You are entering my vajra word  

 

        Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche

 

Never forget the Hinayana

Never forget blue/red moths on ratna bathhouse

Never forget almond liquid soap

Never forget humming bird in my eye

Never forget 13 dollar sake box

Never forget oriyoki lessons without speech

Never forget staying up for thirty hours

Never forget CTR in tent eating omlette at 10.00pm

Never forget Sergeant Lyon banging drum when I was dead, dead tired

Never forget that girl smiling

Never forget Regent Osel Tendzin empowering us all

Never forget thinking it is too bright in here

 

Never forget!

Never forget!

Never forget!

 

Heres to La Vid and 86 the best year ever!

 

Rita Ashworth

Stockport UK

 

Haunting , As You Promised.

I would like to dream about you to ease this longing,

but your presence continues on in everything, everywhere,

so what could a dream of you satisfy? 

You are there always, you are not there at all.

Sometimes I think I see you driving in another car on the L.A. freeway.

That would be so like you to show up that way, waving as you pass.

I offer my song to you when I sing.

I put you in the audience becuase it makes me tell the truth.

You really are there, you are not there at all.

I was your student when I was 17; this year I am 50.

I wonder if I have any idea about anything.

I really do wonder.

Dharma.

Then I remember I am a Mukpo, too.

And I can rely on our connection wholeheartedly.

I really don't mean to be so stupid.

I don't want to waste time.

I don't want to be distracted.

I had the best opportunity a person can ever have.

I was taken, every bit of me, by the King of the Universe.

I am writing this as if you would read it yourself,

You really are there, you are not there at all.

Offering you everything, anything, all of it, always, forever,

Always, everything, on and on, forever and ever and ever.

------

-Anne Kerry Ford

Ojai, California

Gratitude

Let me be thankful every moment of every day
And not just for a few moments on Thanksgiving Day
In this world, full of pain, horror, love and courageousness

Somewhere someone is tortured and hunted while I am free of fear
Their suffering is as deep as the darkest chasm

Somewhere someone is without is without the food, medicine, shelter that have surrounded me
They waste and die in pain and hunger that I've never known

Somewhere someone has never been cared for as I have been cared for
They were parented by abandonment, neglect, and mistrust while I was protected and instructed by selflessness

Somewhere someone has given up hope of the rescue that I have never needed
They are desperate but sure that no one will hear their call
In a realm of barren loneliness

Let me remember the plight of the unfortunate
Let me remember the confusion of the lost
Let me remember the power of my fortune
Let me share it with the world

And when misfortune finds me
Let me be thankful for the wonders of my life
When I am sad or afraid let me be truly so and not indulgent in self-pity

Let me remember the faces of those that have loved me
Let me remember the gifts born of true love
Let me remember that I was lucky
In a world where love is precious

And if I am truly wretched
And I find that all hope has abandoned me
And all my friends are gone
And every moment is measured in pain

Let me remember
That in my heart
There is an eternal spark of love

And that I saw it and accepted it
And I saw that love and gratitude
Are one and the same

By Dudley Jackson
March/April 2008
Offered respectfully for the 21st Parinirvana of Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche

You nailed it

Born and bred in Tibet,
you clipped your fingernails
into the batter of Western mindlessness
and made organic hole wheat.

The first time I met you,
you stole my mind
actually, not mind
you stole my self
for a few moments.

Your fingernails of unimpededness
were eaten by the hungry students:
Mukpo keratin.
You rose to every occasion.
It was the yeast you could do.

-Elisabeth Gold

I was looking for you all over

 I was looking for you all over

And couldn't find you anywhere

When I rested my mind in sadness

Your presence become overwhelming

Displaying phenomena dancing

 

From Angelika Siaw (Karma Phun Tso Cho Dron)

Sadhakha living in Kenya

Attendant…….

ET Guru

Waiting at the door

Falling at the door

Through the years

Of madness

To a point of kissing Angels

Loved and very distant

ET Guru shuffles off

Backstaged – intensely watching

Worlds/indifferences/demons

Confusions/contests/clarities

Of references points

Annihilated by nectar

In Londons' public houses

ET Guru

Tinkles Bell

Cremates this/that

Cycles to the Sun

&blows up with a rainbow

Camera'ed by flicking buttons.

