BIOGRAPHY

THE BUDDHA

The Buddha sat and meditated on the bank of a river for several years, hardly moving from the spot, living as an ascetic. He meditated in his own way, and realized that he must return to the world to help others. When he discovered the awakened state of mind, he realized that leading an ascetic life and punishing oneself did not help, so he got up and went to beg for some food.

A kind woman gave him some boiled milk with honey in it, and he drank it and found it delicious. Not only that, but he found it greatly enhanced his health and energy, as a result of which he was able to make great progress in the practice of meditation. The same thing happened in the case of the great Tibetan yogi Milarepa. The first time he went out and received a healthy, delicious cooked meal, he found that it gave him new strength and he was able to meditate properly.

The Buddha then looked around for somewhere comfortable to sit. A farmer gave him a bunch of kusa grass, and Buddha spread it under a tree at Bodhgaya and sat down there. He had discovered that trying to achieve something by force was not the answer, and in fact for the first time he accepted that there was nothing to achieve. He completely abandoned all ambition, all sense of self and attachment. He had his drink and he had his seat, and he made himself as comfortable as possible. That very night he finally attained sambodhi, the fully awakened state. Let those who understand begin to practice.

All his hidden fears and temptations and desires, the last ties of ego, came to him in the form of Mara, the Evil One. First Mara sent beautiful young girls to seduce him, but without success. Then came the fierce troops of Mara, the last tactic of the ego. But Buddha had already achieved the state of maitri, loving-kindness. In other words he was not in the sense of looking down on Mara as stupid, for Mara was his own projection, but he had achieved the nonresisting state, the state of nonviolence, where he identified himself with Mara. So finally the ego surrendered and he achieved the awakened state of mind. We ourselves might have such an experience, perhaps in a short glimpse of clarity and peace. We have to learn how to put that into effect, we have to use that as a kind of center from which we can expand. One has to create the experience, the life situation around one, so that one does not have to say, “I am the awakened person.” If one had to say such a thing and demonstrate it verbally, one would not be awakened.

Buddha then walked for about seven weeks. He knew some of the answers for dealing with life and for finding the true meaning, or suchness, in the world of samsara. But he was not quite sure how to present this and he almost decided not to speak. But then the true and final establishment of compassion came and he saw his ability to create the right situation. Up to this point he still had the desire to teach (because he had achieved something he felt that he should share). But he had to give up this idea of saving all sentient beings. Then at the very moment when he had decided to leave the world and return to the jungle, the real, selfless compassion arose in him.

He was no longer aware of himself as a teacher, he no longer had the idea that he had to save people, but whenever the situation presented itself he dealt with it spontaneously. He preached and taught for about forty years, and spent his life walking from one end of India to the other. He did not ride on an elephant or a horse or a chariot, but simply walked barefoot all over India.

If any of us had seen him or heard him talk, it would not have been anything like a lecture as we know it. It was just simple conversation. It was not the talking that was important but the whole situation that he created; it was not because he had achieved such spiritual power and thereby dominated the whole scene, but because he was simply being true—just as any of us could be. Therefore the teaching had been taught before he opened his mouth. That is why we find in the sutras that gods and asuras and all kinds of people from different parts of India attended his talks and saw him and met him, and all could understand him. They did not have to ask him questions, but they automatically received the answers. This is a wonderful example of communication. Buddha never claimed that he was an incarnation of God, or any kind of divine being. He was just a simple human being who had gone through certain things and had achieved the awakened state of mind.

From this example we see that speech alone is not the only method of communication. There is already communication before we say anything, even if we are only saying “Hello," and communication also continues after we finish speaking. The whole thing must be conducted in a very skillful way, by being true and not self-centered. Then the concept of duality is absent and the right pattern of communication is established. It is only through one’s own experience that this can be achieved, and not through merely copying someone else’s example. We have to make the first move ourselves rather than expecting it to come from the phenomenal world or from other people. If we are meditating at home and we happen to live in the middle of the large road, we cannot stop the traffic just because we want peace and quiet. But we can stop ourselves, we can accept the noise. The noise also contains silence.

LONGCHENPA

Longchen Rabjam Drimé Özer (Longchenpa) lived in solitude, in caves in the mountains near the great monastery, Samye. The peaceful and clear environment of nature inspires peace and clarity; then the whole merges into one. He was immensely kind to poor and suffering people, and he enjoyed with great pleasure the simple food offered. He would say many prayers for the well-being of others less fortunate.

