19 Years of Offerings to the Vidyadhara

I

i remember now:

an old frog
jumps into the pond-

Plop

CTR
Oh, how you are, for us,
and are not,
Essence of love, beyond thought
Here,
and not,
So missed,
And present,
brilliant sun cloud
Sun.

My tears turn into shining diamonds when I hear your voice
My farts become incense when I see your face
I will continue to shout your name from Maine to California
Until my throat is dry and my bones crumble
Here's to unending samsara
I love you Sir

From my heart you have never moved and never will. I love you.

Pristine Chapel

Fundamental ground of basic goodness,
beginner´s mind,
square one, perception based experience.

From that ground, first thought arises as
best thought,
brainstorm,
quantum awareness,
unity of perceiver and field,
intuitive understanding without interpretation,
pointing to appropriate action.

In this way, samurai entered battle.
In this way, Trungpa taught his students

First dream of you:

I'm in a dark elevator. Push the UP button
Rinpoche suddenly behind me, close,
pushes the DOWN button.

A teaching for life, to this hope-filled new student, just arrived in Boulder, CO from California.

Tribute 2023

It´s been so long that you´ve been gone.
Why does it feel as if you never left?
Your words are a perfume, immense and
living, that fills the whole of space.

En absorción continua de toda vuestra sabiduría.

Saludos a todos, a todas en este espacio.

As he did

Alone
on a river bank
in Gypsum, Colorado
with a body of red flames,
hollow and sensuous,
moist and alive—
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?
-Summer 87

I never met the Vidyadhara in this life, yet I know the brilliance of his kindness through his students, and the clarity and power of his teachings through the books of his collected talks. Years ago I used to read aloud from the Profound Treasury volumes while soaking in the bathtub, preaching dharma to any hungry ghost who happened by, laughing out loud at his humor as it jumped off the page. I don't think Chögyam Trungpa was much more treacly devotion so I will just say that my life would have been very different and much depleted without him. Somehow, I feel a connection with him that is as real as it is evanescent.

To the guru

Ight

Moths flicker as we know into the light
We keep our hearts open yet tight
There are mysteries that dance in powder blue light
For each moment still active
The glance so slight
As we gather all our might
Opening the door to our insight

Empty garden

New moon/dark night
sweet flower-scented breeze
rings the chimes—
the same sad song in the wind
as all the spring nights
we served you in the garden.
What is it that we thought would last?
What is left that we still don’t know will end?

April 28, 1987

Chogyum is human
Trungpa is monk
Rinpoche is Rigzin Chennpo
Choki Gyatsho is Dorjichang
And he is Guru Rinpoche
I pay homage to CTR

You are how I came to know the Dharma in this lifetime. Half a century ago. Words cannot convey what my heart feels 🌀

impermanence,
indeed.
i have always considered you
my Dharma brother
forever.
nice to hear from you
now and again

your paintings are love
how else?
they frame my house and my world
thanks so much,
until we meet again
ha ha ha ha ha AH

To the nirmanakaya
The definite, the deliberate, the sagacious
The fearless traveler
The peerless teacher
The dharma general
The generous father

To the enjoyment body
Expressive of every color
Moving in the passion of wakefulness
Great ally of the elements, spirits and cultures of the world

To the dharma body, unknowable and unnamed
Reflecting and radiating wisdom light
The voice in the back of our heads
Holding full power; anything can happen

To the slayer of materialism,
Trickster and sage
Terrifying in compassion
Triple hum is your signature

Not satisfied with mute mysticism
You mark this world with the great blade of Ashe
Distilled, empowered and expressed in the dance of the 4 dignities.

Having trained in the horrific, beautiful and uncompromising charnel ground
We meet on the majestic mountain of sanity
Pure, strong, and whole

Our loyalty compels us to go forward and engage the world
armed with the elegant weapons of compassion.
Hand to hand,
Eyeball to eyeball
Heart to heart

En la sanga, en el buda y en el dharma... gracias, muchas gracias.

Conocerte a través del relato de tu alumno José Arguelles, para mi fué un gran regalo y un gran reencuentro.

Gracias por toda tu emanación de sabiduría que disfruto diariamente.

Te abrazo con el alma.

Caco.

The Druk Sakyong Greeted as Saxon King

hail to the high-born heart the great ring-giver

lord and friend of great battle spirits

guardian of warriors bright-armoured men

wise king of the gem-rich kingdom

gold-friend of strong battle-hearts

best of warriors among shield companions

hoard-guard for heroes proud with retainers

battle-brave Chogyam friend of the nations

Stanley Fefferman
Boulder, Co. 1979

We haven’t met in the flesh

Loving jaws drop a hundred thousand stories that delta the Dharma Ocean

I listen closely to the stampede which tramples the cangue on my lonely ears

Thank you, Vidyadhara Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche 🙏

The first and last time I saw you, that last London public talk: "Spiritual Materialism" and you gave transmission. We smiled. A seed was planted. Thank you; come to these shores again, we'll raise a glass.

only father guru

now that you have died
i am truly an orphan
and it is sad to live alone
in this world
sad to live alone
in this cement samsara
but through the foresight
of your limitless compassion
my inheritance is immeasurable
though my sight is veiled
by the darkness of ignorance, passion and aggression,
you have left the great eastern sun
to light my path
though my heart is cold and narrow
you have opened up your treasury
of limitless warmth
though my skills are meager
you have given me the 6 rungs of paramita
to cross over the turbulent river
of despairing–mind
though my knowledge is slight
you have left open the vaults
of true insight
there is no way to thank you
for these gifts
except to share this wealth
with all sentient beings
i vow in the direction
of the rigden kings – to do so
and in the tradition
of the practice lineage
and in your name –
chogyam trungpa

april 5, 1987 / karme–choling, vt

On Returning to the Home of the Father Guru

Homage to my Father Guru
Chokyi Gyatso Dorje Dradul
The Crazy Wisdom Holder
of the three times
The conqueror of samsara
and nirvana

When I was young
you bestowed
on this aging yogin
the blessing
to see the truth
that there is no distinction
between samsara and nirvana,
but because of karma
I have been floating in the sea of duality
looking here and there-
and missing the essential points
of view meditation and action.

Now
having wandered so long
through your great blessing
I have finally returned to
the nest of the Father Guru.

Joy, so long absent
has returned,
and being welcomed by
my vajra brothers and sisters
I can finally can rest in the family
into which I was born.

Father Guru
there are no words
to praise and thank you
except to follow your example

May all beings dwell in the great simplicity which transcends knowing and not knowing

Your son rejoices in the kindness of the Father Guru!

20 April 2021

In that spark-moment
You bring us home, remembering.
As it is,
It really is ok.

Awkward entrance with thunderclap announcement.
Stare into black hole eyes at event horizon.
Offer black star sapphire with gold with clunk at bottom of bowl.
For real

1975 Sacred Heart Auditorium Boulder:
Waiting and waiting, Stones on the loud speaker, "You can't always get what you want,
but you get what you need."
Small, brown man in a suit limping to his seat, said he was the surgeon to perform
open heart surgery. My broken heart finally relaxes into the open space that he is.
I am not afraid.
I listen knowing I am in the right place at last.
"Good luck, Madam," he says with his wry smile. Often to questioners.
Thank you Sir - my love for you has turned me inside out. May I not be separated from you.

Chogyam, Mr. Mahamudra

Every time we were in a room with him.
Every time we saw his face.

When he was asked a question:
When there was that gap.
When that smile arose.
When his face radiated warmth like the Great Eastern Sun
We experienced Mahamudra.
But we thought it was outside.
We thought, “I wish I had what he has.”
Not realizing at that moment we had “exactly that”.
Not realizing that what we had at that moment was what we sought for lifetime after lifetime.

Decades later, I remember him, and the experience arises.
When I hear others talk of him and see their faces, I know they feel it too.

He was so generous in this way, of that I am sure.
Arouse confidence in what he has given you.
This advice is the most profound of what I can offer.

Tsultrim Walter [Dale Walter], [Zopa & I took refuge at KCL in 1974]
Poem composed on 3/3/2022 Year of the Water Tiger

3/3/2022 Year of the Water Tiger

Chogyam, Mr. Mahamudra

Every time we were in a room with him.
Every time we saw his face.

When he was asked a question:
When there was that gap.
When that smile arose.
When his face radiated warmth like the Great Eastern Sun
We experienced Mahamudra.
But we thought it was outside.
We thought, “I wish I had what he has.”
Not realizing at that moment we had “exactly that”.
Not realizing that what we had at that moment was what we sought for lifetime after lifetime.

Decades later, I remember him, and the experience arises.
When I hear others talk of him and see their faces, I know they feel it too.

He was so generous in this way, of that I am sure.
Arouse confidence in what he has given you.
This advice is the most profound of what I can offer.

