Читать книгу Blazing Splendor - Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche - Страница 19
ОглавлениеLet me tell you about two outstanding masters whose role in the New Treasures is inextricably interwoven with that of my great-grandfather, Chokgyur Lingpa. Their connection goes back a thousand years to the time when Buddhism reached Tibet. When the magnificent Samye, Tibet’s first major monastery, was under construction, great masters were invited from India: Padmasambhava, Vimalamitra, Buddhaguhya, and others. Their chief Tibetan disciples included the translators Vairotsana and Yudra Nyingpo. All these masters, disciples, and translators helped the teachings of the Buddha to flourish like the rising sun.
During the time of Khyentse, Kongtrul, and Chokgyur Lingpa, those twenty-five foremost disciples of the Lotus-Born who had gathered around him at Samye almost a thousand years earlier all returned in simultaneous incarnations. As one of my teachers, Dzongsar Khyentse, put it, “The twenty-five disciples of the Lotus-Born came back together like a throng of sheep and goats running out of a barn. These disciples reappeared as masters with incredible experience and realization, learning, and accomplishment. Their personal disciples and their disciples’ disciples were equally amazing.”
In fact, throughout Kham and the rest of Tibet, tulkus of all twenty-five were identified and recognized. Paradoxically, this flowering was a portent that the time for Tibet’s role as a field of influence to benefit beings was just about to run out.
There had been a prediction from Padmasambhava pertaining to two of these masters: “You possess the karmic link of father and son.” The father was the great Khyentse and the son was Chokgyur Lingpa. The prediction also said, “Their minds will mingle into oneness”—meaning they would be identical in their level of experience and realization—“like the torrential rivers of summer.” That image referred to their meeting, exchanging pith instructions and awakening their karmic potential.
The great Kongtrul was enthroned by Khyentse and Chokling as the authentic incarnation, or conscious rebirth, of the Tibetan translator Vairotsana. When you compare these three masters—Chokgyur, Khyentse, and Kongtrul—Chokgyur Lingpa regarded both the great Khyentse and Kongtrul as his teachers. But Khyentse received the entire New Treasures transmission from Chokgyur Lingpa, so in this regard Chokgyur Lingpa is one of his teachers. The great Kongtrul definitely accepted Khyentse as his master—there is no question about that—as he did Chokgyur Lingpa. So, in fact, all three were one another’s teachers and disciples. They were connected to each other as “mingled minds.” In this way, the three masters assisted each other. Their mutual benefit for the Buddha’s teachings and all beings was like that of the sun of Dharma once again rising in the sky.
Early in his life, Chokgyur Lingpa made the journey to the kingdom of Derge. There he met with Kongtrul, who showed great fondness for the young tertön and for his terma writings. One of Kongtrul’s letters mentions this: “When you see the terma teachings of this man who doesn’t even know his grammar, it is most amazing! It’s really strange that such wonderful writing can come through a man who cannot even spell!”
In those days, one needed a letter of introduction in order to gain an audience with a lama of high standing, so Chokgyur Lingpa requested such a letter, saying, “I want to go see Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo; please give me a petition letter.” The great Khyentse was then known by the name Venerable Shabdrung; a shabdrung corresponds in level to the vajra master in charge of tantric ceremonies, a religious rank two steps below the highest hierarch of the Sakya school.
So Kongtrul replied, “Of course I’ll write a letter introducing you to Venerable Shabdrung!” With the letter in hand, Chokgyur Lingpa then proceeded to Khyentse’s residence.
Prior to this, Khyentse had written down a mind treasure containing the complete teachings of the famous terma Tukdrub Barchey Kunsel. Now, Chokgyur Lingpa arrived, also bringing a version of the Tukdrub, which had been revealed to him at the sacred place of Khala Rong-go. He had kept it secret for eight years.
Chokgyur Lingpa explained to Khyentse the story of his revelation, including the time and place of its discovery and the nature of the terma teaching. While comparing the two versions of the terma, they found them to be totally identical, without even one word of difference. After a careful examination of the two, Khyentse burned his own, saying, “Since the words and the meaning are identical, what is the use of having two! Yours, being an earth terma,” a physical object the tertön discovers, “is more profound and will be more effectual than my mind terma,” one that unfolds in the tertön’s mind.
Thus, the blessings of two lineages, earth terma and mind terma, were fused into a single stream. This remarkable coincidence was a major reason for the profound trust they had in each other as authentic tertöns. After their first meeting, they both had many auspicious dreams and visions. The great Khyentse accepted Chokgyur Lingpa as his disciple, conferring several important empowerments upon him.
