I have said this often to myself, and occasionally to others. I am
not evangelistic, but simply grateful to the Vidyadhara that he so
fully opened his life to both receiving and transmitting the dharma.
Although I never met him, I have benefited so much from his recorded
teachings in written and audio form, as well as from his living
teachings embodied by the Shambhala community. Not a day passes that
I do not find myself reflecting on my good fortune to have stumbled
into this wisdom tradition. May we be ever inspired by his example to
manifest authentic presence.

Scott Kroeker

As he did

Alone
on a river bank
in Gypsum, Colorado
with a body of red flames,
hollow and sensuous,
moist and alive
and burning
the real stuff of the world.

The day runs on
like the river.
Morning is gone.
Afternoon is underway.
Is there something I can do
as he did
to soothe the suffering of beings?

-Jigme
May 1987

On these rocks

Sent to live here
work here
love here.
That was magic.
And true.
And I've noticed
after 20 years of looking –
at sea, at rock, at sky
that its beauty should be seen
with a heart broke open.

Alicia Fordham
April 2, 2007

VCTR tribute

First you were my saviour
You rescued my family from hippie days
You saved us from sloppiness
and, thank goodness, everything wasn't "beautiful" anymore

Then you were my father figure
Offering advice and words of encouragement
"Don't smoke pot."
"You should try meditation!"
"Watch out for the Mukpo wrath."

Finally, at last, you were my guru
Accepting no excuses
How terrifying!
What a relief
Having nowhere to hide.

I never saw one scrap of fear
Not a drop
Not a crumb
Not an atom
I didn't know how extraordinary you were
until I had lived twenty more years.
Even among the greatest teachers and saints
This fearlessness is a miracle

I am no scholar
but I know this:
no "alcoholic"
no "charisma"
no "sinner"
no "saint"
only Padmasambhava

Most Any Question

Most any question I had he said,
"Find Out"

JK
New Ipswich NH

--
J.Crow Company
PO Box 172
105 Emerson Hill Road
New Ipswich NH 03071 USA
Folk Medicine-Tibetan Medicine
Dehydrated Foods & Herbs
Tibet Stamps
1 800 878 1965
http://www.SpicedCider.com

Sun of Mukpo

        Sun of Mukpo



The first time that we gathered to watch you die,
I experienced great joy at seeing you again.
There was no doubt that you were yourself--
magnificent in spite of tubes and bruises.
This brought great faith in the only father guru.

The second time that we gathered for your death,
I made a vow to fulfill your wishes:
May I be haunted by that samaya through the kalpas.
May your word spread across continents and reach the ears of
countless sentient beings.

The third time that we gathered for your death,
Before your breath stopped, mind stopped.
The power of your nonthought lineage is seared into my brain.
May I carry this imprint throughout many lives.

On the day that you died, I became a Mukpo.
Until your death, there was someone else,
But now there is only Mukpo.

These feet are Mukpo feet,
These toes are Mukpo toes,
These legs are Mukpo legs,
These thighs are Mukpo thighs,
Mukpo loins and Mukpo belly,
Mukpo breast, arms, hands, fingers,
Mukpo spine and neck and chin,
These Mukpo lips utter Mukpo words with Mukpo tongue
and grinding Mukpo teeth.
This Mukpo nose smells the scent of Mukpo,
And these Mukpo ears listen for the thundering beat of Mukpo
riding on the wind and dust and ocean of Mukpo world.
These Mukpo eyes see the vision of Mukpo,
And this Mukpo brow bears the Ashe brushstroke of Mukpo.
Mukpo brain thinks Mukpo thoughts,
Mukpo heart pumps Mukpo blood through Mukpo arteries, veins,
muscles, tendons--

Mukpo cannot be dismantled.
Mukpo is no mausoleum.
Mukpo will not budge.
Yes come from Mukpo.
Mukpo knows how to say no.
Mukpo gives yes and no to those who know Mukpo.
Mukpo is no personality cult.
Mukpo is Gesar.
Mukpo is His Holiness.
You can take the Mukpo out of Vajradhatu,
But you cannot take the Vajradhatu out of Mukpo.

Mukpo can slice.
Mukpo can cut.
Mukpo can purr like a lion.
But Mukpo does not chatter.

Mukpo cannot be defeated.
Beware of Mukpo.
Let us be aware of Mukpo.
Let us celebrate Mukpo together.
Let us give Mukpo to our children and our children's children.

Born as Smith, Jones, Rich, Rose, Rome, or Baker,
Let us all die as Mukpo.
What else is there to do in Nova Scotia?

