The Collected Works of Chogyam Trungpa: Volume One (50 page)

Except for the supreme abbot, the regent abbot, and the senior secretary, all other members of the monastic administration hold office for three years but can be reelected.

All young monks on entering the monastery, from whatsoever background, must begin with the more menial tasks, rising later according to their abilities.

M
ONASTIC
F
INANCES

The organization of Tibetan monasteries was somewhat different from that practiced in other Buddhist countries.

The Tibetans have always lived for and in their religion and from the time that Buddhism was introduced their religious centers have been the pivot of the community. Large and small properties were continually being donated in order to establish monasteries; the produce of these lands became a source of monastic income while at the same time increasing the means of livelihood for the inhabitants of the district.

The tenure of monastic land, including domicile, cattle, horses, implements, seed, and incidental expenses, was granted to a peasant on a three-year lease, which might be renewed. In return he had to provide the monastery with a contracted return in kind and labor; any profits above the contract he could keep for himself. When his lease was up he was obliged to return the same quota that he had taken over and in equally good condition. The leaseholder had to provide the monastery with such items as meat, silk and its products, grain, etc., and, by trading, to supply the monastery’s requirements of tea. Certain properties were allocated to meeting the expenses of particular annual celebrations. There were other less wealthy tenants whose contribution to the monastery was to provide fuel, consisting of wood and dried dung; transport animals such as yaks, horses, and mules were allotted under similar conditions of return at the end of the contract period.

Every peasant owned his own small holding and was usually self-supporting. He was free to dispose of his land inside his own area but seldom did so. He was, however, expected to farm a given plot of the monastic estate every so many years.

The abbot or, in cases when more than a single monastery was involved, the supreme abbot was responsible for renovations and alterations of the monastery. The income for this came from the personal donations that he received. The senior secretary directed the disbursement for the major projects, but the abbot’s more personal expenditure such as his clothes, table, traveling expenses, guests, and petty cash or, in the case of a minor, his educational expenses was all under the management of his bursar. When he received large gifts of brocade or cloth the abbot would hand over most of these to the monastery.

There was also the matter of farmland belonging personally to the abbot; the produce from this went to the monastery.

Thus monasteries and peasants were always interdependent and in cases of tenants falling into financial difficulties the abbot would give them assistance.

APPENDIX
2

The Doctrine of Tulkus

T
O UNDERSTAND THE
doctrine of tulkus in Tibet, it is necessary first of all to understand the Buddhist attitude to “rebirth.” It is true that the Buddha spoke of an undergoing of countless existences by each one of us, and almost all Asian people envisage life in this sense: Naturally, one has always to distinguish between popularized versions of this doctrine and its proper understanding by those who do not confuse the issue through overvaluing their individual selves. In fact, the Buddha’s message was not that these countless lives possess an intrinsic reality, but that there is for all of us the possibility of a release from their illusion. He saw that a stream of suffering pervades the lives of men and other beings and that their desire to perpetuate their own individuality is one of the strongest forces keeping them wedded to suffering. He taught that to abandon the sense of “I” leads to release from all those tendencies that bring about successive birth and death; as Tilopa, an Indian sage, put it: The spiritual quest is like a snake unwinding itself.

While we remain more or less enmeshed in a selfhood regarded as our own, past and future lives are continually being produced by those forces which still bind us to worldly existence. In the case of a tulku, however, the forces which produce his existence are of a different order. Something, or someone, that has no “individuality” or ego in the ordinary sense decides to work on earth for the sake of all beings. He (or “it”) therefore takes birth over a certain period of time, in a series of human individuals, and it is these who are named “tulkus.”

