The Collected Works of Chogyam Trungpa: Volume Three: 3 (80 page)

So therefore, nowness is not a way of seeing the truth; nowness is being true, which helps to unmask the pretense of ego. You begin to examine suffering and pain as it is, the same psychological process as Buddha’s discovery of the four noble truths.

In my experience of working with people in this country, it has not been a process of proseletyzing or conversion, but rather people convert themselves through the questioning and arousal of this basic instinct. The great demand creates an interesting and energetic situation where people come to study meditation and bring a new point of view to their lives, or the energy goes in the direction of creating communities on the framework of the dharma (rather than monastic centers) such as Tail of the Tiger in Vermont and Karma Dzong in Colorado.

These situations seem to develop as groups of yogis living together, and, in a sense, both positive and negative experiences are used as part of the path. This pattern encourages independence without dogma.

Many people have already begun their spiritual journey before coming in contact with the teachings, and the learning process is evolutionary rather than purely academic. That is to say, they are working on their already existing psychological states. They start with the hinayana practice of shamatha and vipashyana meditation, and the gradual growth up to yogic teachings seems to be a natural one, rather than straining under the promise of exotic and sudden enlightenment. With the inspiration of a spiritual friend, a certain commitment or discipline develops which acts as skillful means in the process of working with themselves. As their development takes place, the richness of the Buddhist teaching of Tibet is not too potent, because it doesn’t present a seductive goal, but rather reaffirms the students’ personal experiences, both intuitive and intellectual. Needless to say, the growing comprehension of the play of this whole situation is in itself buddha activity.

Cutting Through

I
RECENTLY MADE
a lecture tour in California and met quite a few people there. From these encounters and others in the West, it seems that there is, on the whole, a continual fascination with Eastern teachings. People are, in a sense, very honest and generous; that is, they are open to the teachings, but they are also compelled and provoked by them. Somehow confusion sets in because either they are fascinated by the colorful exterior, robes, and rituals; or, being already a part of Western society and having to keep some kind of link with it, they do not know how to relate the teachings to their daily life. Their attempts to make this link between their living in the Western world and the desire for experience beyond reveals something lacking.

This problem relates to a basic underlying pattern in the growth of spiritual movements. It becomes more evident in looking back, for instance, at the development and study of meditation and Buddhist thought in Great Britain and Europe. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, there already was, apparently, a basic dissatisfaction with the established teaching of Christianity. Perhaps familiarity bred contempt, but it seems to have been more than that. At the end of the century many people were involved with such organizations as the Rosicrucians, the Golden Dawn, Aleister Crowley’s O.T.O. [Ordo Templi Orientis], and various others, seeking ways out of church doctrine and into the “mysteriousness” which accompanies the teachings. The results were often similar to those of Crowley, who attempted, after having made a crude study of Buddhist thought, to bring it together with the roots of Western civilization. The focus became a mysticism in the sense of the “mysteriousness” found in witchcraft and magic. The organizations arising at this time generally came from the intelligentsia, or people involved with intellect and richness of material comfort, who searched for the patterns in this “mysteriousness,” while others merely continued through the established churches.

The establishment of the Theosophical Society attracted many in search of a basic pattern, something more than the ordinary worship of Jesus Christ as a savior. They were looking for the power of mind that exists behind the dogma, but were caught up in the confusion between power of mind and the egocentricity that all these “magical” organizations developed.

Early in the twentieth century this search coincided with certain material problems, a coincidence which occurred in the East as well, for instance with Gandhi’s movement in India or in Sun Yat-sen’s attempt to revolutionize China. But here the conflict was in a spiritual, a more intellectual realm. The pattern of searching for the “magic” behind dogma continues on and on. It does not provide anything particularly meaningful nor fulfill the object of search. After a while the whole thing is dropped, more or less, and another search begun.