        Dojre Yutri
        24 July 1987
        

RINPOCHE

More glorious than multicoloured banners and pennants blowing in the breeze,
More beautiful than strings of pearls, jewel crowns, and golden or bone jewelry       ornamenting dancing dakas and dakinis of our mind,
More valuable than all the wealth and resources of the world,
More powerfully peaceful than symphonies of soothing music,
More powerfully wakeful than the sun rising over the snow-covered Himalayas--
     Is a mind open as the cloudless sky,
     A mind unfathomable as the ocean.
And the teacher who points out this true vast and profound nature of mind
     is then indeed most precious.

To our vajra guru earth protector known more often as "Rinpoche"
I offer these few heartfelt words of love and gratitude.
May we see your Kingdom in our eyes.
                                             Linda Lewis 4/'07

Here's the story

I met the Vidyadhara in 1972. I had heard two people talking about him in the waiting room of a clinic in Madison, Wisconsin, where I was living at the time. I overheard them say something about this cool Tibetan teacher that smoked cigarettes and drank liquor while he gave his talks, and something clicked for me. So, I moved to Boston with my girlfriend, staying with some old college friends for a while, and we visited Tail of the Tiger so i could meet this Tibetan. I had a long conversation with Karl Springer and told him I felt connected to Buddhism and was looking for a teacher. He set up the interview.

The first time I laid eyes on Rinpoche was when I walked into his bedroom for a private interview. The moment I saw him I realized I was looking at the goal, someone who had accomplished the path. Here was someone more present than anyone I`d ever met, and yet there didn't`t seem to be anyone there. Naturally, it didn't`t compute, so my mind was spinning, trying to understand what I was seeing. After a long silence, Rinpoche spoke first. He said "Don`t work so hard". We both chuckled and I mumbled something like "yeah, I am working pretty hard". More silence. Finally, I looked up at him and said: "Isn`t there an easier way?" He chuckled again and just shook his head. That was the end of the interview.

 

I knew I wanted this man to be my teacher. My girlfriend was put off by the whole scene, and we broke up and she went back to the Midwest. I started writing letters to

VCTR, telling him everything about my history, sending poems, trying to connect with him. I wrote about ten letters but never received any reply. Finally, I got frustrated and

wrote him, demanding that he tell me whether I could be his student or not, and that

I would take further silence as a no, and in that case, I would go to Japan and check out the zen monasteries. A short while later, I got a response in the form of a poem.

It went:

 

"A Poem for John

 

A lonely search

The world is mocking

Hopelessness is dynamite.

 

Plumbing

Meditating

Theatre

Study

Learning

Sanity.

 

Vocabulary is a pawn,

But a good idea.

The aspirant is never happy,

But his inspiration is a happy one.

 

Join the lineage!

 

Let`s sing and dance together.

Let`s march across the endless range.

 

I am depressed.

How?

I don`t know!"

 

One consequence of getting this poem was I quit being a voracious reader. I`d found what I was looking for, though I`m still discovering what that is.

 

Best Wishes,  John Tischer

No fooling!

 

Thirty-two years ago today, Rinpoche asked me to help him play an April Fool joke on the sangha.

 

He thought a while and then asked me to call Vajradhatu and pretend to be some person in the San Francisco sangha (I can't remember who) and say that the Shambhala bookstore had burned down and that Sam (Bercholz) had gone to the hospital and even though it looked like he was going to be okay, could someone please contact Rinpoche so that he could "think about Sam or something" (Rinpoche's words).

 

He thought I should put a bunch of Kleenex over the mouthpiece so that I would sound far away. This struck me as so funny, and besides I was nervous, I got the giggles. We both got the giggles. Then I had to dial the number.

 

The Vajradhatu offices were only a few blocks away -- and when the person answered, with Rinpoche watching me, I was so nervous about blowing it that my voice trembled. It worked perfectly -- I sounded distraught. When I hung up, he wondered aloud how long would it take for the phone to ring -- it wasn't long!

 

Hey Sam -- if you are reading this, I never asked you -- how long it it take for you to hear about it?!

 

With love and devotion,

--Suzanne/Tsondru Namkha

 

Gazing At His Consort

 What do you see when you look at her?

 Does she look like she has been some where?

 How would you like to take that trip

 Will you insist on knowing the fare?

 

 The ticket from here to there is pricey.

 First your soul is on the list.

 It was a comforting notion for a very long time.

 But now we all know it doesn't exist.

 

 Selfless sweet openness,  how does she do that?

 It looks so easy, so graceful, so light.

 She never grabs or clings or falls,

 She is a trapez-less acrobat.

 

 What price has she paid to be left so real?

 Only her  self  was on the table.

 But the antes were up and she lost the game

 Buenaventura for a lucky girl.

 

 What price discipline;  is it so bad?

 And what of morality;  it sounds so drab.

 But to stay in step with our invisible partner . . .

 It's a bit of a trick when we try to see it.

 But certainly it's worth a try,

 Because every one of us can do it.