Far from the towns full of entertainments, entitlements, and egos. At the end of a road, or on a less-traveled way. Quiet and natural. Being in the forests naturally increases the peaceful absorption, harmonizes and tames the mind. He gave teachings only when asked, keeping the lessons appropriate to the developmental level of the listener, not in an unordered rush to share everything known. Must break into pieces, establish a path.

Taking vows to further the goal of practice, according to known teachings, such as austerity, being content with food, warmth, clothing and shelter. Not speaking or limiting words to beneficial communication. Not seeking diversion, games, and entertainment. Value time given in health, and use the time well. Living in solitude, meditating and practicing concentration. Eating little, lovingly preparing healthy vegetarian food. Hatha yoga, sitting and singing in a cold, windy place, even if walking or mountain biking to reach it and returning, good exercise.

If we seek the wrong things, and place value on the wrong benefits, it makes it more difficult to know when the situation and circumstances are correct. Cannot both choose girls as well as solitude, although may be graced to attract a Dakini and consort, a like-minded girl or woman who shares my goal. She should be awake, as I must become myself, and recognize the natural beauty and attraction of my location and activities and efforts benefitting others. Can't both embrace austerity, and be hungry for material gain. Spend the money wisely, getting a good start.

The great ones, the achievers, are able to reach across time and space. This is the initial key, breathing deeply, releasing the mind from mundane focus, and eating less, lessening the hold of the body.

JIGME LINGPA

Jigme Lingpa was a prodigy who became immensely learned with almost no study, through arousing his wisdom mind in a series of long meditation retreats. He received the Heart-essence ofthe Vast Expanse in a series of visions of Longchenpa.

Jigme Lingpa first practised and mastered the teachings he had discovered, and then passed them on to a few close disciples who were capable of becoming pure holders of the doctrine. One of these was Patrul Rinpoche's teacher, Jigme Gyalwai Nyugu, who after spending a considerable time with Jigme Lingpa in central Tibet, returned to Kham. There he undertook the practice of what Jigme Lingpa had taught him, living on a remote mountainside in a mere depression in the ground, without even a cave for shelter, and with only wild plants for food. He was indifferent to comfort and convenience, determined to let go of all worldly considerations and concentrate on the goal of ultimate realization. Gradually disciples gathered around him, living in tents on the windswept hillside.

One of these was the young Patrul Rinpoche, who received from him, no less than fourteen times, the teachings contained in this book. Patrul also studied with many other great lamas of the day, including the highly unconventional Do Khyentse Yeshe Dorje, who directly introduced him to the nature of the mind.

DO KHYENTSE

Patrul had been staying in the area of caves and hermitages above Dzogchen Monastery.

As Patrul came into view, Do Khyentse called out, “Hey, Patrul! If you’re so brave, why don’t you come over here?” As he drew closer, Patrul realized that Do Khyentse must have been drinking —his breath stank of chang, the potent Tibetan brew made from fermented barley. Remembering the Buddha’s teachings on the harmful effects of alcohol, Patrul began to wonder: “So, even a great master can get dead drunk and behave boorishly?”

At that very moment, Do Khyentse grabbed Patrul, threw him violently to the ground, and started dragging him along by his hair. Then Do Khyentse loosened his grip and roughly flung Patrul away. Do Khyentse glared at him fiercely. “Pah!” he cried, spitting in Patrul’s face. “You old dog—your head is still stuffed full of concepts!” Dualistic thinking, ie, a self and others, one object to perceive and differentiate from other objects, rather than viewing a unified whole, inseparable, intertwined, and inter-connected.

In Tibetan culture, to call someone “Old Dog” is a very serious insult. What’s more, Do Khyentse gave Patrul the little finger—a sign of utter contempt—and began pelting him with stones. After hitting him square in the back, Do Lingpa Khyentse stalked off and disappeared.

It took a moment for Patrul to understand what had just happened. Shaken, nearly in shock, he realized he’d completely missed the point!

It struck him that Do Khyentse had just given him a profound direct teaching on the true nature of mind. Filled with grateful devotion toward his teacher, Patrul sat down in a meditation posture and began to rest the mind in naked awareness—vast, clear as a cloudless sky, free of discursive thought.