ET Guru you are dead?

And packaged for the millions

Like the lion on the egg*

HO HUM

HA HA HA!
Amen!

Amen!

Amen!

 

 

(A lion stamp is sometimes placed on British eggs to state they are from the UK)*

 

Best

 

Rita Ashworth

Stockport UK

---

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1988 RMDC dathun - toast

"I've no independent knowledge of meeting Chogyam Trungpa in person, face-to-face."

 

In 1988 at Rocky Mountain Shambhala Center, at a banquet following a dathun (4-week sitting period) I offered a toast "to the sangha" This new word was one I associated with "family" and I offered the words to those left in the wake of such a teacher's vast activities.

 

Rather than "wake" I became curious more of an "awake" that such a teacher might have been sharing, imbuing, steeping, and serving.

 

Far more than the actions of any bodhisattva, Vidyadhara, I stead on in my life to lead to... where.

 

I read a bumper sticker .. "They can send me to college, but they can't make me learn."

 

I leave this cyberspace with a short poem:

 

I'm so, I'm so

in love with you

dharma be tried

before it is true.

 

                                               

Karma Sherab

 

 

20 years ago

we had gone to the ocean to release lobsters that would have otherwise been eaten
a ransom gift for Rinpoche's life

I never thought he would-somehow ...
anyway

there we were out on the ocean, where I loved to take walks
and extremely odd occurrence: there were tons of people there just looking at the water
for the water was full of ice
the whole harbour had filled with ice
an uncommon thing to happen
uncommon things happen when uncommon people are around

Rinpoche had been in bed for quite a long time
I was the housekeeper and had the wondrous task of cleaning his room
slowly and fully

Rinpoche was sometimes like a shaft of wheat without the kernel
all used up and shrunken
then the next day he would be "back" his body would be filled again

like the wheat kernel had been reinserted in the chaff
to be with him somehow stilled fear of dying
there was no fear

I kept my mind in a meditative state as much as possible, hoping to not disturb him
so it went
one day they took him to the hospital, another day they brought him back
I was gone for a bit and when I came back he was still sick and again in the hospital

so off we went to take the lobster to the ocean
back home for them, although a bit polluted near Halifax
people asked us what we were doing
it was a strange site, people carrying lobsters back to the ocean
luckily Joseph (Parent) knew what to say
he explained when a great teacher is ill it is an ancient custom
to release beings who would otherwise be killed
so the lobsters went back to their home

a few days later, I as sitting in the sun for it was 24 degrees
unheard of in early April in Halifax, N.S.
but then unusual things happen when there are unusual people around
my then husband, Richard, called to say: come to the shrine room
Rinpoche is dying and we are to do chants to ask him to live
off I went, not believing he could die
hadn't he just said at '82 seminary that our practice would keep him alive for 10 more years

lots of shrine candles, so many that some broke from the heat
shrine full of light
beautiful chant
heart wrenching
then a call
we all went to the court

as I walked in through the front door, I felt on the verge of loosing my mind
not just my seat
and there in full suit and tie as kasung was Silas, my son this lifetime, and he said something
something so true and to the point that it brought me back
fully present, open and willing

I was able somehow, I think due to Joudie (Westman Adolf),
to be present as they checked Rinpoche's body
they pinched his skin and felt the area around his heart
his skin was supple like a living person's and his heart warm

we stayed practicing there with Rinpoche for 5 days
5 days of being in CCL
not needing food nor sleep
just being in Rinpoche's mind

there was a nun, a French nun
she was with me practicing through all that time
I had not seen her before nor since
she said Rinpoche would be in samadhi for 5 days
and that turned out to be true

after the samadhi, we actually felt hungry and tired again

sometime within all of that practice
I acted as a guide bringing sangha who were arriving from
all over the world from the airport to Halifax to be with Rinpoche
not sure how that happened, as memory of the time is open and vast
not fitable into time and space
Many sangha and friends of sangha came to be there together in Rinpoche's mind

Rinpoche's total compassion
to the heart
all encompassing

being there
knowing that state fully, in every cell
unforgettable teaching beyond words

after the samadhi
off we went to KCL
serving Dilgo Khyentse and the four princes
sound as mantra
the trucks on the highway arising as dhamarus and bells
walking up the hill in procession
bagpipes in the fog crying to the guru
khatas
the fire
billowing smoke
in the clear blue sky
rainbows circling the sun
turquoise dragon thundering
mind stopped

outrageous things happen when outrageous people are around

may VCTR haunt us along with the dralas for all lifetimes till we realize enlightenment

- Hellen Newland, Chaplain

I was looking for you all over

I was looking for you all over

and couldn't find you anywhere.

