The Collected Works of Chogyam Trungpa: Volume One (12 page)

My bedroom served both for sleeping and for private study and meditation; it opened into a sitting room where meals were served and formal visits received. My raised throne was beside the door and a row of seats ran lengthwise down each side of the room; those nearest the throne had thick cushions for the more important guests but their size gradually diminished until the end of the rows, when they became merely rugs on the floor.

Since I was now five years old, it was decided that it was time for me to begin my studies. It was a great shock to hear that a special teacher was coming to Dütsi Tel to give me lessons. One of the monks told me that he had a scar on his forehead, and I anxiously watched everyone who came for fear that it might be he. One day Asang Lama arrived; though I saw that he had a scar, I said to myself, “This can’t be my new teacher,” for I had expected him to be a very severe monk, but this man looked so gentle. He held his rosary in his hand and was smiling and talking to my senior secretary.

We began our lessons on the following day in my residence above the assembly hall. It happened to be the first day of winter and snow was falling. Always before, when the monks came to sweep the snow off the flat roof, we children would play among them, throwing snowballs at each other; on that day I could hear my little friends shouting at their play outside, while I had to remain indoors to do lessons. Asang Lama was very kind; he gave me a clay panel made in relief depicting Amitabha, the Buddha of Infinite Light, which delighted me, and he told me how glad he was to be able to be my teacher, for he had been a devotee of the tenth Trungpa Tulku. He began with teaching me the Tibetan alphabet and was surprised that I picked it up in one lesson. I also had to learn to recite a
mantra
or formula of Manjushri, the Bodhisattva of Wisdom. We went on with both reading and writing lessons; this was unusual, for in Tibet reading is usually taught first and writing comes afterward.

At this time my mother’s visits became less frequent; to begin with she only came to see me every other day, then every third, after which her visits became more and more spaced out, until after a fortnight without seeing her, she came to tell me that she was going back to Dekyil; I missed her as only a small boy can.

The life at Dütsi Tel was found to be too full of distractions, so it was arranged to send me to Dorje Khyung Dzong, the retreat center established by the tenth Trungpa Tulku. It was in a remote spot and had been built over the cave where the fourth Trungpa had spent six years in meditation. The center stood on a ledge of high rock and was approached by a long zigzag flight of steps. The front of the building was supported by pillars grounded in the rock below; its windows looked over a wonderful spread of mountains with the river winding through the valley, and at one place one could see the junction of two valleys; the smoke of Dütsi Tel could also be seen in the distance. There was a large cave under the one in which the fourth Trungpa used to meditate; it was sufficiently big to be used as a byre for over seventy cattle which supplied the needs of the center; these animals were cared for by the cook’s family, who had their house in the cave.

Dorje Khyung Dzong, the retreat center of Dütsi Tel
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About thirty monks were at the center; they stayed there for a period of four years to meditate in complete retreat, being neither allowed to pay visits nor to receive them. Their meditation method was based on the teaching of the great Indian adept Naropa which Trung Mase laid down for the Kagyü school. An experienced teacher gave the retreatants guidance. Though the thirty monks were expected to stay for four years, there was some accommodation for others intending to spend only three to four months in the place; they had to conform to the same rules of discipline as those in long retreat.

My own timetable was as follows: I rose with my tutor at five for the first morning devotions, then we were given breakfast, after which my reading lesson went on till midday; this was followed by a meal and half an hour’s rest. Then I was given a writing lesson for half an hour, and again reading until the evening.

There is not much variety in the staple foodstuffs of Tibet, but much ingenuity was used in the different ways of cooking; vegetables were scarce and in this cold climate really nourishing food such as meat and milk products was a necessity. Our breakfast consisted of especially made strong tea mixed with butter and salt and dry powdered tsampa with cheese and butter rubbed into it. At midmorning we were given bowls of thick soup made with meat, thickened with barley, rice, oats, noodles, or sometimes with vegetables. The big midday meal had tsampa dough with large portions of fried or boiled meat; sometimes it was just dried, and for a change we had dumplings filled with meat. An afternoon collation was served with curd (like yogurt) and Tibetan biscuits, and at all times there was tea to drink. The last evening refreshment consisted of bowls of soup. On special afternoons we went for walks and then, in the evening, we practiced chanting. I loved going out with Asang Lama; he used to tell me stories about the life of the Buddha and at other times about the tenth Trungpa Tulku. I was fascinated also to find so many wildflowers on the hills as well as sweet-scented juniper bushes. There were all sorts of birds and animals, and the blackbirds especially were so tame that their songs could be heard all round the center and they would come for food to the windowsills. Occasionally some of the retreatants, and particularly my tutor’s friends, would come to our room to talk; I enjoyed this, for it gave me a little break from my lessons, while in the summer a group picnic was also sometimes arranged, very welcome after so much hard work.