The study of Eastern thought as it has developed in America follows this same pattern. The present availability of Tibetan and Buddhist teachings is mainly due to the Pali Text Society and the work of India’s Anagarika Dharmapala, who delivered the message of the Buddha throughout the world. At the same time in Tibet, the monk Gendün Chöphel, an extraordinary and inspired person, rebelled against the pattern of the church structure there; he made a pilgrimage to India and then decided to study Pali in Ceylon. He became a Pali scholar and tried to make some link between modern Western culture and the traditional Tibetan pattern. He translated Pali texts into Tibetan and endeavored to introduce Buddhist thinking that differed from the prevailing ideas. At the same time, Anagarika Dharmapala was working to legalize pilgrimages to Buddhist countries and to restore the inspirational monuments. This whole development was partially Buddhist and partially global. The work of Theosophy in the West was mirrored in the East, a tremendous movement to find new ways of adapting the teachings, a new way of understanding. It is part of the pattern that goes on continuously. And so it seems at this moment that there is this great potential of a search for a new interior and exterior life. If we are particularly searching for an exterior mode, then this pattern will develop as an effort to transplant those religions we are interested in: Hinduism, Buddhism (Zen, Theravadan, or whatever). These patterns may be imitated or followed. Many people have tried to become Tibetan, but it is very clumsy. Others have tried to become Japanese, which is equally as clumsy. Still others have tried to become Burmese, Sinhalese, or Thai as well as Indian, and again it is very clumsy. As we continue to search for images and forms, the pattern continues to be the same. Try to remember our history.

People are inspired by Egyptology; I’m sure many have been. We do not have the oral teachings, but merely study it from the archaeological point of view. We have been given a few clues and would like to follow them on and on. It’s a process of working back through the material. In this fascination with externals we could end up back in the Stone Age. We could come to worship the sun and moon; hunt, eat raw meat, and wear skins. It’s a great trip. We could just try and be with nature.

Many feel this contact is lacking and often begin to experience a longing for it, reading back into history with nostalgia. But since all this going back to the Stone Age involves searching for more luxury, how are we going to place our minds? It is luxury because people tire of central heating and automatic equipment. Water boils and signals with a whistle, and you don’t even have to watch it. But it becomes a child’s game to do all this manually and participate in the excitement of watching it happen. But all this is luxury. There is no difference in having this way of life as opposed to that one. It is quite the same. We are searching for some kind of luxury. It seems to follow generally that once we are leading a mechanized life, we feel something is missing.

What is missing? I think we have lost the point. If we look at things with this particular fascination for the exterior alone, we merely want to substitute one thing for another. This is pure materialism. Psychological materialism has gotten into the process in a highly complicated and sophisticated way, going so far as leading the Stone Age life. One can sense possibilities, even in the extreme cases, but they all miss the point. There will still be dropouts in these Stone Age communities, reactionaries and all the rest. This is inevitable as long as we search for comfort, or, more important, the romantic aspect of things. We see this with people who have become completely Japanese or Tibetan. They are completely trained in that way of life. One would live this kind of life with the encouragement, of course, of the Tibetans and Japanese (“What a wonderful transformation they’ve made; at last they’ve managed to become like us”). But, then, one would have problems whether one lived as a Tibetan, Japanese, or Indian. So what happens next? Something is fishy; something is lacking. Did we miss the boat somewhere? What is wrong? Having involved myself in becoming completely Tibetan, I can’t possibly go back to Western ways; that would be embarrassing! But secretly I would contemplate this, have private conversations with myself about it. “What is wrong? I didn’t get some kind of expected utopian civilization as I imagined I would. There is something wrong behind it all.” And then I would begin to question my fascination for such a civilization, such a work of art! I used to be able to sit and just gaze at the pure image of the Buddha or certain patterns of the interior decoration. I could really live on and on, spend twenty-four hours a day watching them, but what’s gone wrong now? I just can’t do that anymore.

It is really a matter of fascination. Nothing is wrong with the design or the inspiration of the work of art, but something is wrong with the fascination. It has gone too far. We haven’t checked ourselves in the process of going into it. We’ve let ourselves be sucked out. We involve ourselves too much. So the situation develops that one has to look back. These philosophies and works of art are beautiful as they are, but we don’t have to just plunge into them. We have to realize that we can’t change ourselves completely this way. The main thing is to develop a sense of humor on the journey and see the funny side of our involvement. A sense of humor plays a great part in balancing things, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes inspiring. But we certainly can’t become Tibetans, Japanese, or Indians, because the very desiring to become so contains the preconceived idea of ambition. The way of life may be extremely attractive to us, but being moved by the wisdom doesn’t mean we have to accept the exterior. This exterior is a very difficult thing. Its fascination plays a too important part. If one wants to absorb the teaching, one has to work in a different way.

