The Collected Works of Chögyam Trungpa: Volume Seven (71 page)

Gold is golden by its own dignity

Giving is as satisfying as biting a melon

Loneliness is satisfying because it doesn’t compete with anything

Pine trees have never been built

Tiger lilies and spider chrysanthemums dance together

We are not afraid

If we were so, we wouldn’t be here together

Achievement is not a product of ostentatiousness

Never get tired of drinking jasmine tea

Longing makes you so satisfied

Combing your hair makes you want to comb further

Let us be fearless like misty clouds arising on a beautiful mountain slope

Let us watch the crescent moon

Let us watch the golden rising sun

Come and join us

Come and dance together

Wicked is skinny

Virtuous is fat

As time goes on, let us grow up and not be insulted

October 31, 1984

Kalapa Manor

Pure and Powerful as Peonies

Pure and powerful as peonies

I have no hesitation whatsoever

As if swaying in the wind.

Lots of subjects

Gathering together

To make flower arrangements

Of themselves

Haiku with Kalapa Ikebana

May 17, 1985

Crossroads Gardens

Boulder, Colo.

Sound Cycles

T
RISHULA

Trident Trishula Trident Trishula Trident Trishula

Ta Ta Tri Tri Tri

Tish Tish Tishshsh Tshshool

Tshshool Tshshool Tshshool-
LA

Trishula Trishula shshoola shshoola

Trishula Th Th Th Th

Teeth Teeth Bite Biting-teeth Bit
er

Bluh Bleh Blade

Blade Blade Blade Blade Blade Blade

Needle

Needle-ette

Small Needle

Point

Trident Trident Trident

Except in English words, pronounce
T
soft, halfway between
d
and
t.
In the sixth line, pronounce
Th
as in
thumb.
Roll the
r
’s, except in English words.

S
UTRA

Sssoo Sssoo Soot Soot Sootr

Sootr Sutra Soootra Sut
room

Sootroom Sootree Sootro-EE

Oo Ay Oh Oh Ay Oh Ee

Soooodj Soooodj

Junction

Sutra Junction Junction Junction

Junction Junction

Confluence Union United

Unified

United Unified Junction of Confluence

United Unified Junction of Sutra

Roll the
r
in
sootr
and throughout this cycle.

A
HAM

Mmuh Mmuh-uh Uh-muh

H
a
H
a A
h
a A
h
a A
h
am

A
h
am A
h
ammmm Mama

A
h
ammm Me Mmuh-ee

Ee Mmuh-ee Ee-muh Mmuh-ee

My My-yin My-yin Me My

Mine Me Me My My My Mama Mama-yin

Mama-yin Mommy My-teeth

Teeth Muh-teeth Muthuh Muth

Muth Mother Mow-ther

Owther Other Oh-mother Oh-me

Mother Mother Oh-mother

Mothers Anonymous . . .

Ah-mother A
h
am-mother A
h
ummuh

The
h
is an aspirated
h.
The
th
in
Muthuh
and
Muth
is the hard
th
as in
thumb. U
and
uh
throughout also as in
thumb.

Elocution Exercises

I
NSTEAD OF
A
MERICANISM
S
PEAK THE
E
NGLISH
L
ANGUAGE
P
ROPERLY
!

The English Monarch has a white bow,

Thoroughly splendid and monumental.

Because it serves England,

It is more than daring.

The fabulous mountain deer roams.

The hair of the black tiger is tantalizing.

The world of the blue spider is tattered.

Whether we make war or not—

Roaming in the orchard is dangerous; autumn trees are armed.

The vicissitudes of one’s life are like drowning in a glass pond.

The Liberty Bell cannot be sold as a gorgeous antique.

I’m sorry to say your mother might think otherwise.

H
UMOR AND
D
ELIGHT WITH THE
E
NGLISH
L
ANGUAGE

Darling, your mustache is merely a tired signature.

A celebratory metal transplant has been cordially ordered from Persia.

The preparatory record was hurried.

Detail from the discourse was like gaudy city clothing.

Asian hooves crushed the tiara in the palace quadrangle.

Brocade colors of military and monastery fluttered.

P
LAYING WITH THE
E
NGLISH
L
ANGUAGE

From mirror arose proclamation of dancing nonthought. Got it?

The summer odor of raw earth turned the falcon fanciful.

The role of the durable donkey slowed my motorcar.

I dare say there is sword advertisement.

I adore a bird and butterscotch.

S
ELECTED
W
RITINGS

PREFACE TO

First Thought Best Thought

T
HUNDER AND OCEAN
. This simple book of poetry presents evidence of how the Tibetan mind can tune into the Western mind. There is nothing extraordinary about this; but the important fact is that East and West can meet together, contradicting Kipling’s verse: “Oh, East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meet.”