Tsultrim Walter, [Zopa & I took refuge at KCL in 1974]

Crazy Wisdom

for Chogyam Trungpa

Lone warrior on rocky precipice of sanity
Bearing the mindstream of ancient runes
To fickle lords of materialism

Riding your wild tiger of ferocity
Soft-hearted Bodhisattva true son of Padmakara
Wild horses couldn’t keep us apart

For decades the momentary clasp
Of your crocodile hold kept me close

The first time I saw you I made the secret sign
You met my gaze and read my mind
Instructing me but I was too ignorant

Just recalling your luminous face now
Reminds me of our sacred purpose

In the great expanse of space may
We meet again our minds conjoined
Briefly in joy and sorrow
Amid this samsaric visage of heartbreak

Chogyum is human
Trungpa is monk
Rinpoche is Rigzin Chennpo
Choki Gyatsho is Dorjichang
And he is Guru Rinpoche
I pay homage to CTR

Great, great, unfathomably great good fortune
To have met you in this lifetime.
May my life be worthy of this blessing.

VCTR's Province:
In commemoration of a 1995 expedition to deliver
Lord Mukpo's (Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche's) salts
to the waters beyond Halifax Harbour:

Six orange-vested kasung
Launch into Halifax Harbour in a hand-built boat,
Thinking to wrestle the ocean and offer your gifts to the sea.

Six orange dots getting smaller and smaller,
Sailing farther and further from shore,
Rocking on an arm of the sea.

There--wherever "there"--
Surrounded by ocean,
Immersed in clouds,
Hands immersed in mist--
Strewing his salts to the sea.

Unexpected wind picks up.
Small boat rocks.
Dragon cloud pours out of the sky.

Mission accomplished.
Ocean calms.

Your salts in the ocean,
Your bones in the earth,
Nova Scotia is the heart of you.

Your smile is the light of the sun
Shining upon our heads.
The glow of your kindness shines
in the bright eyes of children.
The night sky, so deep--
The depth of your mind,
Sparkling with stars.

--For VCTR and green-and-blue NS.

"I gave you everything,
enjoy!"

ear-whispered haiku from/for CTR

this heart is broken
(this engagement, not)
it flickers still
it's in the dampness caught
like an aspiring firefly
so eager to alight
on that blue palm of yours
where starts and ends my flight

In the midst of that circular rainbow,
Looking up into the vast fuzzy space,
The mala beads all scattered,
Now I feel you closer than ever before.

Your effort, your stretching and extending yourself and shape shifting all in an effort to reach me and us all; from a thousand years ago in Tibet to Oxford English and American hippies. If there is ever another being like you Rinpoche, grant your blessings.

When you were close,
you were so very very there,
yet totally unfathomable.

Now that you seem so far away,
you feel so close,
as if I could just kiss those fat lips.

Full heart of sadness
Turns to joy
My love for you
 
Knowing only I do not know,
Walking humbly in the vastness
of your vision
 
I am your lover from afar
Waiting to be
Near
 
O sacred world
Unrequited love your theme
Unrelenting passion your mode

"Jolly good luck"

is reading these poems.

On Meeting a True Friend
Vancouver, February 1975
With great trepidation
I met you face-to-face
Mountain like —
you sat in your chair so still
On hearing my multi-towered stories
of sorted meditation practices
from Christian to somewhat buddhist
— an utter embodiment of spiritual materialism
embraced by total bewilderment
You laughed – in fact howled with laughter
Great belly-filled roars
On catching your breath
You peered over your glasses
and simply said
‘Oh, you’ve been very busy’
Head spinning, body shaking, face sweating
I heard his instructions
Keep to shamatha as daily practice
Do a 10 day retreat
Come to Naropa in summer
And you should also come along to Seminary
I was a babe in the woods
A country bumpkin if not a pumpkin
Only a month residing in the Dharmadhatu center
His guidance embraced me
His love enveloped me
Though even with beating heart of vast panic
I knew I had found a friend
A true friend
Someone who could see through
all my blemishes
all my darknesses
all my fears
And I felt my booming heart go out
to a new place
to a new space
to new possibilities
Knowing that I had found a friend
— a great friend
— a master friend
From that moment to this day
an irrevocable bond
was cemented
not just for that moment but for all moments
for endless times
Knowing I had found a true friend

Dennis Morbin -March, 2017, Prague

Dearest Rinpoche,

It is sad: being in the space of duality:

Friends apparently departing.

Friends of wisdom-mind like exotic gemstones

Scattered

thru vivid daylite’s wakened eye

like diamonddots challenging the sun’s undying brilliance…

Rainbow Snow Clouds mark your silent flight

On Garuda’s silver sleek wings

Invisible moments in dharmakaya dreams

As you pass thru uncovering the charnel ground of sickened hearts

the lightening Vajra Master-Striking Endlessly

With your sword of Wakefulness—Enlightening Master of This… and That

Traditional Tears fall once again deep

Within Ngejung’s stored memories of lineage relationships

for seemingly New Friends

BOUND together

On this long-remembered miraculous journey…

Calling to the Vidyadhara

I thought I missed you,
That I would have clung
if in your presence.
If that history had been gifted
I could have been bold

But I see
What I had been:
Private, slow grown,
Was slated for
The radiant editions
The aftermath, the ash.

Those who walked with you,
Some driven mad from your proof,
Still bomb concept
Like channels possessed by
Your shapes, fashioned and wielded.

You were pure:
Unclouded,
Fatal.

I've told myself secret stories,
Fattening pride,
Of what I comprehend.
But you still cut
With countless elemental arms
Strewn through phenomena
And I know nothing.

My head is at your feet
Heart and guts
Raw, unkempt.

Grant your blessings
That this smart-enough
Turns off the safety,
Drinks.

To my root guru who opened my heart and mind to the possibility that I could wake up and not be trapped in this never-ending samsara. I love you with all my heart and still cry when I think you are no longer with me. PHAT you are still here.

April 04, 2018: Paranirvana of the Venerable , the Vidyadhara Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche

I am always grateful to my root guru the venerable Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche for his vast teachings and pointing out instruction at the age of 23, when Trungpa gave me my first meditation instruction . ( in the solarium at the University of Vermont, USA, where I was a student of Comparative Religion). We were sitting across from one another with our knees touching. Trungpa gazed into my eyes and said ..RELAX...
that gaze and word held and then stopped my mind. And I was introduced to the nature of my mind, which linked me to the Takpo Kagyu lineage.... it was an unconventional choiceless path at that point..............I rejoice in our connection...................47 years later the Vidyadhara is still my link to the nature of my mind . HA RI NI SA....................KI KI SO SO....................Simone LaVoie: Jigme lhatso

What Pilate said about meeting Jesus
sounded just like meeting you. Pilate
knew he was meeting a man…but he’d
never met a man like that before

You were not fiction, and you are well
documented. Having met you, I know
what a miracle you were and continue
to be. I feel beyond any superlative to
have known you. May your teachings
continue to be a great awakening for
humanity…..forever.

Since Rinpoche was so compassionate and skillful in pointing out what lays deep in our hearts—the good, as well as the rest--he remains extremely vivid and present to many of us. That presence is none other than the awakened nature of our own minds, and yet, how beautiful and delightful that it appears in the form of his mischievous smile!

open broken heart
alone
your beating heart
your endless eyes
kind beyond kind
no rescue
immense suffering
complete trust
impossible sadness
complete devotion
complete courage
heart torn open
from the inside
you love me
incomprehensible

At first light a sight to be sung.
Hearing our heartbeat to the drum. If we was to give it all away.
We would give the day
The sea, clouds and it's rains.

I am too young to have met you. But thank you, with all my heart.
I aspire to meet you one day Rinpoche.

I was in the Tibetan Buddhist Monastery now called -Samye Ling- in 1968 in Scotland where Trungpa lived together with his Tulku Akong Rimpoche ; a great Tibetan artist Sherapalden Beru who painted tankas and other traditional Tibetan paintings and a few monks..
Thank God (for the Western World) they had escaped into Britain after the Chinese had invaded Tibet... Samye Ling was a centre where visitors could come to meditate and study Tibetan Buddhism. We used to just bump into Trungpa in the corridors, kitchen, garden......
he always smiled and often taught us on the spot! In the morning we would go to the Puja which was always attended by Trungpa and some monks who played those heavy horns.
There were always lamas who came to teach; once we a Zen Master from Japan, also a Theravadan monk from Thailand. Lots of people entered the Dharma and were initiated.
Samye Ling is still there now in Dumfries, Scotland. There is a beautiful Temple build which was opened by the Dalai Lama. So I met him as well.....
I would recommend to anyone to go and stay there sometimes in your lifetime.
There are also centres all over Europe.

Thank you all so much....I write a tribute to your steadfastness. It helps me understand why i am besotted, why i tremble when i see a flash of light and guess at the source. i wonder if i could have stood in the same room with him? will never know for sure... but hold head and shoulders up. with smile.

Is everybody awake??? HI!

He strongly influenced my friend and early mentor, Dan Russell, who travelled with Trungpa to Bhutan, where he also met Dilgo Khyentse Rimpoche. As a youth I travelled up to the Scottish borders, hoping to learn meditation...
I asked Dan to "Show me the awakened state", (It worked for Milarepa)..."You show me"., he said . . *Irritating*. . ."I'm not a meditation teacher", he said, but while you're here you can train Karate, and work. . .I became sly. *Thinks: "Everytime I enter the Dojo and bow, I'll treat it as meditation in action". . . It took me an 'extra' ten years to get a black belt . . . (very good quality belt, though!)
Trungpa's influence was always there. Crazy Wisdom. All my opinions were challenged. . .I learned to question my own thinking, and observe it's tendencies, patterns, qualities, and style...all with gentle humour and kindness. Generosity. Patience, Dedication, unceasing effort, spontaneity, and a large dose of outrageousness.
My father also was involved in this process, and attended the last talk that Trungpa gave in London I think it was. He was very late, and basically said nothing. Giving the self-importance of the "Audience", a good look at their self - centered expectations. . .Everytime A conclusion got 'jumped to' my dad used to say . . ."And THEN what?".

