The rain of jnana-amrita of the ultimate lineage,
Always uncorrupted, you skillfully bestow upon my heart.
The only father guru, remembering you constantly,
I, Chögyam, your little son, remain in sadness.
In devotion firm as an unchanging mountain,
Truly seeing you alone, as the Buddha,
Free from conventions of young or old,
In foreign lands, in sadness, with reverence,
I survive by the amrita of your blessings.
In the spotless mirror of mind,
Enjoying the dance of self-liberated yogic discipline,
Listening to the sad doha,
I, Chögyam, the little child, am dying of sadness.
Tormented by the hot rays of the fire of passion,
Having completely burned up the fuel of alaya.
I have exhausted grasping for sophistries of liberation and confusion.
Isn’t this the kindness of the only father guru.
By the sharp blade of the weapon of aggression,
Thoroughly piercing the fixation of mind,
I have discovered the nature of penetrating insight;
My only father, you are very kind.
In the dark narrow gorge of delusion,
Having aroused a hundred thousand turbulent waves of dharmata,
Free from accepting and rejecting, thoughts of I and other,
Isn’t this the kindness of the only father guru.
You, my only father guru, have gone far away.
My vajra brothers and sisters have wandered to the ends of the earth.
Only I, Chögyam, the little child, am left.
Still, for the teachings of the profound and brilliant Practice Lineage,
I am willing to surrender my life in sadness.