 

 It's frightfully easy to dispel a dakini.

 Ulterior motives or duplicitous words

 Can take her out in the wink of an eye.

 Yet, it's in her non-nature not to stay gone,

 So watch out ,,, she'll be back <<< ,

       with tricks and spies,

 Cheerful or angry and ready to act

 

 She plays so hard, her life's on the line

 And once in a while she dies for the truth.

 With her moonlight complexion and lightbody gone

 She dissipates in a smiling realm

 And sleeps in the arms of vastbluesky.

 

 Taking and sending ride on the breath

 Our life force does a circle dance

 Our thoughts go back and forth like ping pong

 Self can't survive this wild romance.

 

 This outrageous girl, she has me half crazy.

 When I search for her she can't be found.

 If I knew the price I would certainly pay it.

 If I knew the time I would certainly keep it.

 As it is ,  all I do is make her laugh ,

 And hold her hands when she needs to weep.

My Guru Was One Scary Son Of A Bitch

He scared all my fear away

Whenever I'm frightened and think of his smile

There's nothing left that's scary at all

Nothing left of fear atall

 

My guru was a very greedy man,

He took my territory away

Whenever I'm greedy and think of his smile

There's nothing left to possess at all

Nothing left of greed atall

 

My guru was a very impatient man

He hurried all my doubts away

Whenever I hesitate and think of his smile

There's nothing left to question at all

Nothing left of doubt atall

 

My guru was a very passionate man

He seduced all my attachment away

Whenever I'm grasping and think of his smile

There's nothing left to hold on to at all

Nothing left of attachment atall

 

My guru was a very ignorant man

He ignored my stupidity again and again and again and again

Whenever I'm stupid and think of his smile

There's nothing left to ignore at all

Nothing left of stupidity atall

 

My guru was one scary son of a bitch

He scared all my fear away

Whenever I'm frightened and think of his smile

There's nothing left that's scary at all

Nothing left of fear atall

Nothing left of fear atall

 

Jim Lowrey

Final Chakrasamvara retreat

March 2005

This text arose spontaneously

This text arose spontaneously in a moment out of my subconscious (or we could say, the sambhogakaya.) It expresses the most intimate level of my relationship with Rinpoche and I think also expresses that ideal or optimal state one may be in of the guru and the student meeting naked in the charnel ground. Of course other things could be said- the love of the student for the teacher is as rich (or richer) in multiplicities as perhaps any other human relationship or love affair:

The wild, free unbounded energy of a crazy wisdom master who penetrated to the heart of things, destroyed the boundaries of conventional mind, motivated us to accept the difficulties that this penetration involved, sacrificed himself completely for the benefit of his students which [benefit] he understood entirely beyond consideration of conventional benefit, entirely in terms of realization. I love him for his craziness, his utterness, his utter single-mindedness of intention, his demand for surrender and discipline, and his deep indifference to the conventional, for his students and for himself, I love him for the total complete sense he had of the phenomenal world as playground, as the ground of joy, even to the point of manifesting a kingdom in a pure gesture of play and seriousness, of the movement into space-time of benefit, of beauty and the possibilities of collective transformation of matter and spirit. (In other words, the Kingdom of Shambhala. Who else would have dared?) I love him for his profound experience of the the unobstructedness of things, and the depth of his commitment to transmit that experience to his students. I love him for the demands he made and the purpose of the joy and pain he could deliver. I love him for the profound nature and beauty of his terma discoveries as wisdom vehicles and for the mere fact of his having made these discoveries. And I love him for his intense emphasis and insistence on the continuities of all this, and the possibility of realizing in life the continuous nature of meditation and postmeditation.

I love him for his wisdom, his inventiveness, his challenges, his craziness, his sanity, his beauty, for the crazy unconventional family of students he created about him. And besides all this I simply love him as a living presence in my life who need not be remembered and who could not possibly be forgotten, a self-existing wisdom master whom I love and respect beyond measure.

James Green

(Namthok)

Green and Brown in Summer Heat

They mingle, the green and brown, pounded by the black and tan.

The black and tan do hard and soft on the breast of the meadow.

Our practice materials are greygreen.

Our armour is tan.

Our minds are hard and soft as we practice.

Naked heat, exertion, rain, and insects, our ghanta and dorje,

Softness and straight lines the kapala,

Flags and tents snap in the midnight wind of our meadow.

This is the endless repetition for Shambhala, for its armies,

Gathered by holy men, gathered by warriors, gathered by the tears of

Human bravery.

This is a gentle world where hard and soft know each other.

There is no peak experience for practitioners of this sadhana,

But there are moments.

We offer this amrita to the Rigden Father,

To the world,

And to Nova Scotia.

Long live the Horse Country,

And long live Victory Over War!

 

-Hudson Shotwell