Hi my name is Karl - and I have a few memories of memories of personal experiences with The Most Venerable Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche:

I got in my white Ford van and drove to the DENVER AIRPORT - John and Marvin were there too - in John's blue VW bug. His plane landed and everybody disembarked except one. What happened - nothing - for at last a small brown man came rolling down the gangway in a wheelchair. "welcome to Boulder" I said - "would you like to go out for some lunch?". "No thank you, I'm tired" And off He went with John and Marvin to his Gold Hill home. I stood there wondering what had just happened! HA,HA!

Then one warm day I was driving Him in the foothills outside of Boulder. "Pull over here". I did, we got out and He told me to bring the blanket. I followed Him as he walked around. Finally - "put the blanket here". He lay down, arms and legs spread. I asked - He said: "This is a power spot and I'm soaking up the energy of the earth". After a while He got up, I shook out folded the blanket went back to the car and back to town. Next day I went to that very same spot - put down a blanket - and lay down. All I felt was the pain of the very sharp stones in my back. HA, HA.

Then - one day at beautiful Lake Louise , Rinpoche said: "let's go for a ride". Off we went down the snowy highway toward British Columbia. Then: "let's stop here for a beer". After one or two, and a long pit stop, we drove back to the Seminary. While we were gone, the military was frantically looking for Him. When we finally appeared, 'although relieved' they really wanted to hang me high. HA,HA.

Little bubbles keep floating up. Rinpoche came to our house for lunch or dinner in early days. One time, Marcia served him steak tartar - he seemed to like it. HA,HA

Then, on a beautiful evening with a few flakes drifting down, driving Him to his first public talk at Macky Auditorium, he said: "you introduce me but make it short". Finally; both of us on stage I said: "another mountain has come to boulder" He didn't comment, but the audience laughed. HA,HA

I know this is boring, so I'll stop here.

Dear Rnipoche - thank you for being Rinpoche

The end --- Karl

The Grateful Acceptance of All!

At the lowest point of my life, the Shambhala dharma kept me breathing. I am filled with gratitude.

I asked him looking up while tying his shoe laces, "what Buddha family am I"
CTR "Find out!"

You just blew my mind, thank you so much!

Ô inoubliable CTr
Tu as dit
puisque nous sommes ici pourquoi ne pas y être
et où que je sois ta question
me porte et me soulève et me guide
Quand je pense que tu es parti je pleure
quand je pense à tout ce que tu nous a donné
je souris et je pleure
ma plus belle histoire d'amour
c'est toi

Because he left us
We found our tender hearts.
Space once so full
Of everything
Feels such profound absence
We're touched and moved
Again and again to connect with
Our longing, genuine hearts of
sadness.
Because we do, he's with us still.

Because he left us
We found our tender hearts.
Space once so full
Of everything
Feels such profound absence
We're touched and moved
Again and again to connect with
Our longing, genuine hearts of
sadness.
Because we do, he's with us still.

Thank you for all the land centers. All the land that was slowly and deeply blessed in the Tibetan way. Like so many children who grew up running around RMSC or Vermont or Nova Scotia the land and the way all of you adults held that space was the biggest teaching for me. When I try to explain it I realize I'm taking about invisible space and invisible beings and protectors and it all feels strong and real. Will Rykin for example, warrior body.What a wild ride its been. I was 8 when he died, it was the first time I say my father cry. It was also a great honor and transformative experience working several summers on the Great Stupa, I hope if they will have me, that I can help maintain the gold leaf and paint work well into my old age....

The Sun is resting in the West
No doubt it went from the East,
In bald truth its Shining for the Universe
The Souls Were Blooming in the Garden Of Dharma
The Radiating Smiles, healing the World,
May your Blessings be with us in all darkening periods!

You punched me in the stomach
And crumbled my aggression.
You hugged me
And opened my world.
You spoke
And woke me up.
My tears from your death
Have sealed you in my heart.

I never talked about my feelings. It was just my reality that feelings were something hidden. Those hidden feelings formed a wall on all sides, trapping me, creating more unmanageable feelings. The author emanation, Chogyam Trungpa, talked about feelings as if there is no big deal. Feelings are just what they are. I think the most fitting tribute would be to just sit and meditate. May we all indulge in meditation.

somewhat old
maybe a little moldy
poem of devotion

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

When the morning sun
Illuminates this world
Who cannot help feeling happy.
Play of delight , pervasive
Clear, sharp ,
Totally outrageous.
Ho ho!!

Remembering our encounter at the kitchen door: I set down a spoon I was drying and turned towards the doorway, and there you were, turning to face me, and we stood there silently, each looking at the other. Thank you for everything, Sir.

Love you to death.
Since I never do enough and always hesitate, the time has come to write something out of gratitude.

Being clever beyond anyone else's clever, kind beyond anyone else's kind.
So Brave and so so strong, a cosmic ocean of what we call "ultimate wisdom".
Swelling swiftly with penetrating clarity like the tidal bore in the Bay of Fundy.

Communicating inherent truths so directly.
Can I even speak of homage to you without embarrassment?
Your sangha, the Vajradhatu, Dharmadhatu, Shambhala sangha
Now has permanently changed it's DNA.
We've got you under our skin, as the song goes.

We have become emissaries in myriad ways.
That's what you wanted isn't it?
Homage to "Old School Shambhala
Who laid eyes on Rinpoché in Tibet
Who became his army outside of Asia.
Homage to the "New School Shambhala"
Who keep the Great Eastern Suns rays shining on his son.
Who feel Chögyam Trungpa's boundlessness even without meeting him.

Just like Asoka Maurya sent out his army to spreading Buddhism to Asia so successfully,
Just like that you infected the West and its "westerners".
With non-dual, non trippy, spectacular, kalaidescopic enlightened warriorship.
Oh my. A seed you planted pulsates in our aching hearts,
As long as we remember your limitless qualities.
Sad-joy you say? Yes... what else is there?
Suchness, whatever that means, is why you are:
"Wanted dead or alive."

In 1971, I had a dream unlike any I'd ever had before or since. I swam in a crystalline pool of aquamarine water with a young golden lion. Like two seals, we mirrored each other's movements, gliding effortlessly, completely synchronized and full of an intense bliss. When I awoke, the bliss continued and lasted for several days. When I encountered Chogyam Trungpa's teachings on Shambhala, suddenly I knew who the Lion was. May we fulfill your wishes, may we promote your kingdom! With boundless appreciation and deepest love and gratitude, dear Rinpoche...

We never met and this is your 30th Paranivarna year but you are alive and well in my life. Boundless gratitude to you and the continuing echo of your presence and inspirational light _()_

I remember being very young (a toddler) and feeling friendless at a party at the court in Boulder. I came upon Rinpoche sitting in a chair in the middle of the lawn. He was also alone and entirely unoccupied with anything, just sitting in the middle of the party as delighted adults milled about. He had at once both a vast spaciousness and a dense solidity. I thought, "oh, there he is. He is the one who makes everyone feel like there is nowhere better in the world to be than here."

He liked his eggs sunny side up.

One of my most difficult practices is non-attachment to the teachings of Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche.

Your words and wisdom are so profound and present in my heart. I am forever grateful for the contentment, joy, fearlessness, and wisdom in my everyday life.

Across a crowded room in Boulder he caught my gaze and saw through to the origin. I have studied and practiced the dharma for 42 years and still barely fathom what was revealed in that moment. Homage to the mahasiddhi of our time. Fathomless gratitude to this man one who loved us unconditionally and never gave up on us. Thank you for haunting us still. Now more than ever.

With devotion,
Jann Jackson

Simple, human and inspiring. Chogyam came to me thru Bill's lecture about Basic Goodness. Thanks both.

We never met, but you were ever present, your books profoundly influenced me and every word read true. I still seek you out in the Chronicles.

Oh my compassionate guru
I take refuge in you
Never separate from you
The way I heard you
The way you taught me
So true the way as it is

Oh my compassionate guru
Who opened the treasure
The gate of shambala
Introduced the hidden way
So true the way to shambala

Oh my compassionate guru
So amazing the way geniun sadness
So amazing the way fearlessness
So amazing the way hopelessness
So amazing the way introduced drala
So true path is goal ,goal is path

Oh my compassionate guru
Let your wisdom shine in all the direction
Let all the beings know you roar the victory of shambala

You initiated me against my resistance...you left me speechless and wondering what just happened...knowing s.th.happened that my mind couldnt grasp...too big ...too vast...too mind- less...thank you!

Thank you, great, beautiful master-friend 🙂

A teacher without teacher
Meditation without sitting
Earth breathing fire drinking
Brillant and genius
Thank you!

You came to me in a book from my brother, now you and he are both gone.
You came to me in a vision, wearing a kilt, cheering me on,
It wasn't till later I knew of your connections in Scotland.
I never met you in person,
You changed my life,
I'm eternally grateful.
Blessings.

Meeting the second time.