PHUCHUNGWA

We have obtained this utterly fragile human existence of leisure and opportunity. Although we have obtained it, we don’t have the power to stay long, for we must all die. At the time of death we have no power to retain all the mundane thoughts regarding this life and the mundane beauties, not even the fallen petal of a flower. Nothing can accompany us. At that time everything will be revealed starkly: the level of our intelligence, the strength or weakness of our ability, and our skillfulness or its lack in the pursuit of our goals.

If at the time of death we remain joyful and rest in a warm glow, then our level of intelligence is high, our ability is strong, and our pursuit of goals is skillful. Such a person is called competent. But if at that time vivid visions appear of Yama’s form and aspects of the lower realms, then we have not been skilled in the pursuit of goals and have thus failed to be competent. Most of us travel mistaken paths because of continually reinforcing the habit of planning for this life. Good as far as that goes, but this life comes to an end, what then.

Seek a spiritual mentor and read the sutras. Strengthen faith and wisdom. To empower joyful perseverance, contemplate death and impermanence and shun laziness. Don't be conceited and vain, lower your head and adopt humility, discipline selfish desire and attachment.

Living without seeing, we may expend a lot of time and effort in preparing material success, but then find old age and sickness interfere with our enjoyment. Therefore, meditate on death and impermanence, and don't spend too much time focused on the mundane aspirations of this life.

Even if we are renowned as learned ones, disciplined ones, teachers, and meditators, we may pursue only the means for achieving greatness in this life. In this way, we will need to cover the entire earth with our restless pursuits, and through this we will become forcibly and strongly saturated with negative karma, increasingly at odds with the Dharma.

Continuing to think ‘I will not die,’ we will die with clinging and attachment, with the chores of this life left unfinished. If, on the other hand, the realization of death and impermanence has arisen, we may not have been renowned in our lives as learned ones or as disciplined ones, but we may accomplish great works without others knowing of it. Because of having made exclusive preparations for death, we will be able to die happily and joyfully, free of any attachment or clinging to anything.

The desire for personal separateness, a unique self and identity, is deep-rooted and powerful, for it creates the feeling of 'I am the actor, I have a body.' The eradication of this notion and the craving for personal separateness is called Liberation. It is ignorance that causes us to identify ourselves with the body, the ego, and the senses. It is a wise soul who overcomes this ignorance while yet still retaining a useful body. Let good use and love rule your life.

Those who don't understand the truth may be lost in the various forms of relative knowledge, running about here and there, doing this and that, occupied with money, people, experiences, places and things, trying to justify their view of ego-substance.

PEMA DUNDUL

Pema Dündul was on the move most of his life except when he was in retreat. His itinerant lifestyle reflected the Buddha’s teachings on impermanence, setting up temporary encampments and then moving on before any routine could be established, habits formed, or attachment to places arose. Theirs was a lineage who wandered from hermitage to cave, occasionally stopping in the towns across Tibet. While monasteries and the vows of an ordained life, such as celibacy and avoiding intoxicants, provide a protective container from the allure of worldly life’s distractions, yogis like Pema Dündul and Sonam Thaye were not bound to hierarchy, nor did they try to avoid provocative situations.

Pema Dündul’s demeanor was a manifestation of his beatific realizations; worldly pleasures held no lure. Wherever he went, white-robed, long-haired hermits and meditators gathered around him like bees following the bloom of mountain flowers. Yogis sat in the meadows, outside cliffside caves, or in large nomad tents and listened to Pema Dündul’s teachings on the methods to unveil their buddha nature. Pema Dündul often sang spontaneous songs of realization and recited poems. His words were like a chisel at his students’ solidified self-centeredness.

SOGYAL

The encampment at Drikok had been blessed over the centuries by many hermit meditators and tantric practitioners. Sogyal found not only a guru in Sonam Thaye at Drikok but also a community of practitioners who shared the same intention. At Drikok you will not feel you have to please the rich and famous nor will there be anyone thinking the newcomers should be bullied.

Sogyal quickly became known for accepting comfort and discomfort, and happiness and suffering, with the same stable state of mind. He did not look for the faults in those who were devoid of mindfulness and awareness, nor did he needlessly dwell in the busyness of being hopeful or fearful for anything in the future.