This life continued until I was seven, when I was taken back to Dütsi Tel where all our monks were assembled, as the venerable Genchung Lama had been invited to give a
kalung
(ritual authorization) for all the scriptures forming the Kangyur; these are the sayings of the Buddha, translated from Sanskrit and filling 108 volumes. This kalung gives authority to study, practice, and explain their meaning and confers upon those who attend the rite the blessing of their truth. Though Genchung Lama managed to read some three volumes each day, it took him three months to complete the whole, during which time my lessons were interrupted. It was all a great experience for me, since this was the first time that I had been at a gathering which lasted for so long. Throughout that time my tutor gave me lessons in the evenings by the light of butter lamps, for though I could work at my writing during the ritual recitation, I could not do any reading.

At this stage the regent abbots of both monasteries and my secretary were not satisfied with my tutor. They thought he was a little too indulgent and spent too much time telling me stories, to the neglect of more serious studies. He was indeed almost a father to me, and we knew that if we parted we should both miss each other a great deal; however, he was overtired and needed a rest. At the end of the ritual reading another teacher was found, and Asang Lama had to leave me. I found this parting almost harder to bear than when my mother went away.

My new tutor, Apho Karma by name, had previously taught the younger monks at the monastery, so he had had a great deal of experience, but he was more temperamental than Asang Lama. I felt unhappy in never knowing what was expected of me. My timetable was changed, and the studies now became more difficult; the painting lessons, which Asang Lama had encouraged, were stopped, and writing lessons were made shorter; more time was given to reading and much more memorizing had to be done in the evenings by lamplight, with the lesson having to be repeated correctly the following morning.

We returned to Dorje Khyung Dzong, but the retreatants who came to talk to Apho Karma were very different from Asang Lama’s friends, and we no longer had our little jokes. There were, however, longer periods for walks and frequent picnics, but my tutor was always very serious and solemn, though he too occasionally told me stories. He was not interested in animals and flowers, and I had neither playmates nor playthings. I discovered, however, that the fireworks for the New Year celebrations were filled with gunpowder, my informant being one of the younger monks who used to clean our rooms. I persuaded him to get some of the gunpowder for me, and I concocted some sort of rockets with rolled paper and managed not to be discovered. These were so successful that I wanted to make a better firework that would go off with a bang. I was in my room working at this, when Apho Karma came in and smelled the gunpowder. He did not punish me at the time, but he never ceased to remind me of how naughty I had been.

I never received corporal punishment after Asang Lama left when I was seven years old. When he had thought that it was necessary to admonish me, it was always done with great ceremony. After a foreword such as “It is like molding an image; it has to be hammered into shape,” he would prostrate himself three times before me, and then administer the chastisement on the appropriate part.

About this time I had some strange dreams: though even in pictures I had never seen the things that are made in the West, I dreamed I was riding in a mechanized truck somewhat like a small lorry, and a few days later in another dream I saw airplanes parked in a field. Also about that time, in my sleep, I was walking through a shop which was full of boots, shoes, saddles, and straps with buckles, but these were not like Tibetan ones and instead of being made of leather they appeared to be of sticky dried blood. Later I realized that they were all the shapes and kinds that are used in Western lands. I told Apho Karma about these dreams and he merely said, “Oh, it’s just nonsense.”

When I was eight I had to learn how to perform various rites; how to intone; and how to use drums, bells, and various other instruments. I had to improve my reading, and I was taught the practice and history of Buddhism and about the life of the Buddha. I could visualize him among his monks in their saffron robes, for one day I had had a vivid moment of recollection. When I read about the death of his mother, seven days after his birth, I seemed to share his feeling of loss. I read the life of Milarepa many times over till I knew it by heart, and also the lives of other great saints. Guru Padmasambhava’s story was my favorite, for I loved to read about the way he brought Buddhism to Tibet, established the first monasteries and taught the doctrine, and above all about his great loving-kindness to all our people and the moving message he left with us when he was returning to Lankapuri, an island southwest of Mount Meru. After giving the Tibetans his blessing, he added: “The people may forget me, but I shall not forget them; my eternal compassion is always with them.”

His Holiness Tenzin Gyatso, the fourteenth Dalai Lama
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Rikpe Dorje, the sixteenth Gyalwa Karmapa. Chögyam Trungpa at right
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