CTR: You look younger.
Me : I cut my hair off, sir.
CTR: Are you Jewish?
Me : No sir. Italian.
CTR: Pretty much the same thing, don't you think.

uproarious laughter all around

I sit in an uneasy chair
not wanting anything otherwise,
thank you...
you had great style.

My grandmother just died this morning. Interesting it would happen today. She was 99.

PHAT

Good Morning.

To my Root Guru , the vidyadhara Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche.....................You are still haunting us after all these years. Your touch, your smile , your frown, your elegance in the midst of chaos, your laughter, your profound presence, and your vast teachings which touch our lives profoundly everyday...our path continues due to your limitless compassion. You will live in our hearts and minds forever.

We dance and skate together
and you gave me soap to wash myself in Nova Scotia cold water
Love

Parinirvana of Chogyam Trungpa 2017

Thirty years, and still a part of me.
What a miracle you continue to be.

On Meeting a True Friend - Vancouver, February 1975

With great trepidation
I met you face-to-face
Mountain like -
you sat in your chair so still
On hearing my multi-towered stories
of sorted meditation practices
from Christian to somewhat buddhist
- an utter embodiment of spiritual materialism
embraced by total bewilderment
You laughed - in fact howled with laughter
Great belly-filled roars
On catching your breath
You peered over your glasses
and simply said
'Oh, you've been very busy'
Head spinning, body shaking, face sweating
I heard his instructions
Keep to shamatha as daily practice
Do a 10 day retreat
Come to Naropa in summer
And you should also come along to Seminary
I was a babe in the woods
A country bumpkin if not a pumpkin
Only a month residing in the Dharmadhatu center
His guidance embraced me
His love enveloped me
Though even with beating heart of vast panic
I knew I had found a friend
A true friend
Someone who could see through
all my blemishes
all my darknesses
all my fears
And I felt my booming heart go out
to a new place
to a new space
to new possibilities
Knowing that I had found a friend
- a great friend
- a master friend
From that moment to this day
an irrevocable bond
was cemented
not just for that moment but for all moments
for endless times
Knowing I had found a true friend
March, 2017, Prague

Although I live in the slime and muck of the dark age, I still aspire to see your face. Although I stumble in the thick, black fog of materialism, I still aspire to see your face.

I met you once in a dream. It was pretty good.

Once we had our duty -- we could say "I am on duty " or "I am off duty"
Now there is just our lives -- each moment.

When we cook, we cook for you
When we clean our homes, we clean your Court
When we care for our children, we emulate your care for us.

When we sit, we are your throne cushion
When we stand, we stand in your presence
When we walk, we are your walking stick
When we drive, we are your driver
When we wait in line, we wait for you
When we tend our garden, we tend your garden
When we open the door, we greet you.

The procession is underway
The inner court incense is burning
You are forevermore entering
taking your seat
clearing your throat
proclaiming dharma.

May we wake up in the middle of our lives
and carry on your work
May we make love with your passion
eat with your appetite
clean our homes with your attention to details
wake up in the morning with your awakened heart
go to sleep with your empty abandon
sing with your piercing first-thought confidence
teach with your skillful means
die with your wisdom.

So the magical culture of Tibetan Buddhism
The magical discoveries of mind
Would not be lost
He dissolved it into a dot
Which he carried to the west
He raced to plant it's seeds, in our heart/mind
At our city and retreat centers, till his life was spent.
Go to SMC, to KCL, and the others. You can still feel his mind, everywhere.
The urgency remains; it's still our turn.
The young can hear it. We can still transmit.
If we don't do it, no one will.

Chogyam Trungpa my have left before I was born, but he left behind the living essence of his teachings, and a chance for anyone to put them into practice and realise their basic goodness. Even now, he still isn't giving up on anybody.

I feel incredible gratitude to the Vidyadhara for transmitting the Buddha's beating heart to all his loving students, who in turn, can help many others realise the Openness Clarity and Sensitivity of their being.

So here's a wonky little poem I wrote a while ago in retreat, in gratitude to you, Chogie:

Masculine form, feminine space,
the open pregnant quaking naught,
the flash of life, a stable one,
until you’re torn in two.

Little bundle of joy, they say,
the greatest gift of all,
but here you are, incomplete,
separate from the void.

And weeping through your brittle cage,
your little tender heart,
hurt so much by love and pain,
armoured so to keep you safe.

The world outside scares you stiff,
and brick by brick your structure rose.
Can you hide from winds of change,
whilst year on year that space grows small?

That little room echoes loud,
endless neuroses scratch,
your own pet dog bites your neck,
Will it ever end?

You rise and hear the voices scream,
that old demonic friend,
like helpless beings suffering;
those prisoners of the mind.

What once was fun and harmless games,
now haunting every day,
please make it stop, it hurts so much,
you cry into the night.

Until one day the wind breaks through,
shatters on the floor,
and looking up, a dharma man,
‘no big deal’, at all.

His chubby hand picks you up,
and sits you on the naked floor,
your castle was a silly game
now look at all you are.

You sit and sit and sit some more,
and slowly start to see,
you can’t be safe, there’s no escape,
let go, and dance along.

You laugh and cry and fall in Love,
the fire burning bright;
illuminating dancing space,
exactly as it is.

So who are you, dear dharma man?
You say you’re no one thing;
activity of the thing called you,
another side of we.

Fearless lions roar
Magical dance of majestic power
Flying to the west
Atop your wisdom tiger
Wisdom flames scorching
Spiritual materialism
Mahasiddha in suit
Transplanting the dharma
Establishing the kingdom
Of Shambhala
Your wisdom warriors ride on
With the sounds of Ki and So
Your legacy shakes the globe
Like that of a thousandfold thunder

From my fathers book and tales and my one of my favorites. On a plane rinpoche takes my dads hand.

CTR: take me I'm yours
John: I love you
CTR: couldn't care less

met Your Majesty
in a teardrop falling while
polishing a brass Kasung button.

Today marks the 30th anniversary of the death of Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, a seminal figure in the transmission of the buddhist teachings to west.
His genius in making even the most profound buddhist teachings accessible in English while not sacrificing an iota of their integrity, is now universally recognized, including by many who may have wondered at the time what this strange man who didn't seem bound by cultural norms-east or west-was up to.
He was--and is through his writings, videos and audios--radiant, piercing, unfailingly kind, scary, soothing, outrageous, unflappable, humble and full of delight, humor and celebration.
After studying his work for 47 years, I am shocked by the freshness and immediacy when I go back to even the "simplest" teachings. So I am writing this not out of nostalgia but to remind myself that in these chaotic times, his prescient teachings on working with chaos and on the importance of building sane societies are more valuable than ever.

Poem for the Vidyadhara Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche
Upon his death April 4, 1987

On a cloudy day I saw your face.
It was stretched across the sky.
Everywhere I looked, there you were.
The wind blew through your hair.
All sounds became mantras
Streaming from your mouth.
I longed to hold you, but you dissolved.
Finally, empty-handed, sitting still, I let you go
And we caressed.

Although I never formally met you or experienced you in your nirmanakaya, I've been blessed to have the guidance by one of your students. My teacher has shared many wonderful stories and it is quite clear to see that you are very much alive in her heart every moment. I did had a wonderful dream with you years ago, one that I still remember vividly. I was in a line, a procession heading towards you. You were giving everyone a blessing. I remember you were dressed in white robes, and thought how odd? I was use to seeing Tibetan monks in their marooned robes. Then as I arrived in front of you, you placed your hand on my head as I bowed. Then, like a rush of electricity, I felt an energy come from my feet, up through my body and out of the top of my head! At this moment, my eyes opened wide, I gasped, and woke up from the dream! It was an amazing experience. When I shared it with my teacher, she laughed and said, "I see Rinpoche visited you."

In the dhatu of beginninglessness and endlessness
Thank goodness there is the death of concepts
And the deathlessness of basic goodness

As fresh as dewdrops in the morning,
Your words of wisdom drips upon me.
Without any hindrance or boundary,
Your lights of love shines from afar to reach me.
Though we’ve never met before in this life,
Your presence is always here with no doubt.
My precious Father, please bear me in mind,
So that you’ll recognize me when I appear in your kingdom.

Thank you
For stranding me in Cape Breton
Among the eagles and hawks
Riding the wind.

You're still dead,
still alive in my heart.
Time and space
are not an obstacle.

4.4.2016

4.4.2016

We miss you so much
Your kindness is more overwhelming now
Than it was then.

We were stupid and speedy
But your powerful tenderness
Is unforgettable

You gave us the Ashe in our hearts.
It is our ally.
There is no separation.

We can ride the wind, feel the space, be the clarity,
And touch your magnificent profundity
These are the means to repay your kindness,
We vow to follow your example

There is a cliff in my Kansas Life –
A knife cut to the bone
Through artery and ligament, he
Instructed me.

There is a pit in front of next
That opens with a pop, he
Showed me with a sake glass
And Japan fan

I loved what was to come, he
Jilted me. This morning, the slight
Weight of eyeglasses on nose – twenty-nine
Years awake in strange Topeka, sun rises.