The influence in question may emanate from any of the archetypal sources of wisdom, which is the stable essence of the universe, or else of compassion, which is wisdom in operation throughout countless world systems. So it may be said of a tulku that he is an emanation of Manjushri, the Bodhisattva of Wisdom, or of Avalokitesvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion; the Dalai Lama is known as an incarnation of the latter. In Tibet, a great sage such as Milarepa, known to have passed quite beyond the bondage of created things, is said to extend his influence over various lines of such incarnations. In the present book one finds lamas, such as Gyalwa Karmapa, Khyentse Rinpoche, and Jamgön Kongtrül Rinpoche who are recognized to be embodiments of particular spiritual influences. One such influence may in fact manifest itself through several individuals at once, as was the case with the five incarnations of the Jamgön Kongtrül.

These are high incarnates; but not all known tulkus are of this kind. In some instances a man of advanced spiritual development, but short of final liberation, dies before accomplishing a certain task and returns to complete it. Another kind of incarnation is known as a “tulku of benediction”: When a certain well-beloved lama dies, his disciples will ask another lama who has been closely associated with the deceased (the latter, as often as not, will be the presiding lama of their school) to locate his spirit; as a result of this, the lama, though he does not return in person, confers his blessing upon the one who is to carry on his teaching; the person thus designated for the task will then reincarnate the departed master in the sense of perpetuating his spiritual influence.

Multiple incarnations, of which an example was given above, most frequently occur in fives, of which one in particular will embody the visible presence of the departed lama, another his powers of speech, and yet another his powers of thought; again, one will represent his activities and another his qualities.

Readers who are interested in this oft-misunderstood aspect of Tibetan spirituality may also consult with advantage the chapter on the Dalai Lama and his function in a book entitled
The Way and the Mountain
by Marco Pallis (who contributed the foreword to the present book) published by Peter Owen, London; that chapter contains much information on the subject of tulkuhood, both factual and technical. The same book also contains two other chapters treating compassion and gnosis from the point of view of the Tibetan tradition.

M
EDITATION IN
A
CTION

The Life and Example of Buddha

I
T IS A CLEAR
, hot summer’s day, and the thick branches of the sal trees are brilliant with flowers and heavy with their load of fruit. The landscape is wild and rocky with many caves, and the nearest town is more than a hundred miles away. In some of the caves are yogis with long matted hair, dressed only in a thin white cotton cloth. Some are sitting on deerskins and meditating. Others are performing various yogic practices, such as meditating while seated in the middle of a campfire, which is a well-known ascetic practice. Yet others are reciting mantras or devotional chants. The place has an atmosphere of peace, solitude, and stillness, but is also rather awesome. It might have remained unchanged since before the creation of the world. It is completely still and silent. There aren’t even any birds singing. There is a great river nearby, but no fishermen. The river is so vast, it seems to be at least seven miles wide. On the bank ascetics are practicing the sacred ritual of purification. One sees them meditating and bathing in the river. That was the scene two thousand five hundred years ago in a certain place called Nairanjana in the province of Bihar in India.

A certain prince, called Siddhartha, arrives. His appearance is aristocratic; he has only recently removed his crown and his earrings and ornaments, so he feels rather naked. He has just sent away his horse and his last attendant, and now he puts on a clean white cotton cloth. He looks around him and tries to imitate the other ascetics. He wants to follow their example, so he approaches one of them and asks for instruction in the practice of meditation. First he explains that he is a prince and has found life in the palace to be meaningless. He has seen that there is birth, death, sickness, and old age. He has also seen a sage walking along the street and this has inspired him. This is the example and the way of life he wants to follow. It is all new to him, and at first he cannot accept that this is actually happening. He cannot forget the luxuries and sensual enjoyments which he had in the palace and which are still revolving through his mind. This was Prince Siddhartha, the future Buddha.

He then received instruction, perhaps rather unwillingly, from his present guru. He was given the ascetic practice of a rishi and taught to sit cross-legged and employ the seven postures of yoga and to practice yogic breathing exercises. At first it was so new to him that it was almost like a game. He also enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment at having at last managed to leave his worldly possessions to follow this wonderful way of life. The memory of his wife and child and his parents was still very much in his mind, which must have disturbed his practice of yoga, but it seemed there was no way to control the mind. And the yogis never told him anything, except to follow the ascetic practice.