Chokgyur Lingpa then returned to see Kongtrul at his residence, located at the famous Tsari-like Jewel Rock, on the slope above the Palpung monastery in Kham. Kongtrul had fallen seriously ill and was unable to see. Chokgyur Lingpa gave him the empowerment for the deity Vajrapani from his terma treasure called Vajra Club of the Lord of Secrets and told him to do some recitations of the mantra. That was their first Dharma connection.
Chokgyur Lingpa insisted, “You must do this practice—nothing else will help you regain your eyesight!” After Kongtrul had completed a retreat reciting the mantra of this tantric deity, he fully recovered from his disease.
When Kongtrul recounted the story of his recovery, Chokgyur Lingpa responded, “Of course you recovered. In your past life as the great translator Vairotsana, you put a curse on the infamous Lady Margyenma, that troublemaking queen of King Trisong Deutsen.49 Now you had to suffer the ripening of that karmic deed. In keeping with the severity of your former action, the karmic ripening corresponded to the seriousness of the disease with which your retinas were afflicted. This disease was influenced by the naga spirits. Accordingly, Padmasambhava designed this special sadhana of Vajrapani to cure you. That’s why I gave you that particular empowerment.”
From then on, Kongtrul and Chokgyur Lingpa gained even stronger confidence in each other, further fortified by several auspicious dreams and visions.
Khyentse, Kongtrul and Chokgyur Lingpa went on several journeys together, during which they discovered many terma teachings. The most famous of these was the Light of Wisdom, which later played an important role in my own education.50
Khyentse was born in the kingdom of Derge in Kham. The name Derge means “virtue and happiness.” This area was traditionally saturated by the practice of Buddhism, a virtuous and perfect place for the Dharma ruled by kings in accordance with spiritual principles. Over the centuries, these kings had promoted the most favorable conditions for the Buddha’s teachings. For example, they saw to the carving of woodblocks for printing the entire vast Buddhist canon—consisting of the many hundred volumes of the translated words of the Buddha, the Kangyur, and the translated treatises, the Tengyur—a task that had until then proved insurmountable even for the government in Central Tibet.
Here’s how that enormous task began. One day, while King Tenpa Tsering of Derge was walking to his bathroom, the thought suddenly arose in his mind, “Maybe I could get woodblocks carved for the entire body of the Buddha’s teachings.”
Later, when the king was visiting with his guru Situ Chökyi Jungney, he felt he should bring up his new idea. So he said, “Today I had a thought.”
“What was that?” the master asked.
“I formed the wish to carve blocks for both the Kangyur and Tengyur. What do you think? Will it be successful?”
Situ Chökyi Jungney replied, “Don’t ever give up this thought!”
“Very well,” the king agreed, “If I arrange for the carving, can you do the proofreading?”
“I will take care of the proofing,” the great Situ promised.
No more conversation than that took place. Eventually, the king did have the entire Buddhist canon carved and printed. Situ, who was renowned as a great scholar, proofread the woodblocks thirteen times—a gigantic task in itself. This is why even today we regard the Derge edition of the canon as being of the highest standard.
It was in such a spiritual environment that the great Khyentse took birth.
Old Khyentse was the combined reincarnation of Vimalamitra, King Trisong Deutsen, Longchenpa and the omniscient master Jigmey Lingpa—all in one body. Like Chokgyur Lingpa, he was renowned as the lord of seven transmissions. Yet Khyentse didn’t start out as the head of a large monastery, but as an ordinary monk at a Sakya monastery in Derge.51
13. Longchenpa—the great Dzogchen master
In the early part of his life, Khyentse went to Central Tibet, where he received a vast number of teachings from numerous masters. Slowly his talents led him to become a teacher, then vajra master, then shabdrung and finally abbot. During his second visit to Central Tibet, he transmitted most of these teachings back to others. And so people said, “Before he was a disciple; now he is a master!”
At one point, Khyentse had a deep spiritual experience involving a vision of the great master Chetsun Senge Wangchuk, after which he put in writing the precious teaching known as the Heart Essence of Chetsun. At the main Sakya monastery in Central Tibet, he did a retreat on Manjushri and had the experience of dissolving into the heart of his yidam so the “great treasure mine of courageous eloquence” overflowed from within his state of realization. Thus, he became like a king of all learned and accomplished masters.
Old Khyentse later built a hermitage, which he gave the splendid name Gathering Palace of Sugatas. He lived there in the latter part of his life.
