Really, I had planned to write about the Medicine Buddha, then I
thought, the Stupa, but
I find myself, instead, inspired over something today more important
than either...
And that is, those who have introduced these things to us.
Our teachers.
Where would we be without them? How often do we give thought to
those whom without
their help, we may never have become the best of what we are? It
is difficult to give
them gifts that would reflect or compare with what they have given
us. But we can love
and honor them. We can acknowledge them. And this is what I am
writing about. I must
begin with mine, and after reading this, you may want to reflect upon
your own, whether
they corral us or obliquely shove us into a learning experience we may
never have
expected.
Of course, there are many who show the Way. We learn to recognize
them. There are those
with the uncanny ability to answer any question, leaving you with a
feeling of the
rightness of it, in your heart. They inspire us, anger us, laugh
at us, leave us
bemused or awed.
I had been studying and working magick for many years when I met a man
who could answer
all my questions. Strangely enough, he was not a magickan, but a
Buddhist. He had just
returned from India, and then Nepal, where he had been initiated in one
of the
meditation caves of Padmasambhava. He had been there, in fact, on
the day of his
enlightenment. There had been several lamas there, and they had
told them he would have
to leave. He begged to stay, and finally the head lama gave
permission on the condition
that he drink this bowl of cheese soup they ahd made. He was
relieved. He said yes, of
course, and he ate it. It was very good, and they offered him
another. And when he was
finished, another. Finally it became impossible. And then
the hour struck. They began
chanting, a light filled the cave, and my teacher told me that if it
hadn't been for
that cheese soup, he would have just left his body behind.
Lamas can be very wise, very funny, and very very creative.
When I moved into his town, I met with him regularily. I was
there to study power,
because power was the only thing I was interested in at the time, and I
knew that if I
put myself on the path of power, power would find me, fill me. I
know now the real goal
I had set for myself was the deep inner knowedge that came with that
power.
Many things though, could not be questioned or answered in words.
It was then that I
experienced direct transmission. His mind and my own conjoined
for the period of about
2 weeks. It was hard to function individually, but I learned the
source of its power,
his teachers power, their teachers power...and on it went. It was
a clear look at what
the word 'lineage' really meant. Sometimes, while he was talking,
I could see his
teacher standing behind him, talking as well. I found that part
of my mind could listen
to one of them, while another part of my mind could take in the
knowedge of the 'man
behind the curtain'.
Yet it was long before he would call himself a teacher. He would
reject the title
furiously. Yet, in every way, he performed a teachers function.
He told me tales of sacrifice:the lamas who had come to the Western
world, giving
initiations and dieing when thosewho had too easily taken them did not
live up to their
words regarding the performance of pujas (rituals). The power
would rebound upon them,
and these teachers would have strokes and die. And they did-and
still do-this,
willingly, in the hopes of carrying on their tradition, the lineage,
and finally, that
which they lived for.
Many days I met with him and I always had questions, probing deeply,
and he always had
answers. He provided me with my next teacher-Mr. Norbu, Takster
Rinpoche.
Mr. Norbu iw/was an elder brother to the Dali Lama, and ran the Tibetan
Center here.
Although he did not give initiations, he provided them in plenty for
his students, for
his friends were Geshes and high lamas, and they would come to
visit. And when they
did, he made them work-and we, his students, received it all. And
not only that, but
mani (life) pills made and consecrated by the State Oracle, something
each monk would
take everyday.
It was best to come with no expectations, for you would never quite
know what you would
come away with.
Mr. Norbu had a dog, named Singha. Singha (which means Snow Lion)
was not really a dog,
but a monk who had stayed with Mr. Norbu through many
incarnations. He did not act like
a dog. And he read minds and could transmit his own. He
performed all of the monk
activities as he could from within his dog body. More on that,
later.
He could be immensely generous. I remarked once that I felt the
need for a Kalachakra
initiation. Two weeks later he went to Dharmasala for
meetings. When he returned, he
told us that H.H. the Dali Lama was comeing, in two years (thats how
long he is booked
for!), to come and give it. (And it did take two years of preparations).
I could write on about much of his life, but that is not the point of
this article.
I tell you this story because a celebration of his death should be
proceeded by a
celebration of his life.
After Katrina, my companion Lu and I were living near the Center
full-time. It was at
the end of this time that Mr. Norbu died. He had had a series of
strokes and little
quality of life was left to him, despite the loving care given him by
the resident monks.