When I rested my mind in sadness

your presence became overwhelming,

displaying phenomena dancing.

 

Karma Phun Tso Cho Dron (Angelika)

April 4- April 8, 1987

Only father guru,

I would like to say

I never doubted you.

I never mistrusted you.

I never forgot you.

I have doubted myself

a hundred times a day

I have mistrusted myself

a hundred times an hour

I have forgotten myself

with every passing moment

I have forgotten practice

I have forgotten that

without practice you don't know

when you're screwing up

I have forgotten you

Mistrusted you and

Doubted you.

You never doubted me

You never mistrusted me

You never forgot me

You always knew, you were -

You are

the very embodiment of practice

You have always known me

Nothing to doubt, mistrust, forget.

Your death makes no difference unless

You are even more present

It is easier not to doubt

Not mistrust

Not forget.

All this is my feast offering.

Accept it, only father

Please continue to

Shower me with your kindness

Please continue

Please continue

Please continue

Until in a hundred or a thousand kalpas

I may merit such unconditional regard.

 

Gail Whitacre

 

Supplication

I thought that I had left,
But I'm only in a wider orbit.
What did I learn?
What did I take with me to the world?

Your words ("Don't drop it!"), when handing me
my bodhisattva name.
The echo of a drum,
thudding like a heartbeat
through the halls of a hotel.

- Decorum Moon

I was too young, or maybe just too immature, to have been Trungpa Rinpoche's student in this life. But somehow, even before Trungpa passed away, I was very fortunate in that I met Khyentse Rinpoche and spent many months in His presence.

When the Vidyadhara passed away I dreamt I was in an a bedroom in the country with dormer windows. I imagined this was TR's retreat in in Massachussetts; he was giving an empowerment, it was just me and him. A few weeks later news of the cremation date got around, as well as Khyentse Rinpoche's itinerary to teach the Sangha. I made plans to go to Barnet with an acquaintance from Cambridge whose father was a diplomat in Asia that had been a friend of Khyentse Rinpoche for many years.

To make a long story short, because of my friend's connection, I found myself sitting behind the Vajradhatu sangha during the cremation ceremonies, in the VIP tent -- quite unexpectedly of course. To tell the truth, I was having more fun in the enormous crowd, probably too much fun for such a solemn occasion.

Front and cener was strange but beautiful -- right down to the civilized fashion in which the Vajradhatu sadhakas responded when their tent-awning caught fire. I stepped out of the VIP tent to take a few (forbidden) photos during the cremation. That was when I saw the rainbow in the blue sky.

I pointed up and said, hey, a rainbow! Pretty soon lots of people there was looking up too -- Ginsburg, Daido Roshi, Glassman (then) Sensei, Dhyani Ywahoo, many of the Sangha. And then the whole crowd, it seemed.

The Tibetan dignitaries -- too numerous to mention by name here -- seemed unconcerned, if they noticed at all. At the cremation of someone of Trungpa Rinpoche's stature -- America's Padmasambhava, Vimalamitra and Vairotsana all rolled into one -- a small rainbow in clear sky would be almost understated, if one thinks in the historical context. Since then I've seen many things more astonishing, but none whose memory lingers on as a pristine moment like this, one that defies concepts and never gets old, maybe because it almost never gets told. If not now, when?

Now all these years (and many readings of many of TR's books) later, it's hard to believe I never met Rinpoche, because no Tibetan teacher I met in America stands out more vividly in my mind's eye. This really is amazing -- all the more so, considering that many others like me, who never met Rinpoche, feel the same way.

--jpwii

p.s. The dakinis confiscated my prints and negatives, mysteriously, except for the rainbow.

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