Praise to Trungpa Rinpoche

Praise to Rinpoche in Surmang,

Monastic student and prolific, young, vajra master.

Praise to you who escaped to India and leapt to the British Isles.

Praise to you who went to Tak Seng, giving us all the Sadhanna of Mahamudra.

Praise to you leaping to North America,

Magnetizing students to Tail of the Tiger.

 

Praise to you in blue jeans and suspenders under the Rocky Mountain so blue sky,

Teaching the four "savage truths" with a big smile.

Praise to you in gray suit, sipping sake while giving no ground to the shaggy hippy   

Naropa audience.

Praise to you in tuxedo in Denver, watching the Regent dance with Lady Diana.

Praise to you in yellow robes—radiation without radiator.

Praise to you in khaki

and praise to you in  pristine Great Ocean uniform with black riding boots

astride Drala, galloping down from the higher realms.

Praise to you in your office so available,

Looking over spectacles at us as if to ask, "Really?"

 

Praise to Rinpoche in Cape Breton, PEI, and in the Apple Blossom Festival

Of the Annapolis Valley,

surrounded by your retinue of youthful dakinis.

Praise to you who could tickle and awe.

Praise to you, Druk Sakyong, for creating this Kingdom of Shambhala.

 

Praise to you and your chubby right hand, wielding the big brush,

And praise to you and your left hand of prajna, so often cupped in your lap

As if holding a skull cup or standing vajra.

 

Praise to you and your sadhanas, guru yogas, poems both traditional and Ginsberg-esque

And for your dharma books that continue to pour down from the dharmakaya.

Praise to you in the pine needles and summer grasses,

In the raindrops racing down the window and in the gathering clouds.

Praise to you in the rainbows, single or double,

In the storms and high winds,

In the fire of fire pujas and in the sand of sand mandalas.

Praise to you Rinpoche!

Honk a horn, blow gyalings,

Beat a drum, or sky-write "Praise!"

Raise a toast in Bobby Burns fashion:

"Praise to you now who are everywhere!"

--Linda V. Lewis, April 2010

HUM

I prostrate to the guru
Who embodies the three jewels
I prostrate to the guru
Who sometimes abides on the top of my head
As compassionate nirmanakaya
I prostrate to the guru
Who sometimes resides in the secret center
As blazing sambhogakaya
I prostrate to the guru
Who always presides in my heart
As essence of life
I prostrate to the guru
All-pervasive space

In the natural hierarchy of the heart
You are the emperor
From the palace of great bliss
You rule the worlds
With incomparable kindness
You tend the subjects
As a flower to the sun
The lotus of devotion turns to you, Lord

I prostrate to the guru, who is wisdom
I prostrate to the guru, who is joy
I prostrate to the guru of existence
I prostrate to the guru, who is life

With infinite patience you tame this rebel mind
And save me from the pain of conditioned existence
You lead me on the path of virtuous action
And empower me to become myself

I prostrate to the guru of example
I prostrate to the guru, who is light
I prostrate to the guru of great passion
I prostrate to the guru, who is space

I prostrate to the guru, who is sadness
I prostrate to the guru, who is pain
I prostrate to the guru, who is madness
I prostrate to the guru, the great sun

-Olive Colon,
Chakrasamvara retreat doha, June 1989

I pay homage

I pay homage to the glorious
Holy Guru
sometimes Nyingma, sometimes Kagyu
sometimes That luminous awakeness
which is your own mind.
I bow to the glorious
Holy Guru
the flower falling from cloudless sky
the wall of razors
cutting the vein of ego.
I prostrate to the glorious
Holy Guru
the torch lighting the way
the rug pulled out beneath
I praise the glorious
Holy Guru
who shows the mind at rest
who bombards the mind with thoughts.
Between this and that
resting in awareness beyond right and wrong
knowing the difference
singing the song of wakefulness
like the king of birds
leaving the mountains below,
I pay homage to the one......
That which liberates all.

came to mind on a mountain top in oregon
i remember my only father Chogyam Trungpa
may we rest our weary minds and see what is.
thank you,

Tharpa Lodro aka bobby higgins

A tribute, from a new student

Chogyam Trungpa's mischevious glint

shook me up, ask

whassat funk yer in?

no thisses no thats!

just touch and go

smile sweethearts

on the road to O

Rinpoche has so gracefully, lovingly and so unapologetically persuaded me that I am both luminous and normal; capable of anything imaginable and everything unimaginable. Studying and living with his Sangha feeds itself inexorably, like jumping onto a waterslide: no amount of even my stubbornness can defy the forward motion and the pool beyond.

The transition from way open-heartedness to speed was cushioned by an almost endless moonlit walk in the park. We drifted through misty black and white gardens in a sea of softly rumbling colour, relishing the last of our retreat before diving back into this turbulent ocean, somewhat wiser, somewhat sadder and somehow more in love.

His own love so utterly disarming, forgiving, confident that a drop dissolves confusion, instills a warrior's gentle strength and in particular with The Sakyong, the clarity to live each moment for each other. Now then, happily humbled to find a community dedicated to helping one another so vulnerably living, loving and hurting, buoyed by compassion, propelled by wisdom.

All hail the happy man from Tibet and his glorious extended family!!

Edmund Butler

January 2010

Tribute to Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche

We Never Met

We never met,

Not in this life anyway.

Not that you didn't offer me the chance.

And even though I wasn't ready

I never forgot you.

I still see you sitting on the stage

Poised to make 'the master stroke' and then:

"I am so ashamed."

You said enough to let me know

I might grow up someday.

Does it matter that your body is gone?

Of course it matters and yet.......

Daily now

Your teachings fill my brimming eyes

The hot and salty tears

melting the ice of my cold arrogance

melting my wall of separation from others

melting all the hidden places in my heart

that have I been terrified to know.

Sometimes when I hear your voice

Or even just read your words,

the only thing I can do is deeply gasp

as if the way you just appeared was so potent

I nearly drown in just the reading of it.

So piercingly true are you,

so precise a doctor for our sick world,

for my sick heart.

On this sad and cheerful day

a toast to you, Sir.

No concoctions,

just a straight drink

tossed back with gentleness

so hot all the way down

it brings tears to my eyes.

Eyes which are beginning to see

things as they are.

Endlessly Giving

ENDLESSLY GIVING Court chatter, baby blue and gold, madness in my household, warriorship in my living room, never truly understanding the beauty of your chaos. Monarch of your breath, hard and soft cosmic touch, tickles or cuts, feather or razor blade, today and tomorrow, difficult problems of non-attachment. Loving father, gifting patriarch, skillful touch of deceptively complex matriarch, my king and queen are endless, figments of my devotion, to this primordial open heart. When was the karmic genesis? The first time you felt your heart beat! Green pines, sage brush and collecting juniper, 100 different shades of khaki in formation, gentle army clumsily sharpening dignity, liberates through genuine leader, sake glass emptying high command has issued orders, be kind! Crying mouths, why has it become so contrived, why is the son not as the father! unrest, mistrust and unbelievable egos, clinging, co-opting, practicing attachment, it started when one man was not attached, and looked inside himself, and it ends when you look inside yourself, and do the same. Choggie laughs, smiles he'll never let you down, except to see the truth, unless you feel too safe. giving endlessly in to you, endlessly giving in to you. I've been so tired, but I woke up, on April 4th, to say goodbye again. To tell you my love is endless, endlessly giving to you. -Gesar