The Collected Works of Chogyam Trungpa: Volume One (55 page)

There is a tradition in Tibet that if you want to receive any teaching or instruction, you generally give some present to the guru. This does not mean, by the way, that I want to collect from the audience. But the concept behind this is that when you want something—“I would like to receive teaching. I want to know something”—then you have to give out something as well. This also raises the point that you are not entirely a poor person who is dependent on somebody or humiliated because you just want help, but you have something great to give out. In the Tibetan tradition of Buddhism, when people went to India to translate texts and receive teachings from Indian masters, they spent first about two years collecting gold from all over Tibet. They always gave something before they received instruction. So the whole point there is that one has to realize the value of teachings, though one can’t really price them at all in terms of material wealth. But one must be prepared to give out something, and one of the most important things of all, of course, is giving out ego, which is one of our most precious and valuable possessions. We have to give that out. And there are certain practices, such as prostrations, in the Tibetan tradition, where before one can practice any of the further stages of meditation one has to do a hundred thousand prostrations—this is in connection with the practice of Buddhist yoga. And the idea of prostration is giving out, surrendering, opening—a kind of emptying-out process, or preparation of the vessel or container, in order to receive. You have to open and empty out an already sound cup. That is what you have to offer, and then you can receive everything intact with complete value, with complete quality.

In the case of a teacher, of course, that is also very important, and I am sure we are all teachers in our different ways, I am sure we can always teach people in different degrees. And teachers must be prepared to learn from pupils, that is very, very important. Otherwise there is really no progress on the part of the students, because in a sense one would be too keen and interested in the process of making the pupils receive the expansion of one’s own ego and wanting to produce another you, rather than helping them to develop ability of their own. So teachers must be prepared to learn from their pupils, then there is a continual rapport. Exchanging takes place all the time; then as you teach, the pupils don’t get bored with you, because you develop as well. There is always something different, something new each moment, so the material never runs out. One could apply this even to technical studies and the way of teaching things. It could be mathematics or science or anything at all. If the teacher is prepared to learn from the pupil, then the pupil also becomes eager to give, so there is real love, and real communication takes place. That is the greatest generosity. One can see in the life of Buddha that he never taught merely with a kind of pompous authority. He never just used his authority as Buddha, as the awakened person. He never taught by saying, “You are wrong and I am right.” Though he did sometimes point out that this is the right path and that is wrong, using discriminative wisdom, but somehow he always encouraged discussions among his disciples. And the disciples always contributed something to his teaching, and he always communicated in a certain way and asked certain questions: “Is that so, or is it not?” And judgment was left to the pupils. And then he said “yes” or “no,” but whatever the answer was he just built from there. So a continual give-and-take process took place, and I am sure one can also do this in a very similar way. Of course, when one has something to say, one would generally like to just read straight through before getting any criticisms or any kind of reaction from the other person, which is really based on a kind of secret fear, not being fully confident in oneself because one is afraid to show the folly of ego. So one tends to state it as a bald fact and just leave it. Then, when the pupils can’t quite take part in it, it becomes very formal and very difficult and solemn and they don’t enjoy learning. They become conscious of being taught, of being told this and that, and then somehow it ceases to be creative and it doesn’t really seep into their personality and enable them to develop their own ability and knowledge.

Then of course generosity of material wealth, as we have said, is not merely a question of giving the object or giving money, but more of the attitude behind it. One generally finds in the East—and I am not saying that the Eastern way of doing things is always right, I am not using it as a kind of authority as though that is the authentic and only way to deal with things, but merely as another suggestion—that a person in the East will generally give a thing away because that is the thing he loves most, and he gives it because it really represents his heart. It is most strange the things that happen in the case of someone like myself, having been abbot of a monastery traveling round in various districts of Tibet. One has been given all sorts of things such as headdresses and ornaments, women’s aprons and women’s shoes and rings and so on. Not that they thought one really needed these things, but it was their precious object, something which in fact represented them. They have in them this desire to possess and that is why they give in this way. The giving and the concept of punya, merit, is not just a question of giving objects and spending a large sum of money, but also of taking part in it physically and being wholly involved in the process of giving. As with anything else in this kind of work, such as the practice of meditation, you have to be fully involved, you have to become one with what you are doing. So it is with giving things away, no matter how small the thing is in terms of value, one must be fully involved in the giving so that a part of one’s ego is also given away. Through that one reaches the paramita, the transcendental act, which is something beyond. Then one is not conscious of “virtue” and giving away things in an effort to be “religious,” and one is not conscious of receiving any particular reward of good merit. If one is giving merely in order to gain merit, then that tends to build up one’s ego rather than really giving anything away. So if one is able to give out one’s self, ego, a part of that possessiveness and passion, then one is really practicing the dharma, which is passionlessness, and the merit automatically becomes a by-product, and one is not all the time trying to achieve merit.

Patience

P
ATIENCE
,
KSHANTI
IN
Sanskrit, is usually taken to mean forbearance and the calm endurance of pain and hardship. But in fact it means rather more than that. It is forbearing in the sense of seeing the situation and seeing that it is right to forbear and to develop patience. So kshanti has an aspect of intelligence in contrast, one might say, to an animal loaded with baggage which might still go on and on walking along the track until it just drops dead. That kind of patience is patience without wisdom, without clarity. Here we are referring to patience with clarity, and energy with the eye of understanding. Generally when we talk of patience we think of an individual person who is being patient, but it also has a great deal to do with communication. Patience can develop if there is discipline and if one can create the right situation. Then one does not merely forbear because it is painful and unpleasant and because one is just trying to get through it, but patience can develop easily with the aid of virya, or energy. Without energy one could not develop patience because there would be no strength to be patient, and this energy comes from creating the right situation, which is connected with awareness. Perhaps the word
awareness
is a little ambiguous, since it often connotes self-consciousness or just being aware of what you are doing, but in this case awareness is simply seeing the situation accurately. It does not particularly mean watching yourself speaking and acting, but rather seeing the situation as a whole, like an aerial view of a landscape which reveals the layout of the town and so on. So patience is related to discipline, which in turn is connected with awareness.