Old Khyentse had developed unimpeded clairvoyance. Tashi Özer, the great scholar of Palpung monastery, was one of his main disciples, and he told one of my teachers many stories about the great Khyentse. Here is one of them:
“One day,” Tashi Özer recounted, “Khyentse exclaimed to me, ‘Oh, my, Khenpo, what trouble you have! From morning until night, you have to do all these tasks.’ He started mentioning all the different things I had to do. He knew everything, every little detail—including things no one else but me could have known about. ‘You are really burdened by all these demands; you have no free time at all.’ It was true, I was busy from morning till evening.
“Another day, Khyentse Wangpo, as he was known at the time, suddenly cried out, ‘Oh, no, how terrible!’ I asked him what was wrong. ‘Far away a bald monk just fell over the side of the cliff. While he was falling, I heard him shout my name. Then, while I was thinking about this, somehow he became stuck in the branches of a tree. Now the other monks are trying to pull him up with ropes. Yes . . . now they got him up.’
“The next morning, a bald-headed monk came to visit Khyentse. ‘Last night I had a strange accident,’ he said. He went on to explain that as he was walking with a stick and a load, he fell over the side of the cliff, at which point he shouted out, ‘Khyentse Wangpo! Khyentse Wangpo!’ He didn’t fall all the way down but became caught in some branches and was then pulled up with a rope.
“One night, I wanted to see for myself how Old Khyentse slept. So I hung around outside his door and took an occasional peek throughout the night. Khyentse did not seem to go to sleep at all. But late at night he loosened his belt, relaxed in his seat and exhaled. Then he just sat there with wide-open eyes, still breathing deeply. He might have been asleep or not, but he didn’t move for an hour, still with open eyes. Then he cleared his throat loudly and his breathing went back to normal. The sound was enough to signal his attendant to prepare morning tea. That was how Old Khyentse passed his nights.”
Near where the great Khyentse lived was a Sakya monastery, and it happened that one of their lamas passed away. The monks of the monastery trusted that Khyentse truly could see past, present and future as clearly as something placed in the palm of his hand—without a flicker of error or confusion. He was consulted about the lama’s rebirth.
The monks kept insisting, “We must find him! By all means, we must find his tulku!”
“You might as well forget about it,” replied Khyentse. “I promise you it won’t help you to know.”
“We will never give up our search for him!” retorted the monastery’s representative, who wasn’t one to take no for an answer. “Our teacher was so precious; please give us some unmistakable details regarding his whereabouts.”
“All right!” said Khyentse. “Go to such-and-such place near Derge, where there is a rich family with plenty of cattle. Stand near their house and call out your lama’s name at the top of your voice. It will be clear to you where your ‘tulku’ is.”
The party went off in the prescribed direction and reached the rich man’s property. There they began calling their lama’s name as loud as they could. As they were yelling, the calf of a huge cross-bred yak and cow let go of its mother’s teat, bellowed “Moooooooo!” and ran toward them. It walked around them and wouldn’t leave. The monks were at a loss as to what to do. On their return, they stopped to see the great Khyentse once again.
“What did I tell you? Didn’t I say it would be useless? Nonetheless, you did find your ‘tulku.’”
Old Khyentse had the habit of asking every visitor one particular question. I know this from old people in Nangchen, because everyone there without exception who could afford the time to make the pilgrimage over to Derge had been to visit him and pay their respects. My mother’s uncle, a lama who was quite old when I was a child, told me this story about one such visit he had.
“Well, well, where are you from?” Khyentse would first say. Then, “why are you here?”
“I came to meet you, Rinpoche,” replied this old lama.
“There is nothing special in meeting me,” said Khyentse. “Have you seen the Jowo in Lhasa?”
“No, I haven’t,” replied the old lama.
“What a pity! What a waste of a human life. Well, then, have you received the reading transmission for the Kangyur?”
“No, I haven’t, Rinpoche!”
“Oh, no! What a terrible shame! In this day and age, the Buddha is represented by the Jowo statue and the Kangyur. That’s what he has left behind. If one dies without meeting those two, I would consider it just as if one had returned from a jewel island empty-handed. If a big sinner, even someone who has killed eighteen people, receives the reading transmission for the Buddha’s Kangyur, this old man here swears that such a person will not go to the lower realms.”
Khyentse said that to almost every person who came to visit him.
Once, in the later part of his life, Khyentse was served poison mixed in curd by a malicious old man from eastern Tibet. He accepted the bowl and drank it on the spot. As the man was leaving, Khyentse called out to him, “Hey, you! Are you satisfied now that I’ve swallowed your evil drink?”
The old man panicked and began to cry with great remorse.