4/4/2016

I can't tell anymore

I can't tell anymore
which part of my mind's mine
and which part of it's yours.,
the whole of existence. That
was a neat trick you pulled.
Thanks a lot,
you enlightened genius

Because of our weakness
your genuine sadness
blazes through the jungle of samsara
like a tiger breathing fire

Because of our pain
snow lion petrifies doubt

Because of your beauty
Garuda picks clean the bones of contention
and sweeps the vast sky with joy

Because of your brilliance
the turquoise dragon
spins mountains of sanity
into clouds of gold

Because our every pore
longs for your health and well-being
perhaps the heavy lids
of the sinking sun
will open
and the sour sodden earth
will smile
and be refreshed

Melt the frozen world
of hatred and desire!

We vow
to perpetuate
your world
We love you so much!

Dear friends and Sangha members ,
4.4.2015

C'est avec une grande joie que je lève mon verre en l'honneur du VCTR.
IN BRIEF I MAKE A TOAST.
Between the VCTR and me , it is a long LOVE AFFAIR . I have been lucky to meet him in Europe. I used to run to see him every time I heard he was giving teaching in England or Germany.
It was him who make me go to SMC Colorado to attend his three months seminary. There He created a bobby trap for me explanation :
I met in the middle of 400 participants my future husband Gabriel and later on I moved to Vancouver OH LA LA.
When HE died I went to Karme Choling to say goodbye and participated in all the ceremonies and the cremation.
But in fact I was wrong as until this day I never did say goodbye to Him.
As in the deepest of my heart his teachings are always present, fresh and vivid.
So my friends and sangha members please REMEMBER that without Him we would not be here.
and also The Sakyong would not be propagating The Shambhala teachings .
NEVER FORGET THE VCTR.
LEVONS NOS VERRES EN SON HONNEUR.
PLEASE RAISE YOUR GLASS IN HIS HONOUR.
TO THE VIDYADHARA .

Vancouver Shambhala Center
APRIL 4 2015

April 4, 2015

Winter snow engollops us
in the bottom of a teacup

Affairs of the world: abrupt
airliner drops on Alp -- all dead

Dead guru cries in my mind's eye,
then stops.
Then pops a cap in my puffed pride

Dead guru lies under hate
like silence between harsh words

Flies in the face of ignorance,
as I erupt in irritation

Offers Kingdom's keys
to poor me

Celebrate the Kingdom!

State heart's first thought! Meditate on this!

-James M. Wilton

SIR WARRIOR
4.4.2015

that lecture in Berkeley
Your chair
nearly tipping
off the stage
leaves me in freefall

Meek Tiger
4.8.2015

You have created
Strong cocktails of conception
But what about the reality of your own death.
What is intoxicating about that?
Do you realize you are nearly dead right now
The conceptions that once were
Have become a merry go round at the fair
Fun but pointless.
A ride
But not satisfying.
And there you sit on your old plastic chair
Another day at the fair

What do you make of it?
The operator is on shift work
And blamelessly, shifting gears
I saw love birds above,
kissing gloriously, perched in the afternoons wet fog
But why has your seat been emptied
Have you lost all enjoyment?

Drinking the cocktail of sadness is indulgent without hopelessness
Quit digging a pit!
Lift yourself up meek tiger
The sun is beginning to rise

some notes while listening to Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche
4.4.2015
one more word
one taste

now
a sense

a chance
to understand

here
now

yesterday today tomorrow
cleaning house zen way

life is an endless ocean
or else it is one drop

nothings left behind

and the sutra is written all over

it is not
rather than no

warrior without sword

we did enjoy ourselves

we try to remember
without clouding the clarity

seeing clearly precisely
the function and unity of the universe

direct sense
fresh

the spontaneity

spontaneity of true nature

as much as we talk about it
there is no buddha

that’s how it goes

the sacredness is of being there
being true

struck by the truth
we could get a glimpse of it
wisdom born within

whenever there is energy
there is wisdom
merged together

there is divine world
the world contains

the vastness

peace, Nancy

SUN OF HAPPINESS
4.4.2014
The sun of happiness is dawning
Melting icegardens of my heart
Illuminating
Crystalsnow chrysanthemums
Warming my world
With brief promise
Of spring

4/4/14

A rock is not enlightened
because a rock is not confused.
I am not enlightened, I think.
It is all so confusing.
Chogyam Trungpa is enlightened,
so they say.
On the day he died,
We drove all night, and cried.
What lives? What dies?
I see him in new
students, in their thoughts, their hearts
alive, in their eyes.

James M. Wilton

Homage to the Only Father Guru

Hum Hum Hum

In the sacred place of the glorious Copper Colored Mountain,
Ablaze with the source of dharmas,
flower petals rain from the sky,
Shimmering with the lights of the five families,
Whose trees and greenery adorn the awesome charnal ground,
Is the dwelling place of the only father guru,
Chogyam Trungpa Dorje Trollo Karma Pakshi.

Grant your blessings to remain in the center of my heart,
So that negativity arouses unfabricated wakefulness,
So that the age of the 3 poisons and the 3 Lords quickly abates,
So that father and child constantly meet
by the light of the fire that consumes hope and fear,
eradicating the border between meditation and post-meditation.
So that all that arises dawns as your dwelling place,
and that the golden age of Shambhala may likewise quickly manifest!

-Jinpa Samten, resting under the shade of the compassion of Chogyam Trungpa.

Hum Hum Hum

In the sacred place of the glorious Copper Colored Mountain,
Ablaze with the source of dharmas,
flower petals rain from the sky,
Shimmering with the lights of the five families,
Whose trees and greenery adorn the awesome charnal ground,
Is the dwelling place of the only father guru,
Chogyam Trungpa Dorje Trollo Karma Pakshi.

Grant your blessings to remain in the center of my heart,
So that negativity arouses unfabricated wakefulness,
So that the age of the 3 poisons and the 3 Lords quickly abates,
So that father and child constantly meet
by the light of the fire that consumes hope and fear,
eradicating the border between meditation and post-meditation.
So that all that arises dawns as your dwelling place,
and that the golden age of Shambhala may likewise quickly manifest!

-Jinpa Samten, resting under the shade of the compassion of Chogyam Trungpa.

Dearest Rinpoche,

You are always vividly present
whenever i look in your eyes -
its always happening - one look
& we fly in the big blue sky

-Susan Ross

Even though we know better, sometimes we miss you.

Unable to clearly discern between movement and emptiness, we've been misled by our own fickleness.
And because of that, we think you are separate from us — so we miss you.
Now, our only solace is memory — which is simply the flicker of mind's motion itself.
So we cling to thoughts of the past.
And so we miss you.
Your hand wielded the unconquerable Vajra of the true teachings.
And yet, your gentle touch could heal the puncture wounds of Samsara's unkind barbs.
Your mastery of the lesser vehicle taught us that every detail in the fabricated world, could lead us to awareness of the unfabricated state.
You were the kindest person we ever met — which became the truest example of the Bodhisattva's selfless love beyond any teaching.
And your magical display of the trikaya was the Mahamudra of deathless action itself.
You reminded us again and again, that true to your name you were a servant.
And thusly, you acted with the utmost humility.
A true Chakravartin, the riches of your teachings made even the poorest of us wealthy with the joy of discovering basic goodness.
As the Rigden's Herald, you brought the brilliant colors of Shambhala's magic into the grey world of Samsara's predictability.
From every corner, the Four Dignities awakened us to the promise of our own heritage — and for the first time, we felt truly at home.
And now, with the arrival of spring we welcome the sparrow's song with a broken heart — for we cannot hear your voice.
The Kingdom of Shambhala is within our hearts — yet our footfalls echo back from the Palace's lonely hallways, reminding us how much we love you.
And yet, from the depths of grief we know you are present.
Undeniably kind, heart-strong and relentlessly loyal you will not let us forget the riddle of minds appearance: self-created, self-arising, self-empty.
And with that, you've given us a key capable of unlocking the mystery that never was.
Indescribably, our sadness is suddenly lifted.
In the frivolity of Impermanence's trickery, we now understand the nature of phenomena without origin.
This is the gift of the only father guru — may we repay your kindness by staying vividly aware.
Watching myriad displays of so called ‘emotions', we see the wave-like motion of movement itself:
This is the gift of the only father guru - may we repay your kindness by meeting the dismal cry of Samsara with the joyful laugh of the warrior-monk.
The heat of ego's desperate anger is cooled by placing Akshobhya's crown upon our head.
This is the gift of the only father guru — may we repay your kindness by never forgetting to wear the crown and scepter.
You gave us the Warrior's-Sadhana, transcribed from the Rigden's mind into the language of sentient beings.
This is the gift of the only father Sakyong — may we repay your kindness by gathering werma and drala by the coincidence of authentic presence.
And finally, we can hear the sparrow's small song — refreshingly free from the confines of our presumption.
It's delightful and sad, but genuinely so.
And taking delight in the simplicity of life's expression is perhaps your greatest gift of all.
And for that, may we never be separate from you.
This is a simple song, offered by a sparrow fortunate enough to once share the sky with the mightiest Garuda.

-Dana Fabbro

Sunlight

Glistening on one thread
Of an unfinished spider web
Expresses my entire existence

THE GREAT SUN

With the ravenous appetite of a pregnant woman
I crave
Not kitchen sunshine
But the naked sun
To lie in blazing rays
Turn red, turn brown, turn crisp
Till blood boils
Eyes pop and sizzle down seared cheeks
Heart bursts in a shower of clotting blood
Tongue bloats and splits
Till skin burns away and flesh shrivels to ash
Revealing grinning gapenosed skull
And only a fragment of charred bone is left

ZERO DEGREES FAHRENHEIT

Zero degrees this morning at nine
Still, the cabin is warm
And frosted landscapes glazed on window panes
Are melting in the sun's rise.
It's good to face the east.