Discipline is in fact the key to everything, and sila, morality, is the source of discipline and the main function of discipline. And here there are two schools of thought: According to one, discipline is necessary and only through discipline can one learn and find the right way; according to the other school of thought, things should be allowed to develop in their own way, and if there is less discipline, if things are left to the individual’s choice or instinct, then he will develop a personal interest in the subject and there will be no need to impose anything on him. Both are extreme views. Not that Buddhists like to compromise in every case; it is more a question of seeing things very clearly. Whenever there is too much discipline it is invariably being imposed by someone else. There are rules and regulations, and one is always being watched and told what to do, in which case one is not really being what one is—somebody else is merely expanding his ego and imposing his idea on you. That would be a kind of dictatorship rather than discipline, because it would be trying to force things to grow, as opposed to allowing them to grow naturally. On the other hand, if discipline is left entirely to the individual and he has to feel his own way, he would find it very difficult—except in the very rare case of a person who is very intelligent and highly controlled, in the sense of not being influenced by an irregular or neurotic pattern of thoughts, opinions, and emotions. Which is not to say that most people are mad or psychologically disturbed but this element is in everyone. There is usually a neurotic aspect which causes us in some way or another to react to a given situation and develop a neurotic way of dealing with it, which is not at all the true way. That is acting according to one’s conditioning rather than according to what
is
. So in this case the person would not have the ability to develop freedom because freedom is not properly presented to him. Freedom must be presented properly. In fact the word
freedom
itself is a relative term: freedom
from
something, otherwise there is no freedom. And since it is freedom from something, one must first create the right situation, which is patience.

This kind of freedom cannot be created by an outsider or some superior authority. One must develop the ability to know the situation. In other words, one has to develop a panoramic awareness, an all-pervading awareness, knowing the situation
at that very moment
. It is a question of knowing the situation and opening one’s eyes to that very moment of nowness, and this is not particularly a mystical experience or anything mysterious at all, but just direct, open, and clear perception of what
is
now
. And when a person is able to see what is now without being influenced by the past or any expectation of the future, but just seeing the very moment of now, then at that moment there is no barrier at all. For a barrier could only arise from association with the past or expectation of the future. So the present moment has no barriers at all. And then he finds there is a tremendous energy in him, a tremendous strength to practice patience. He becomes like a warrior. When a warrior goes to war he does not think of the past or his previous experience of war, nor does he think of the consequences for the future; he just sails through it and fights, and that is the right way to be a warrior. Similarly, when there is a tremendous conflict going on, one has to develop this energy combined with patience. And this is what is known as right patience with the all-seeing eye, patience with clarity.

Of course, one may find it possible to be open and mindful of the present moment when one is alone or when the right situation presents itself—say, on a sunny day or a pleasant evening, or in good company, or reading a suitable book or something of that nature, where the situation is right or closer to what one wants to do—then it is easier. But often it does not happen like that. Perhaps one is in the wrong company, or perhaps one is terribly depressed or very disturbed in some way, but one has to see the sameness of the two aspects. Of course, this is very easy to talk about and rather difficult to do. The thing is that even when the situation appears to be favorable, such as right here in the country where everything is quiet and there is no noise, still one is somehow never able to escape from emotional disturbances and depression and the great collection of things in one’s mind. Partly these are interdependent with other people, and partly it is because one is not able to be open and develop enough strength of patience. Therefore the whole thing tends to split off as a separate entity rather than being a part of the whole pattern of a mandala. That is to say that one should always remain in the center and not react to the situation. If one thinks something is going wrong and one would like to see it done right, that may be a very charitable thought; nevertheless there is the element of “I” involved: “‘I’ would like him to be happy,” or “If it makes him happy then I will be happy as well,” so there is the idea of both enjoying this happiness. And either way this is a kind of indulging in happiness. So it often occurs that one is not being in the center of the potter’s wheel, as it were, and if one accidentally throws clay on the edge of a potter’s wheel, it flies off. There is nothing wrong with the clay and nothing wrong with the wheel; you simply threw the clay in the wrong spot. And if you throw the clay in the center, then it makes beautiful pots. So the whole point is that you have to be in the center all the time and not expect some external person or situation to act for you. In other words, he who develops highly skilled patience will never expect anything from anyone, not because he is distrustful, but because he knows how to be at the center and he
is
the center. So in order to achieve silence you would not chase the birds away because they make a noise. In order to be still you would not stop the movement of air or the rushing river, but accept them and you will yourself be aware of the silence. Just accept them as part of the establishment of silence. So the mental aspect of the noise of birds affects the psychological aspect in you. In other words, the noise that birds make is one factor, and one’s psychological concept of noise is another. And when one can deal with that side, the noise of birds becomes merely audible silence. So the whole point is that one should not expect anything from outside, one should not try to change the other person or try to put across one’s opinions. One should not try to convince a person at the wrong moment, when one knows he already has a very clear idea of his own, or it is simply not the right moment for your words to get through to him. There is an analogy of two people walking barefoot along a very rough road, and one thought it would be very good to cover the whole road with leather so it would be very soft, but the other one, who was wiser, said, “No, I think if we covered our feet with leather that would be the same.” So that is patience, which is not being distrustful, but is a matter of not expecting anything and not trying to change the situation outside oneself. And that is the only way to create peace in the world. If you yourself are prepared to step into it and to accept, then somebody else makes the same contribution. So if a hundred people did the same the whole thing would become right.