Upon my arrival in the West, I felt strongly that a meeting of the two minds—culturally, spiritually, metaphysically—could be realized by means of “first thought best thought,” the uncontaminated first glimpse of one another. With natural skepticism as well as deep appreciation, I applied myself to examine Western wisdom and uncover the nature of occidental insight. I found that I had to immerse myself thoroughly in everything, from the doctrines of Western religion up to the way people tied their shoelaces. I was intensely curious to discover in all this where were the true heart and the true brain. And I was determined to find these matters out by personal experience, rather than by secondhand account.

When I was learning English in New Delhi, and attempting to read English literature, one day by chance I found in a magazine a simple and beautiful haiku. It may have been an advertisement for some Japanese merchandise or it may have been a piece of Zen literature, but I was impressed and encouraged that the simplicity of its thought could be expressed in the English language. On another occasion, I attended a poetry recitation sponsored by the American women’s club, in conjunction with the American Embassy. I was very struck by the reading, which I recall included works by T. S. Eliot. This was not hymn, chant, mantra, or prayer, but just natural language used as poetry. Afterward, I told the young lady who gave the reading how much I appreciated it. She replied that she was a mere student, traveling in India. She was from Australia, but had been born and educated in Great Britain.

From my early childhood in Tibet, I was always fascinated with language. When I was thirteen, I managed to learn the dialect of the neighborhood where my guru lived, and even some of the natives thought I came from their own district. To me, the vowels and consonants contained tremendous power. By my late teens, I was quite freely able to write poetry, religious or otherwise. So poetic expression had already become natural for me before I left Tibet. Then, when I went from India to England, English became like a second language to me. I used to watch how people would hollow their mouths and purse their lips as they spoke, the way they hissed their
s
’s, the way they said the
d
in “daring,” or the way they pronounced
f
as if it were a yogic breathing exercise. I was completely captivated by English pronunciation, and in particular, during my studies at Oxford, by the way the Oxonians spoke.

Poetry, linguistic expression, and music are identical as far as I am concerned. Once I was taken to a college chapel by my dear friend Mr. John Driver to hear the
St. Matthew Passion.
This was such a great discovery, experiencing the tremendous heroism and spiritual passion in that atmosphere of sanctity, that I felt as though the occasion were my private feast. From the beauty of the music I gained further appreciation of the Western legacy. A Tibetan friend who also attended felt nothing of the kind. His reaction was that “we had three boring hours listening to the noise of tin cans, pigeons, and chickens getting their necks wrung.” I felt so energized as we came out into the chill of the English night that my friend panicked and thought I was in danger of being converted to Christianity!

After Great Britain, coming to North America was an amazing and amusing fanfare. The way people spoke and behaved with each other was like being in the midst of ten thousand wild horses. Nevertheless, I developed a great respect for the Americans.

I have met many American poets. Some are like coral snakes; some are frolicking deer; some are ripe apples; some are German shepherds who jump to conclusions whenever a sound is heard; some are squirrels minding their own business; some are peacocks who would like to display themselves but their feathers are falling apart; some are parrots who have no language of their own but pretend to be translators; some are bookworms killing themselves by eating more books; some are like mountains, dignified but proclaiming occasional avalanches; some are like oceans, endless mind joining sky and earth; some are like birds, flying freely, not afraid to take a bird’s-eye view of the world; some are like lions—trustworthy, sharp, and kind. I have confronted, worked with, learned from, fought, and fallen in love with these American poets. All in all, the buddhadharma could not have been proclaimed in America without their contribution in introducing dharmic terms and teachings.

In this book of poetry, some selections are traditional, written in Tibetan and then translated as faithfully as possible. Others were composed in English in a stream-of-consciousness style such as has been employed by American poets. Some were written out of delight, appreciating the manner of the English language itself. I hope this humble book of mine may serve to illustrate how the Eastern and Western minds can join together, how dharma can be propagated in the occidental world, and how the English language can develop as a vehicle for proclaiming the dharma throughout the world.

I would like to thank Allen Ginsberg for his introduction and deep friendship, and I would also like to thank all the poets in America who contributed to this book—either positively or negatively. As is said: a month cannot happen without new moon as well as full, light cannot shine without shadows. My profound gratitude to everyone.

This preface was written on the eighteenth day of the fourth month of the Water Pig Year by the drunken Tibetan poet.

With blessings,

Chögyam Trungpa

May 29, 1983

Fasnacloich

Poets’ Colloquium