Today's sun seems to fill all space
Above the mountains
Glaring enormous blue-white brilliant haze
Around the radiant core.
I cannot look for long.

Sunlight is far too rare now
And as the new moon grows
Sunglow will wane for ten more days
Grey desolation shrouding this bleak world.
And no bird's song.

But as the winter starts
Once more the glorious sun
Will grace us with his rays
Warming the earth, melting my icebound heart.
I had not realized that you'd been gone.

SUN SPIDER

The great sun shone again this morning
Making a mockery of all my dreams
Revealing them as tinfoil flimsy in his light
Give them all up, he said
And look at me
I toil not, but I spin
A most seductive web
Sucking you in to pool of energy
That is not yours nor mine
You can share it if you really want
But first
Give it all up, he said

What's left to give
But memory
You have my body and my speech
So please accept my mind
Giftwrapped for Christmas

SUN OF WISDOM

Wisdom dawns as emptiness today
Teaching me once again
Not to ask questions
For you only get answers
Not to force issues
That deception is a tissue-thin film of lies.
But the perpetual fool
Still makes lists.

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

LILY KING, SUN KING
4.4.2014
Lily King, Sun King
Sitting on the throne of light
Blazed with glory
Shining through the hall of mirrors
Ministers, nobles
And the golden-tresséd queen

Lily King, Sun King
Sitting on the chair of darkness
Ebony burnished
Marked with all the signs of might
Golden chevrons
You will judge us in this hour

Lily King, Sun King
Lines of wrath around your mouth
Doompitched signal
Warning hidden spy to flee
Sabre glances
Flashing power through the night

Lily King, Sun King
May you never find me lacking
Lost from your sight
There's no other place to be
Lightning brilliance
Slashes through my quaking doubt

SUN DRAGON
4.4.2014
Dragon king
Riding storm of night
Blowing on waves
With breath of molten fire
What do you see
Through darkest space
Lighting the sky
Like a blazing midnight sun

Tower beams strength
Spurting scarlet-clotted streams
Wing ballroom of the heavens
Spitting brilliant tongues of flame
Dancing with skywalkers
Diving through moon meteors
Screaming in soot blackness
Like a dying pitted sun

Dragons are soaring
Through coalpitch sky
Chanting doomed visions
With bloodburning cries
Steaming breath of fury
Warning the offenders
Calling home the children
Like a singing daylight star

SUN LOVE SUN
4.4.2014
Breakfasting
Before the sunmist sun
Breaking through cloudy mind
Sweeping away discursive patterns
Brushing cobwebs
Off ancient rhymes
Continuity
Often not expressed
But recognized in space of thought
Longing to see your glory
Hungry for your kiss
Sunmist
Gentle on my mind

Once having held you in my arms
How can I forget that warmth
Frightening to rekindle flames
But sunmist
Envelops the world

Sunkiss't sun
Like a pile of autumn leaves
Crackling in an ardent fire
Verdant growing blaze
Missed the sun
For too many endless days

Want to hold you in my hands
Want to count the brilliant rays
Of sun mist kissed sun love

SUNDAY
4.4.2014
Lord Sun
Protector
We are closest at this moment
For the year
Lofted on wings of metaphor
There's no hope to reach your height
But climbing mountain trail
May ease the loss

Empty sun
Yet you seem to be so full
Blazing every radiant color
Shading in and out of phase
Beyond an eyelashed glimpse
Afraid to look deeper
Blinded and burned
By flashing radiation
Of Sunday

Zero degrees this morning at nine
Still, the cabin is warm
And frosted landscapes glazed on window panes
Are melting in the sun's rise.
It's good to face the east.

Today's sun seems to fill all space
Above the mountains
Glaring enormous blue-white brilliant haze
Around the radiant core.
I cannot look for long.

Sunlight is far too rare now
And as the new moon grows
Sunglow will wane for ten more days
Grey desolation shrouding this bleak world.
And no bird's song.

But as the winter starts
Once more the glorious sun
Will grace us with his rays
Warming the earth, melting my icebound heart.
I had not realized that you'd been gone.

Dearest Rinpoche,

You are always vividly present
whenever i look in your eyes -
its always happening - one look
& we fly in the big blue sky

A rock is not enlightened
because a rock is not confused.
I am not enlightened, I think.
It is all so confusing.
Chogyam Trungpa is enlightened,
so they say.
On the day he died,
We drove all night, and cried.
What lives? What dies?
I see him in new
students, in their thoughts, their hearts
alive, in their eyes.

Poem a Recollection of the Guru Trungpa Rinpoche
4.4.2013
Being,
Held in your crushing embrace
I knew the certainty of groundlessness and felt
a young man's strength unleashed in a moment,
so sweet
almost beyond reach within me.
Almost terrifying the power of a moments joy
just sitting within your reach or across a room.
How could I not fall in love with you
Guru King?

Your devoted student,
Gyurme Chotso
April 2013

Generic Buddha
4.4.2013
I

Like the unnamed official
who opens Harlem fire hydrants
offers cool mist to sweltering
confused black children, barefoot
on August Manhattan tarmacs,
generic Buddha
ultimate product you can be found anywhere

II

Unnamed and plain wrapped
that inconceivable combination
of new-old ingredients
Oh what a feeling!
you do not Toyota with us you drive the vehicle
not designed for California highways
vehicle that knows the unknown terrain,
to travel the fresh path you continually uncover
I would cut all credit cards
Like Gleem itself
you clean and conquer in two ways
polish the inner enamel
purify both breath and breathing
morning noon and night,
ultimate Lifesaver that never dissolves
natural deodorant that never diminishes
generic Buddha
ultimate product
to wash in the rain of purity you provide,
I would drain the entire Tide of samasara
No plop plop, fizz fizz
no bizmo or gizmo
no roto rooter, no draino
no extra vapour power
can bloom those flowers that appear
after you clear and rout
the clogged channels of memory and sense
Available on every shelf of every self
Universal Product Code itself
product beyond the concept of products
yet ultimate product
generic Buddha
I would empty all pockets
and purge all sockets of purchase-attachment
to simply walk the aisles
of that magical market
while you alone
gently proclaim the Dharma

Peter Livingston
Bedford Springs
February, 1982

Thank you to Seth Levinson for sending this in, and Patty Livingston for permssion. -Ed

Video Vidyadhara
4.4.2014
Blissful smile pushing up chubby cheeks
Punctuated by dimples and a giggle—
You were and are my magnetizing nirmanakaya guru.
Eloquent gentleman's Tiblish dharma,
Transmitted with right hand of upaya's vajra mudras,
Speaking to a hoodlum ‘70's crowd—
You were and are the Buddha for our time.
Sipping amrita out of a hippie goblet,
You presented the maha-dharma of no false hopes,
No nirvana, no spiritual materialism, no white or black magic—
Nothing but this awakened heart.
You were and are my stunning sambhogakaya guru.
Anyone who listened, practiced, and recognized what you taught
Received the vajra mind transmission—
Empowering awareness pure and simple.
To you, the timeless dharmakaya guru, I supplicate.

Inspired by Milarepa Day the previous day, with dohas of devotion still pounding in my head, I, jinpaipema, Linda Lewis, wrote this on the full moon eve, March 16, 2014.

24th PARANIRVANA POEM
4.8.2011
by Stephen Futral on Monday, April 4, 2011 at 11:43pm

seeing your face again / hearing your voice
listening to your truth
i am reminded of all you gave
unconditionally and how i sometimes
feared being in your presence...
skin being peeled, exposed painfully
looking into the layers of ego the
residue that still hadn't been dealt with
that 'crawl out of your skin' space you exuded
and how i had to come back for more
more truth that would leave me flapping in the wind
mind blown away feet trying to sink into the ground
as emotion upon emotion would come up
and shake me down / sometimes i ran but choicelessly
came back drawn by odors of truth and the taste
of compassion and the ongoing feast of phenomenal world
(that i had the honor to cook for you on occassion)

(c)stephen.futral / 4.april.2011

Toast to the Vidyadhara
4.4.2011
When I first saw you, you showed me the way home
When I first met you, you invited me in to home
When you instructed me to breath out into space, you taught me that the world is home.

You traversed our beautiful, tender, sad, and lonely planet to offer your world to ours
To gift us with the precious lineage of teachers and teachings
To call out to our yearning
To awaken our radiance.

There is no limit to the body that awakens in your presence
No bottom to the heart that longs for you,
No end to the mind that finds you everywhere.

I salute you for all you gave and all you left us to find out.

To the Vidhadhara

-Joan Whitacre

Doha to Trungpa Rinpoche
4.4.2011
When I first met Rinpoche,
He met my restlessness with a blissful smile.
Later he would tickle me and call me "sweetheart".
Once when I was distress, he pinched my ass.

Over the years I saw angry friends meet his mirror and melt.
I saw arrogant friends become devoted and loyal.
I saw jealous friends become all-accomplishing dakas and dakinis.