PATRUL RINPOCHE

Patrul Rinpoche, Orgyen Jigme Chökyi Wangpo (1808–1887), a wandering practitioner in the ancient tradition of vagabond renunciants, became one of the most revered spiritual teachers in Tibetan history, widely renowned as a scholar and author, while at the same time living a life of utmost simplicity. A strong advocate of the joys of solitude, he always stressed the futility of worldly pursuits and ambitions. Utterly uninterested in ordinary affairs,

Patrul naturally abandoned the eight worldly concerns:

Hoping for gain and fearing loss;
Hoping for pleasure and fearing pain;
Hoping for praise and fearing blame;
hoping for fame and fearing disgrace.

Living in an absence of ordinary commitments, Patrul had set himself free; without agenda, his life became spontaneous. He was able to stay in one place as long as he wished and no longer. When he felt it was time to move on, he could just get up and go, without giving it a second thought. Patrul remained a vagabond renunciant. He spent his life wandering from place to place, camping in the open, in the guise of an ordinary beggar. Even when he had become a famous teacher, he would travel around unrecognized. When he left one place, he left with no particular destination; when he stayed somewhere, he had no fixed plans. In the wilderness, his favored meditation was the practice of cultivating bodhichitta, the wish to relieve all sentient beings from suffering, and bring them to the ultimate freedom of enlightenment.

A wandering, ascetic teacher doesn't starve. Coincidentally helping all beings, he or she attracts those essentials needed for survival, and gathers suitable students and helpers that may benefit from association. Even in lack and physical suffering, opportunity for focus is found, deepening meditation until the crossing over past death is reached. For death comes, but it is what you accomplish with the time given that counts. The highest is love, and caring for others. Do no harm, and be a good influence to all who appear, as if by magical circumstance, to interact with you. Beam positive, loving energy into the world, and be a force for good. As Swedenborg wrote, the highest angels in the innermost heaven feel that all they do, know, and are, comes as an inflow from the Lord.

Patrul Rinpoche collected and wrote down in essentialized form the pith instructions of his own masters on Great Perfection (Dzogchen) meditations, as in his famous commentary on Three Sentences That Strike the Vital Point by Garab Dorje, and The Words of My Perfect Teacher.

Patrul Rinpoche knew almost by heart the famed Seven Treasuries and other works of the fourteenth-century Tibetan master, Longchenpa. Patrul was beyond any need to display his immense knowledge and realization, and he taught in a manner that was immediately accessible to even the most simple-minded listeners, teachings that pointed directly to the very heart of spiritual life.

He took with him no possessions beyond his begging bowl, teapot, and two texts:

1. The Way of the Bodhisattva, Bodhicharyavatara, by Shantideva.
2. The Root Verses on the Middle Way

Wherever you’ve stayed, leave nothing behind but the trace of your seat.
Wherever you’ve walked, leave nothing behind but your footprints.
Once you’ve put on your shoes, let there be nothing else left.

When your position is lofty, vanity and envy flourish.
When your position is lowly, you’re at ease and your practice can flourish.
The lowest seat is the throne of great masters of the past.

Patrul often pointed out the uselessness of worldly concerns and the inherently unsatisfactory nature of samsara. In particular, he emphasized the never-ending problems and distractions from realizing the root-nature of mind and being that came with owning possessions, saying, "Don’t you get it? If he was offered gold or silver he might turn to give it to another beggar, or just leave it lying on the ground as he departed, thinking that wealth was only a source of trouble.

If you’ve got money, you’ve got money problems.
If you have a house, you have house problems.
If you have yaks, you have yak problems.
If you have goats, you have goat problems.

When you’ve got wealth, increasing it and preserving it are a nuisance.
When you’ve got next to nothing, you’ll progress in practice.
If you’ve got just the bare necessities, it’s the perfect dharma life.

Utterly uninterested in ordinary affairs, Patrul Rinpoche naturally abandoned the eight worldly concerns:

1. Not building wealth, but using materiality for good uses, creating examples that others may understand and follow.
2. Not lamenting loss, but accepting the play of opposites to be one whole.
3. Not seeking pleasure, seeing the ephemerality in all things.
4. Not denying pain, for the ups and downs make the ride fun.
5. Not drawing praise, for the cause is not your own.
6. Not avoiding blame, for you caused all things, and nobody can blame you.
7. Not trying for fame, for there is nobody home.
8. Not fearing disgrace, nor guarding reputation, built in the common mind.