This was Buddha’s experience, then, roughly two thousand five hundred years ago. And one would find even now a very similar landscape and have very similar experiences if one decided to leave home and renounce hot-and cold-water baths and forget about home cooking and the luxury of riding in motorcars, or public transport for that matter, which is still a great luxury. Some of us might go by airplane and take only a few hours to get there: Before you know where you are, you are in the middle of India. Some who are more adventurous may, perhaps, decide to hitchhike. Nevertheless it would still seem unreal, the journey would be continually exciting, and there would never be a dull moment. Finally we arrive in India. Perhaps in some ways it is disappointing. You will see a certain amount of modernization and the snobbishness of the high-class, better-educated Indians, who are still imitating the British raj. One might find it rather irritating at first, but somehow one accepts it and tries to leave the town as quickly as possible and head for the jungle. (In this case it may be a Tibetan monastery or an Indian ashram.) We could follow the same example and perhaps have more or less the same experience as Prince Siddhartha. The first thing that would be very much on our minds would be the ascetic aspect of it, or rather the absence of luxury. Now, would we learn anything from these first few days and months? Perhaps we would learn something of the way of life. But perhaps, because we had never seen such a country, we would be more inclined to be excited. One tends to interpret everything, and an internal conversation goes on in the mind as one struggles to break down the barriers of communication and language. One is still living very much in one’s own world. Just as it was for Buddha, so for us the excitement and the novelty of being in a strange country would not wear out for several months. One would write letters home as if
possessed
by the country, intoxicated with excitement and the strangeness of it all. So if one returned after only a few days or weeks, one would not have learned very much, one would merely have seen a different country, a different way of life. And the same thing would have happened to Buddha if he had left the jungle of Nairanjana and returned to his kingdom in Rajgir.

In the case of Buddha, he practiced meditation for a long time under Hindu teachers, and he discovered that asceticism and merely conforming to one religious setup did not particularly help. He still didn’t get the answer. Well, perhaps he got some answers. In a sense these questions were already answered in his mind, but he was more or less seeing what he wanted to see, rather than seeing things as they were. So in order to follow the spiritual path one must first overcome the initial excitement; that is one of the first essentials. For unless one is able to overcome this excitement, one will not be able to learn, because any form of emotional excitement has a blinding effect. One fails to see life as it is because one tends so much to build up one’s own version of it. Therefore one should never commit oneself or conform to any religious or political structure without first finding the real essence of what one is looking for. Labeling oneself, adopting an ascetic way of life, or changing one’s costume—none of these brings about any real transformation.

After several years Buddha decided to leave. He had learned a great deal in a sense, but the time had come for him to say goodbye to his teachers, the Indian rishis, and to go off on his own. He went to a place quite a long way from there, although still on the bank of the Nairanjana River, and sat down under a pipal tree (which is also known as the bodhi tree). For several long years he remained there, seated on a large stone, eating and drinking very little. This was not because he felt it necessary to follow the practice of strict asceticism, but he did feel it was necessary to remain alone and find things out for himself, rather than to follow someone else’s example. He might have reached the same conclusions by different methods, but that is not the point. The point is that whatever one is trying to learn, it is necessary to have firsthand experience, rather than learning from books or from teachers or by merely conforming to an already established pattern. That is what he found, and in that sense Buddha was a great revolutionary in his way of thinking. He even denied the existence of Brahma, or God, the creator of the world. He determined to accept nothing which he had not first discovered for himself. This does not mean to say that he disregarded the great and ancient tradition of India. He respected it very much. His was not an anarchist attitude in any negative sense, nor was it revolutionary in the way the Communists are. His was real, positive revolution. He developed the creative side of revolution, which is not trying to get help from anyone else, but finding out for oneself. Buddhism is perhaps the only religion which is not based on the revelation of God nor on faith and devotion to God or gods of any kind. This does not mean that Buddha was an atheist or a heretic. He never argued theological or philosophical doctrines at all. He went straight to the heart of the matter, namely how to see the truth. He never wasted time in vain speculation.