Rinpoche's sacred outlook transformed hippies into dignitaries,
Businessmen and women into engaged Shambhala Buddhists,
Speeedy Americans into more accommodating Canadians and good citizens,
And he invited all of us into the Kingdom of Shambhala.

Now we his students begin to look through those eyes of sacred outlook,
And when we do--no surprise--we too see the possibilities of pure appearance.

-Written this parinirvana month of the year 2011, by jinpaipema, Linda Lewis

DJKR on dualism
4.4.2011
[excerpt from DJKR's commentary on the Parting from the Four Attachments, Nepal 2009, from Talk 10: ]

... We tend to forget that from the time we got out of bed this morning until the time we go to bed this evening, whatever we will have experienced today, including all the faces, breakfast, our friends and family, the traffic, messages in our inbox, phone calls we made and the conversations we had, all are the stuff of illusion. Tonight, all of our experiences will be seen in hindsight to have amounted to nothing more than an incessant stream of confusion and that's all.

We shouldn't regard dualism as just some vague abstract idea. Dualism is the figurative junk food that our minds are ingesting on a daily basis. And this steady diet of dualism has made our confusion so fat and so large and so real, so to speak. Out of our confusion we evolve a skin of chronic attachment, and from this chronic clinging to self, we evolve a second skin of insecurity that is always present.

Of course, self has good reason to be insecure since, as Chandrakirti points out, the self is a baseless thing. After all, "self" is just a label that we give to a transitory collection of the five unstable aggregates or skandhas that compose a self: form, feeling, perception, karmic formation and consciousness. That's all self is, a never-ending process of mutating and evolving aspects of this fragile and volatile self. And it is on this shaky basis that we confer the honorific title of "I". So, naturally, self is defensive and insecure, because so-called self is only a constantly changing and re-arranging set of mental factors.

We always try to escape from this worried and nervous state of mind by diverting our attention and amusing ourselves with endless, mind-numbing distractions. This constant nervousness and worry and insecurity are so unbearably intense that we resort to sedatives and painkillers of mindless entertainment.

We take many many pills of distraction to keep our insecurities out of sight and out of mind...

[Dawa Choga offers this poignant gem from Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse Rinpoche to commemorate the 24th anniversary of the parinirvana of Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche. May all beings understand the truth.]

Meeting Buddha in your brain
First get acquainted with discipline,
which in this case is learning to hear the chatter.
To make karma workable, notice it working.
Attend to the engine rumbling between your ears:
the voice, or voices, or -- hey, that's just me! --
that spins the scoop, the everyday play-by-play,
sharing airtime with commentators
who color what you call real.
Hearing the chatter,
you see your choice.

Intimacy takes more effort:
you have to face the fear of commitment.
Sit with whatever there is and make friends
until finally reality penetrates:
there's no way out but through, no way through but in.
So dig.
Prehistoric fault lines trigger seismic shifts within your skin.
Beneath boredom, nuggets of anger, reservoirs of sadness, and rich veins of pain
await the attention that only you can give.
Giving it, you meet your familiars.
If you flee them, they'll hover in every inhibited breath.
Pay heed to their needs instead and, like magic, windows open on a wider world.

There you can rest easy on wisdom's indestructible and evershifting ground.
Supreme understanding will only come calling
when all your disaffected refugee tendencies
-- cut off from the flow of life, burrowed in bones and sequestered in cells --
are brought back home by the light of awareness
to the center, the core of experience you call yourself.

Then your natural sense becomes openness,
aperture everywhere.
And ongoing presence engages as appetite leads you
on a soothing accessible passage through time
where chatter subsides
and thoughts arise as if Buddha were talking in your brain.

He might say, "What do you think?"
He might say, "You can do it, sweetheart."
Or he might say,
"Your guess is as good as mine,"
and you might actually believe him.

Inspired by the Vidyadhara's teachings offered by the Archives for this occasion, I wrote this poem and read it at the feast at Karme Choling tonight. May we all live up to the potential our teachers see in us, and bring benefit into this world.

With love and appreciation,
Carol Hyman

The haunting continues--Parinirvana Day 2011
4.4.2011
Chogyam Trungpa? Oh yeah, I remember him. Every April 4th it's the same--one damn thing after another. Today was no exception.

I caught flak for missing a deadline at work, but yeah, it's true: I wasted time instead of remembering my promise to finish on time. As if that wasn't bad enough, I went outside shortly afterwards and some jerk of a parking official had given me a ticket. Yeah, it's true: I was parked in a loading zone, but he could have given me a break...

Even though I wasn't hungry, to make myself feel better I went down to the local cafe to get one of their wonderful lemon squares. There was one left and I ordered it, but the barista dropped it on the floor, lemon side down, as he was getting it out of the display case. "Sorry", he said; "It was the last one". I replied, "It's been that kind of day" and left...

Later, as I got into my Kasung uniform as the sword-bearer in a procession to place the Vidyadhara's relics next to the shrine for a Parinirvana day Padmasambhava feast, I realized that I had forgotten to get the pin backing on my cap badge re-attached after it broke off months ago. I couldn't show up "out of uniform", so I used contact cement to glue the parts together at the last minute. I half expected the newly cemented badge to drop at my feet with a loud clatter in front of a hundred people. It turned out fine, but I felt curiously levelled rather than excited by the whole thing.

Of course, because I still need to meet my deadline, I couldn't stay for the feast and am now headed back to work overtime. At least I got to salute him in the midst of my self-induced chaos.

Yes, I remember Chogyam Trungpa--when he was alive I felt him most strongly as a mirror for my mind. Days like today leave me feeling that now I have the sharpest, clearest mirror right here in my own mind, and endlessly, inexpressibly grateful.

Nick Wright

With appreciation, again, for the Vidyadhara...
4.4.2011
Lately, I translate backwards. Though growing up Jewish, like many of my friends, I sought out other things, turning in the 70s to our Shambhala, then Vajradhatu/Dharmadhatu communities.

Today, among my other activities, I also try to bring fresh eyes to Jewish practice. I did purchase tefillin recently (nevermind (?) that my sadhana practice materials also coincidentally got shelved in a temporary move to storage). In short order, or maybe it was immediate, I came to associate the practice of laying tefillin with the principles of samaya. In preparing to share with someone why I thought what I thought, I first went to google and entered only: samaya. But, this returned somewhat exotic references, that would not be too helpful in communicating with others...especially the "general principles" I was seeking to be able to share about.

So...I added: "trungpa" to samaya. And...as I was ready to expect, his presentation helped quite a lot, and moved to bring it all together, as I had hoped.... to wit:

"When we commit ourselves to the world, whether as a reaction to constraints or as a decision to get into something new, that is called samaya, sacred world, or sacred vow."

More here [from Journey Without Goal]

Ira Zukerman
DC

CTR Now and then
4.4.2011
Very sweet, brought me up and in front of Rinpoche in a way I had not recalled in a very long time. Yet he was so present and powerful just now and then....wow!

Ki Ki
Jackie Muse

Parinirvana 2011
4.4.2011
Sometimes it was pleasure...
sometimes it was pain...
always crystal clear intensity
like standing next to blast
furnace of precise seeing...
like being onstage in front of
an infinite audience of one...
standing on earth, yet falling
through space, the damndest
feeling...like wanting to jump
out of my own skin: excruciating,
adamantine...empty.

Dorje Dradul Doha
4.4.2011
Dorje Dradul,
When you walk through the jungle of samsara,
You are like a powerful striped tiger flashing teeth.

When you leap to the rocky mountains of the highest view,
You are like a white snow lion enjoying sacred outlook.

When you are gone into the space of dharmata,
You are like the king of garudas,
Soaring so free.

When you reside in the palace of Kalapa,
You are the fearless Dragon King, the Druk Sakyong,
Radiating dignity and awareness.

Now, when we too walk through the jungle,
Remind us that it is appearance-emptiness.
When we hear the high mountain winds wail,
Remind us that it is the fearless speech of the guru.

When lonely thoughts arise in our mind,
Remind us they are clarity-emptiness inseparable from your mind.

When we feel the ashe in the palace of our hearts,
We find you there.

By simply relaxing into uncontrived awareness,
Self-liberation dawns.

Written 8 days before the 24th parinirvana of the Great 11th Trungpa Rinpoche, otherwise known
as the Dorje Dradul and Druk Sakyong, by Jinpai Pema, Linda V. Lewis

The Guru is Still Alive
The guru is still alive.
I dream he is smiling at me,
as I peer from a hallway into a sitting room.
There he is, chatting in Tibetan on a large sofa with Khyentse Rinpoche.
They look so comfortable.
I notice an attendant too,
but then the door to the hallway closes.
Still, I get the message that he is enjoying himself in great company.

Once I dreamt that Rinpoche was wearing a tight black dress with gold earrings.
It was night and his smile flashed teeth.
In spite of the dress, he didn't look feminine,
but more like Mahakala,
as he slid into the black limo,
waiting for him on the half-moon driveway
before a white house.

Another time I walked into a forest in the evening,
and in a clearing covered with pine needles€"
there was Rinpoche seated before a piano,
playing with both hands!
The music was beautiful, classical, elegant;
the composer unknown.

You too can see Rinpoche, if you invite him into your dreams.

March 14, 2011
Written after another wonderful dream visit by Trungpa Rinpoche.