Patrul Rinpoche spent most of his life roaming the mountains and living in caves, forests, and remote hermitages. When he left one place, he left with no particular destination, and when he stayed somewhere, he had no fixed plans. In the wilderness, his favored meditation was the practice of cultivating bodhichitta, the wish to relieve all sentient beings from suffering, and bring them to the ultimate freedom of enlightenment.

DUDJOM LINGPA

Dudjom Lingpa was plagued by apparitions and demonic incursions, and throughout his life demons in many forms challenged him or members of his entourage. Such events, experienced as crises, forced Dudjom Lingpa to evaluate himself and to flex his meditative muscles. He uses these encounters to demonstrate the difference between reacting to experience as being 'out there' versus owning it as being self-manifest. He chooses not to recognize challengers from a place of knee-jerk defensiveness, instead seeing them, with the poise of awareness, to be his own phenomena. We see this most dramatically in his encounters with demonic forces, yet the same spirit underlies even his grandest visions of buddhas and pure lands.

In the midst of his visions, everything appears just as solid and real to Dudjom Lingpa as our selves and surroundings do to us. For the sake of his narrative he portrays what transpires in visions as external. However, the deities who appear to him in all their enlightened splendor question Dudjom Lingpa’s experience of them as being anything else than self-manifest expressions of his inherent enlightened nature. They mock him for allowing himself to be momentarily duped into believing that cyclic existence and the boundless majesty of displays of enlightenment’s qualities are anything else than self-manifest adornments of the indwelling luminous nature of his own being.

The solitary, unrecognized genius hermit. For most of Dudjom Lingpa’s life, isolation was in fact the norm. He consistently lacked a peer group, whether familial, social, or spiritual. Even as he grew older and gained prominence, he had no consistent companions at his own level. He never sought monastic ordination, nor did he live in a temple with a large community, although In Tibet, it was common for high-ranking Tibetan teachers to collaborate with other lamas or maintain practice companions. Unlike many of his peers, especially those with prestigious titles and heavy institutional responsibilities, Dudjom Lingpa was free to do as he (and the deities) pleased, to practice meditation in retreat, focus on his writings, and amass a circle of exceptional students at his own pace.

Success was preceded by decades of solitary struggle. Although his inner panorama was rich with marvels, he found that miracles didn’t pay the bills. A Tibetan saying has it that if your finances are sound, it is at the expense of your spiritual practice, whereas if your meditation is going well, your money situation is awful. Having endured nine years with only bare-minimum resources, the deity announced he would grant Dudjom Lingpa whatever he desired. The following year he could afford to build a house. Buy good land and develop a small community, with food, training, and preparedness. The money isn't disappearing, it is being invested in the best path. Trust. Have faith. Hold the line.

Although Dudjom Lingpa remained immersed in his personal practice, retreat spaces and teaching venues eventually merged. As students began to seek him out and find him, a deity advised him to avoid transcribing lengthy texts from the raw material of his treasures. This directive to keep his work pithy, in both length and essence, was about more than just books. His writing style preserves the magic of the treasure tradition, which allows teachings to emerge fresh, direct, and unadulterated to a contemporary audience hungry for their particular methods and blessings.

VISIONS

I am Babo Jawa, child of the gods. I’m incredible! This is wonderful! I laugh out loud! What of your intention to awaken for others’ sake? Failing to see your own hidden faults brought to light, Instead you boast. What a terrible shame! Pick me up and toss me in the water.

NAROPA, TILOPA

The story of Naropa, the greatest scholar of his time, abbot of the great monastic university of Nalanda in north India near Patna. One day, as he was reading, the shadow of an old woman fell over his books. She asked him whether he understood the words or the sense of what he was reading. Naropa said he understood the words.

At this she danced with joy but became distressed when he added that he knew the meaning. She chided him with straying from the truth in his qualifying remark and suggested that, if he wanted to know the heart essence of the teachings, he should meet her brother, the yogin Tilopa. Naropa felt that his experiential understanding was not yet complete so, against much opposition from within the academy, he gave up his position and set off to find the guru.

Tilopa (988-1069 CE) was an typical yogin: elusive, solitary, mystical, learned, teaching by symbols which he expected Naropa to interpret and explain, and by setting tasks that confronted Naropa's egoism and affronted his sense of what was permissible to a monk. Gradually Naropa became free from his mental predispositions and finally Tilopa gave him his teachings. These included sets of psycho-pbysical yogas designed to alter the state of consciousness to facilitate intuitive understanding of the Dharma.