Although the symbols may contain a certain inspiration, one needn’t go through the whole external trip. And what is behind that external trip that seems so embarrassing to look into? Each time there is a little attempt to look into ourselves, it is an embarrassing situation, because it involves the complicated and unfamiliar action of dealing with our own mind. We try to avoid this by involving ourselves more and more with externals. This seems to be the problem, a neurotic pattern, the feeling of embarrassment or hesitation that makes us get lost in outside details.

In any case, one has to face the truth sooner or later. Facing the truth later will be more shocking, more difficult. It will be more disappointing, because you have gone as far as you can, to the point of eating and dressing and behaving as they do, and still something is wrong. It will be very painful and disappointing. So it seems necessary to have a good look before the fascination takes over. The fascination takes us away from looking at ourselves. When there are psychological problems involved, it doesn’t work to merely sit and gaze at a work of art and try to get some kind of kick out of it. Many people do just that; all of us do, but it isn’t valid. It’s a substitution, an escape.

Whenever we are shrouded in a mental depression, we talk to someone, or go to the shrine, or read a book to try to ease the problem, which is a cowardly hesitation. It may seem very easy at the moment, but we are going to get addicted this way. And each time there is a further psychological problem or depression, we are going to escape further and further and at last decide to give up the whole responsibility of our family or business. Suddenly, one completely flips out and decides to give up the whole thing and take the first train or airplane to the nearest place and become a sannyasin or bhikshu or whatever. This is the ultimate hypocrisy, one might say transcendental hypocrisy. So something is wrong there, a hole that we really have to look into. No, we are not supposed to abandon all these uneasy materialistic scenes in Washington or New York, etc. We are supposed to work with it. The world is not built purely for us, but is a mutual effort of ourselves and others. So we have to develop some kind of compassion and openness of love for it.

I know a person who completely abandoned his eight children, wife, home, business, and everything; just completely left like that. After a final blow, he took the first plane east to India. He became a sannyasin and resident of an ashram. I think that is a very selfish act, regarding the world as if it were only for you rather than for everybody. This is the extreme attitude of self-deliverance. We need a great deal of compassion to share pains and problems with others. In order to do this, of course, we have to become willing to offer ourselves to the situation, not make a big scene of it. Not to demand attention for ourselves. We have to learn to dance with the situation, to work with it. This is very important, extremely important. We could be developed spiritually and be working on ourselves continually. Suddenly we run out of inspiration for further development. We don’t make any demands or a big scene out of it, which would be a very clumsy kind of skillfulness. If we try to demand inspiration or attention out of something else, an aggressive attitude develops, which is not compassion. Aggression is very involved with trying to secure something within ourselves, or the experience of basic ego.

The ego begins with the fear of not knowing what you are. Then you keep trying to patch up this gap of isolation and separateness. The paranoia is expressed in the clinging quality of feelings, because you are trying to make something out of it. Then impulse develops as an automatic and natural reaction to the feelings, in that it is part of relating self or inside to the outside. This is an automatic tendency, so that there is a continual patching-up in this ego process, and we are constantly involved in it. After this comes consciousness, which is the intelligence that works with our response to the outside world. But since this response to situations involves so much impulse, feeling, and paranoia, walls are set up and we are not able to really work with the response. The ego is based on playing the game of deaf, dumb, and blind. Whenever you don’t want to hear anything, you play deaf, when you don’t want to see something, you play blind. The ego is very much into this neurotic game, not willing to let anything open. The basic twist is believing you’re blind, because you don’t want to see. And actually you don’t see anything at all, because the insight is not allowed to reach the level of consciousness. There is a fundamental boss operating the switchboard. The whole ego situation is very neurotic, and you have to work to find these structures within yourself. My talking about it may not help at all; it could even be a warning for the ego’s sake.