When we learned of it we rushed over to do whatever needed to be
done. The monks and
volunteers had it all in hand. The city granted permission to let
his body be treated
the way a lama of Tibet would have, and they were busy reciting The
Tibetan Book of the
Dead to him, for right after death, the spirit stays with the body
awhile, and it takes
three days to read through the stages, in preparation for the ritual
burning, done
inside a hand brick stupa created especially for the purpose.
I felt at a loss. Then I felt a strong desire leap inside me, to
go to where we had
spent so much of our time together, at our Jangchub Chorton
(stupa). I walked to it
steadily with a purpose I did not know. I did not stop when I
reached it, however, but
began to climb it, doing small postrations and chants at each
step. When I reached an
unclimbable part, I could only tell him how much I loved him. And
then I heard him
clearly, and he said 'I'll be back'. Somehow that comforted me,
although I would not
meet him again in this life.
His viewing ceremony, like our funerals, was ethereal. On one
side of the room were the
Gomang monks, who had been recalled from their tour for this,
chanting. On the other
side of the room was Mr. Norbu, dressed according to his rank.
None of us had ever seen
him dressed in the gold silk brocades and crown, holding the dorje and
the bell. He had
been the abbot of Kundun Monastery before the Chinese invasion, and so
he was dressed.
We prostrated and gave him a last goodbye, while the monks chanted from
behind. One
person at a time was allowed in. This was a privacy I had not
thought there would be.
I was glad he was freed from that dieing body at last.
That last part of his life was his new beginning. It is said that
there are 46 days
after death before the soul takes a new incarnation.
When a soul incarnates into the growing body within the womb of the
mother, there are a
broad range of possiblities as regards to the timeing. Some step
in immediately after
fertilization, others not until the last moment. Some fetuses are
never inhabited at
all, and the result will be a miscarriage or dead birth.
But it is an individual matter. Therefore, the time of rebirth
varies.
As I write this, it has been 18 hours since Mr. Norbu has come to
birth, somewhere in
his beloved Tibet, which he always wanted to return to. A place
he could not go back to
in his former body.
Last night I was woken out of my sleep by a vision. A child was
being born-I saw it
comeing form the birth canal, dark skinned, a wisp of dark hair.
I knew its soul-Mr.
Norbu had been reborn. He had come back! But then-there was
another-a twin. And I
knew the twins soul as well. It was Singha! Singha was now
going to be able to take a
human body, and stay with Mr. Norbu. What love must have flowed
between them to forge a
bond so close!
I called my companion to tell him of the happy event. But he had
already had his own
dream that night. He was a midwife in that dream, and he laid a
woman on a table and
from her spread legs had come twins. I went then to the Temple at
the Center, tardily,
to tell them. I found that the sangha had been talking about it
all morning. Now we
knew his first-and most important-birthday. So, I thought, this
is how they find them,
the tulkus-former reincarnations of lamas. Not so hard as I
thought...
So.
I am humbled before all this. I have seen an entire human life
cycle. To see and to
understand all of this magick of life, to express our gratefulness, I
turn to a guru
tsok puja:
You are the Lama, you are the Yidam, you are the Dakini and the Dharma
Protector.
From now until I attain enlightenment, I shall seek no refuge other
than you.
In this life, in the borado, and until enlightenment, please hold me in
the hook of your
compassion,
Free me from the fears of samsara and nirvana, grant me all
attainments, be my constant
campanion and protect me from all obstacles.
Precious Lama, supreme field of good fortune, root of all goodness and
joy, my Protector,
By the power of my offerings, respect, and prayers, Gladly bless me
with your care.
Knowing that life's liberties and opportunities are found but once and
quickly lost
Inspire me to grasp life's esential meaning and not be destracted by
pointless
activities.
As you place your feet, oh Glorious Protector, at the very center of my
heart's eight
petals,
Inspire me to actualize in this very life the paths of clear light,
illusion body, and
their union.
If my death should come before I enter the path, bless me to reach a
Pure Land
Through applying the instructions of the five powers, the supremely
powerful method of
the transference to Buddhahood, from birth to birth, please bless me,
oh Protector,
never to be separated from your loving care, and, as the foremost of
your disciples, to
hold every secret of your body, speech and mind.