These included sets of psycho-pbysical yogas designed to alter the state of consciousness to facilitate intuitive understanding of the Dharma. In particular, such yogas enabled a practitioner to gain an insight into the nature of Emptiness (sunyata) directly as personal experience rather than as merely a philosophical conception. These yogas, later to be known as the Six Yogas of Naropa, together with a comprehension of the tantras, were taught by Naropa in his turn.

The Six Yogas of Naropa enabled a practitioner to gain an insight into the nature of Emptiness (sunyata) directly as personal experience rather than as merely a philosophical conception. At the root of the teachings lay Mahamudra, the direct apprehension of the nature of self and reality. Everything else, whether conceptual or experiential, was no more than an aid to or support for this personal comprehension of the truth.

THE MASTER & THE THIEF

The master returned to his house, only to find all his belongings had been taken. He chuckled to himself, as the thief had left the moon right in its place, shining through the window.

The master was sitting on a low stool just inside the entrance to his cave, deep in the realization of the root nature of mind, when a thief quietly stole upon his cave, looking over the master's meager possessions. The master returned from his labors, smiled, and asked the thief politely if he needed any help, would like some tea, or if he might have missed something.

The master offered that the best he had was contained in a special chamber, unseen by the careless and heavy of heart, and that he would be pleased to share this treasure, since the thief had taken the trouble to reach his cave, a long and difficult journey in the cold, snowy mountains. The thief replied that he could but see dimly, and hadn't the necessary intelligence nor capacity required to contain such treasure, although it was obvious that the master had gained significant achievement. The thief bowed to the master, and excused himself, apologizing for stealing the litle food and possessions that were scattered about the cave. The master replied that is was perfectly fine, and that he could eat weeds and moss, until someone came to give him food.

The thief thought that this was unlikely, considering the remote location of the cave, and that the master would surely starve to death because of his actions. He returned to his small village, and told the story of what had happened. The villagers were amazed by the thief, who seemed to change his nature as he spoke. He was known as a liar, and a lazy thief, but now, his face took on new life, and a strange energy shone from his eyes. The villagers gathered togther tsampa, yak butter, tea, and other essentials, and had the thief lead them back to the master's cave.

When they arrived, the master was deep in meditation, so the villagers sat down respectfully a short distance from the cave. After a while, the master stirred, stretched his arms and back and smiled, inviting the villagers forward. They all began to apologize for the thief, who they discounted as an inferior. The master interrupted them, saying they must have mistaken the thief for another person. In fact, he was very kind to me, as my supplies had just about run out, and I wondered if I would have starved, or had to leave this enchanted cave. Now, because of his actions, you all have come with new supplies, and I am able to continue my work here.

The villagers bowed to the master in respect, pushing the thief forward, that he might apologize to the master. He bowed, touching the ground, and was about to speak when the master stood up and approached. You are aking great progress I can see, said the master and touched the thief briefly on the top of his head. The thief was startled, as if shocked by a current of electricity, and realized that the master had helped him reduce his heavy load. As the villagers turned to leave, the thief tarried behind, eventually stopping to sit on a small rock, about half a kilometer from the master's cave. He wondered what he would do in the village, and was caught between a desire to spend more time with the master, and not wanting to disturb him,, unable to participate and lacking the achivement needed to maintain association.

He sat on the rock through the day, and into the night, the cold creeping into his bones, and he feared that he would suffer from illness the following day, due to exposure. Automatically, fighting the cold, he sat up straighter, bundling his coat tightly around himself, and clenching his muscles in a deperate attempt to stay warm. It tool all his concentration and effort to stop from shivering at each moment.

Somehow, he made it through the night, and when he noticed the sky slowly changing color, he let out a prayer of relief. He was amazed by how slowly the creeping dawn spread across the sky. At first, it was just a hint of color, a lessening of the black darkness, but then by degrees it became real color, a deep purple, a dark blue, then lighter, lighter, and when the sun grew stronger, just below the horizon, every shade of orange and red imagineable, finally yellow and strength of light too strong to look at directly. It was a while before he realized that he was looking at the sun moving upwards through the mist, and turned away quickly, in order to protect his eyes.