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

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!"

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.

The Explorers

Because each day is the same
each moment is new
Because we never leave town,
right here: an unexplored world
Because we are lifelong lovers,
each touch: a nameless delight

Today marks the secret entrance—
a gap in the hedgerow
Always we are working out the details
bending low to enter
and finding ourselves (once again)
where we have never been before

Take me with you
(The secret gate is easily missed)
Take me into the hidden thicket—
the way to the unmarked continent

Here is the blazing land of noone,
and the waiting smile
of our mutual assassin

We are all Sakyongs and Sakyong Wangmos

Eat the rice

Drink the milk

Swallow the teachings on white paper

Smile at the Guru

Stunned in ordinary magic

You float into the day AWAKE!

Shambhala Revolution

Give everything away in the snap of the fingers

No more green stamps!

No more Macdonalds!

No more countries, no more war!

Wave the victory banner

Eisenstein Awake!

Film the madness as we stop still and look

HO-HUM

HO-HUM

HO-HUM

-the end/the beginning

the beginning/the end

England expects every man to do his duty!

The Great Switcheroo has landed!

Rita Ashworth

Stockport UK

SUPPLICATION BEYOND TIME

When we were insane beasts blinded by our own obsessions,
You became the Wild Yogi who paralyzed us in mid air.
When we were the horde, ravishing a corrupt heritage,
You became the youthful prince encompassing our innocence.
When we set out to conquer the meager territory of self clemency,
You became a Warrior to pierce the shadows of hope and fear.
When we were panicked, obsessed by our longevity,
You became the monarch above limitless realms.
When we cried for surfeit, a minimum of satisfaction,
You became the ultimate siddha: the dharmata beyond time.

O'guru, no one has come before you and no one after.
You have existed before the depths of our minds.
The source of your vision stands open before us.
You were not born, you did not die.
Your only manifestation is pure compassion, limitless blessing.
This is your nature, your life, the greatest gift.

Remember that which is beyond recollection.
Perceive that which is already known.
Return, though there is no where to come back to.
Chogyi Gyatso, what is your name?

This suplication was read to the Sakyong and Sakyong Wangmo at the Parinirvana gathering in NYC April 4, 2009.
-Philip Richman- This was composed Thamcho Sero (Golden Light of Dharma), October 31, 1987, on the feast day of the Glorious Heruka Chakrasamvara.

I think of the guru
I remember Trungpa Rinpoche.
I remember the wide smile and Cheshire teeth,
the cowboy shirt with suspenders,
and sometimes a cowboy hat.
I think of the crazy wisdom guru and remember velvet eyes looking over glass rims.
I think of the guru.
I remember Chogyam's chubby hands gracefully playing with a vajra,
skillfully playing with a damaru,
or holding a glass to his lips,
sipping and setting the glass soundlessly down while teaching dharma.
Distracted, I'd watch and forget to listen.
But his movements were dharma too.
I remember the guru,
walking like mahakala, holding a kasung's hand.
I remember the guru,
I remember his giggling while dribbling rice on my head or ticleling me on the sofa.
I remember the guru,
his pride in his wife and sons.
I think of the guru--
his face sweating before the Karmapa's first visit.
I think of the guru,
his tears of joy greeting and parting from His Holiness Khyentse Rinpoche.
I remember Trungpa Rinpoche
and the various experiential ways he pointed out the true nature of mind.
I remember the Druk Sakyong, suddenly self-arisen monarch in yellow robes,
proclaiming the Great Eastern Sun
not exactly to be confused with the dawn of Vajrasattva.
I remember the guru
screeching the Shambhala Anthem.

Decades have passed and new old photos appear,
but better than remembering,
the first signs of his Kingdom can be seen
And I feel the guru smiling as he moves from Dewachen to
Glorious Copper Colored Mountain to
Akanishta to Shambhala--
enjoying the realms spiritual and temporal.
And I feel the guru living in my heart.

April 15, 2009
Linda V. Lewis

Above stars

Alone beneath these stars

I sometimes wonder how far

And how I long to be alone

To wish away desires

Like a tossed skipping stone

Moving towards right mindfulness

A broken past surely won’t be missed

And with each patient moment

A little more revealed

To tickle new insights

Moving me to heal

Calmly and passively proud

This breathing begins to slow

As the depth of the night sky descends

Relieves me

To swallow me whole

For once was a fettered soul

For a jewel on a path shown

With witness and awareness dancing afar

What a journeys end becomes

Leaves me resting with these stars

3D Stupa in Google Earth

On this 22 anniversary of the parinirvana of the Vidyadhara Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche I would like to make the small offering of a virtual stupa (which is not entirely finished) that can be seen at the virtual SMC in Google Earth. First get the Google Earth program FREE at http://earth.google.com/download-earth.html

Then get the 3D stupa file.The file is about 2 mb, and can be downloaded by clicking here.

There is also a version at the Google 3D warehouse but for some reason it appears as grey and not white, and without full color gate details. This one should appear as I intended. Now open Google Earth and make sure you have the view "3D buildings" and "terrain" option turned on in the layers menu (bottom left) and then double click the 3D stupa file you downloaded. Google earth should take you directly to SMC but sometimes not, so you can type it in to the search window if necessary (though people have located this place as far away as boulder). Take the time to navigate with the controls (to the upper right) around the stupa. Virtual circumambulation while not equal to the real thing must be somewhat beneficial!?

If you don't want to go through all that you can see some 2D pictures of the 3D stupa at http://www.4shared.com/dir/13591655/91c5e24d/sharing.html

Just click on the folder named pictures of 3D great stupa.All the best, Greg Smith

Chogyam Trungpa
By Lee Weingrad
(To the tune of "Joe Hill")

I dreamed I saw the Vidyadhara
alive as you and me.
Says I "But Boss, you're twenty years dead"
"I never died" said he,
"I never died" said he.

"The 3 Lords killed you Sir,
they shot you Boss" says I.
"Takes more than maras to kill a man"
Says the Boss "I didn't die"
Says Boss "I didn't die"

And standing there as big as life
and smiling with his eyes.
Said Boss "What wasn't born can never die
went on to organize,
went on to organize"

Allies

Underneath
There is always a tender heart

A promise to fulfill
A sunrise for the faithful
A whisper for the waiting

Chaos for the insightful
Dissapointment for the clever
Wonder for the fearless
and soft-hearted

Protectors await
to melt arrogance and self-righteousness

How can we draw lines
When our allies are so close?

Dudley Jackson
Columbia, SC
April 4th 2009

Poem for Chogyam Trungpa Tribute Page

For the Eyes of the Solitary Warrior Only
The War was Never Begun.
The Battle Never Ends.
Winning and Losing are Costly Illusions.

The Solitary Warrior Knows when to Engage.
Make a Good Dinner; Be Sure and Place Flowers.

by Philip A. Bralich, Ph.D. from c1990 Vajrayogini Fire Puja.

So ... you have brought me here
To the land of the Red Moon
Ruled by the dark Dao Shonu
Nevertheless I shall prostrate to Vajradhara
From Sun up to Sun down
Occassionally watching the rats eat the apples
Whilst I drink my tea and stroke Lama Red
Or hear the people laugh as the sun is caught in the mound
& the double rainbow appears
Sometimes I shall sleep dreaming of the elephant running through the burning land
But then again how do you get the cow off the land when mad farmer comes calling?!
Moonlight Young Prince
I could eat you even swallow the red Irish brick
& descend into the dark, dark ground
Heres to Dao Shonu!
Heres to Choggie!
Slianthe to you all!

(Dao Shonu -- Moonlight Young Prince was formerly one of CTR's centres in Eire)

A toast to the Dorje Dradul of Mukpo Dong

It is amazing how fearful I am when facing you. I always was and may always be. Here I am again--a simple request to make a toast to you--has roused that fear again.

As I sit at the feet of the most profound, the most brilliant, the most just, the most powerful, the most all victorious person I have ever known, and may ever know for lifetimes,

Why should I be so afraid of that cosmic mirror you always hold up?

Without you I would never have learned what that quivering heart is all about and that is where the stroke of Ashe begins.

It is in that moment of fear that werma and drala begin to gather and their horses begin to stir.

I sometimes hear the sound of the harnesses, the clinking of the crystal armour, the stomping of the horses' hooves, all that energy preparing for descent into my heart and all hearts in that one, quivering moment.

Here we are in Nova Scotia.

Believe it or not, along these craggy, ocean worn shores, there are chrysanthemums growing.

It worked! Your smile produced them petal by petal,

And our tears of longing helped them grow.

Why are you not presently with us?

You are, I say, always, always, always with us, which makes me cry more.

Will my tears produce future warriors?

That is my aspiration, that is my offering.

I love you so much, I miss you so terribly

From the pain of that heartbreak I cry Ki Ki, So So

And I vow to perpetuate your world.

To the Dorje Dradul

-Trudy Sable (This is a toast that was offered some years ago at a meeting in Halifax, Lady Diana presiding.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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
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

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

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

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.

John Tischer

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)

5 April 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.

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

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
4.05.2007

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

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

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

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

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

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

JK
New Ipswich NH

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

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

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

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]

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

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!

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

April 4, 2007
In morning rain

twenty years ago, a robin

today the full moon.

-Reed Bye

5.28.2007

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

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

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)