The master woke, noticing the thief still sitting off in the distance, and smiled. What good meditation he had experienced, and on only his first day. He must have very good concentration, profound effort, and excellent karmic causes leading him here to study with me. The master decided immediately that if the thief sould ask him to become his student, that he would accept him without the customary trials.

BOY AND THE BROTHERS

We enjoyed immensely all the fun and novelty of our encounter with this unpredictable fellow, this innocent savage. It was a task beyond us all to keep him in order. He would burst out in new frolics, new tricks and mischief, drolleries and clownings, for which we were always unprepared; yet he was never cynical or unkind. It was pure fun, with all the refreshment of pure fun.

With all this, the Boy had a vein of real gentleness in him which gave rise to a quiet manner and gentle ways for long periods which became more frequent as time went on, particularly when he wandered among or was accosted by strangers, many of whom had heard of his gifts. At such times he spoke little and seemed to shrink into himself; and his eyes would take on an expression of childlike enquiry as he looked, unabashed, from face to face. Then he would shyly utter self-revelation such as, “I don’t understand. You see, I’m only intelligent when I’m asleep!”

In India, they say that such joy and fun come out into this world from the state of spiritual Bliss known asananda. One sometimes sees or hears masters dancing madly, laughing, rolling about in ecstasy. But while we laughed and enjoyed ourselves we did not see what was there before our eyes, proclaiming itself by the age-old way; Bliss, the harbinger of divine awareness.

TIBETAN MONASTERY

Before me was a gateway to the Tibetan mind. Thinking of the place in winter, freezing, isolated, hidden among the forbidding cliffs and the snow covered boulders I felt awe at its austere strength of purpose. We climbed up the slope to the cave. The building was three storeys high and filled the cavern's entrance. Some monks welcomed us and led us through the door into a dark passageway and up a lightless flight of steps to an upper chamber. We sat on cushions in a row and were offered tea. The lads went around the building with great reverence paying respects to the images painted on the walls.

A heavy stillness which seemed ageless hung about the room. We talked little, responding to simple questions about our homeland and the crossing of the pass. Butter tea, warm, comforting and with a novel not unpleasant taste, was served by an old, attentive monk. After a while, I turned and gazed out of the window. The consequence was extraordinary.

The window looked out into a space so enormous that the mind reeled. The valley fell away below the building, immediately opposite rose sheer cliffs with the great sky arched above. A torrent of water was pouring over a ledge and huge boulders, swept down from some glacier above, came crashing over the edge. The sun's heat of the last week had unfrozen the power of the ice and, where the boulders hit the hillside, the earth was being torn away, swept down in a mud-laden tumult of rushing sand, stones and water. As it poured into the stream below, it set up a standing wave which reached across to the bank below us which was steadily falling away into the flood. The whole landscape seemed to be coming apart and the sound of its dissolution hung in the all- including silence of the air.

As I watched it, all my thoughts disappeared, my mind seemed to be drawn out into the landscape, leaving behind an inner stillness like a mirror. A meditative absorption possessed me, filling me with a peace of mind such as I have rarely known. Into an ever widening stillness came the atmosphere of the room in which a curious silence slowly spread. I seemed released from all the cares of the expedition and the excitement of arrival. I felt an inner emptiness in which the silence of the room now merged with the vastness of the outer space. I no longer felt myself to be a separate entity observing it. I sat astonished with wonder. I could hear the voices of my friends talking, I knew what they said but had no response. Looking around the room I saw the old monk standing in the shadow of a pillar. Out of the darkness his bright eyes gazed with a crystalline intensity into mine.

For a moment our eyes held, and then he looked away. I felt he understood.

After a while I got away from the others and found myself on the roof. The experience persisted. It was as if there was no one there: my experience was the landscape, the landscape itself was my experience. It went on for about half an hour as I gazed around. Slowly T returned and the observer once more looked at the observed. The others were already descending the hillside, going back for a rest in camp. After some time I followed them.

This was not the first time I had had such an experience but the intensity and suddenness of it suggested that for me there was something to be discovered here in the great mountains, something about the very nature of experience. It seemed to be pointing not at the contents but at the basis of mind itself.

When I got back to camp I was in a reflective mood and I asked my companions how they felt. Everyone had been impressed by the monastery but no one reported any unusual awareness. Although I tried to say something about the experience it did not meet with any response, so after a while I left it. It remained a private memory, but one which I was to be made to recall several times as we proceeded deeper into the mountains.