“Please vomit it out immediately!” the old man wailed. “I don’t know what vicious spirit took hold of me, but all of a sudden I had this thought to poison your food and didn’t seem able to resist. The moment you drank the bowl, it was as though I woke up from a dream. Please, purge yourself of this poison!”
“No,” Khyentse said. “I have repaid a karmic debt to you, so I won’t vomit—there is not enough to kill me. I drank it to help you.”
Earlier in his life, Khyentse had been very handsome and stout. People said he looked like Longchenpa. But soon after being poisoned, he fell ill and never totally recovered; his skin turned slightly dark. The toxin had also injured his throat, and every so often he would have to clear his throat with a loud hacking noise, even during teachings. “It is from being poisoned, but it didn’t kill me,” he would explain to the curious.
Grandmother, who had met the two masters as a child, once told me, “The great Kongtrul was neither tall nor fat, but he did have a prominent nose, very straight and square. Old Khyentse, on the other hand, was very large, with big eyes.”
My father later added, “After Chokgyur Lingpa and his son Wangchok Dorje had both passed away, I too went with Lady Degah, my mother and some siblings to visit Old Khyentse. When we approached his quarters, we discovered that the great master had come outside holding the traditional incense and white scarf to receive Lady Degah—an unusual sign of deep respect. Led by Old Khyentse bearing incense, we were escorted inside his rather tiny room. Samten Gyatso and your uncle Tersey were both there as well. I remember Khyentse as having a bigger-than-life, majestic presence in that small room.”
My father continued, “Khyentse was conducting an empowerment for my grandmother. Next to him was a little portable hearth, with a big kettle perking away on top. There was a Khampa-style bellows made of hide, and every once in a while during the empowerment Khyentse would reach over and fan the fire. He had a large bowl, and during the empowerment he put a couple of spoonfuls of tsampa—parched barley flour—and dried cheese into his bowl. Then he poured some hot tea on top and, using his large bone spoon, had a meal right there and then. He didn’t drink butter tea, just black tea.” As you may know, it is the tradition in Tibet that while a lama drinks tea during a ceremony, he always takes off his hat—but Old Khyentse was a yogi and left his hat on while he ate.
“He was such an imposing figure in that small room,” my father added. “The fire was making it quite warm, and I sat near the hearth. He just went about his business and looked very comfortable eating and drinking at his leisure.”
Khyentse was a great siddha, incredibly realized. Yet probably because he held the position of “king of Dharma,” ruling over a vast domain of spiritual activity, he did not manifest a rainbow body upon his departure.52
Instead, here is how he passed away.
All his life, Old Khyentse never sat idle; at the very least he would usually have a rosary in his left hand, chanting various mantras. One day, he told his servant, “One’s final words should be like those of Terdag Lingpa, the great master of Mindrolling.”
“And what were they?” his attendant asked.
Sights, sounds, knowing—deva, mantra, dharmakaya—
Play of kayas, wisdoms, boundlessly they merge.
In this deep and secret practice of great yoga,
Be they of one taste, nondual sphere of mind!
While chanting the last line, Old Khyentse rolled up his rosary, put it in its proper place, straightened his back and stopped breathing.
Kongtrul often said of his friend Old Khyentse, “Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo is the only one who can truly distinguish between what is Dharma and what is not.” Kongtrul would turn to him for advice in all matters of importance, calling him “the ultimate pandita”. In this sense, the most important of the three amazing masters—Khyentse, Kongtrul, and Chokgyur Lingpa—was Khyentse.
So when Khyentse passed away, Kongtrul exclaimed, “The omniscient Dorje Ziji has left us!” using another name for Khyentse. “Now we are left behind in pitch-black darkness, not knowing right from wrong!” Khyentse had made it clear that he didn’t want anyone to preserve his body after he died. He had explained, “Don’t keep my body around. I want it cremated, because in this degenerate age, one should no longer keep an entire body as kudung (sacred remains). Of course, in earlier times it was the custom to do so with some masters. But from now on, I think all lamas should be cremated.”
With Chokgyur Lingpa, who had died before Old Khyentse, he had made an exception. The reason was that Padmasambhava’s terma predictions had described how Chokgyur Lingpa’s remains should be embalmed and enshrined in a golden stupa, which was done exactly as indicated.
14. Vairotsana—the great translator of Buddhist scriptures
However, Khyentse and Kongtrul were both cremated, as were Karmey Khenpo, Tashi Özer, the great Mipham and all the other great lamas of the day in Kham. I believe this change was an early indication that everything was soon to be destroyed by the Chinese communists. But Khyentse didn’t mention that. He just said to never keep a kudung.
Kongtrul is considered a reincarnation of Vairotsana, the eminent translator of the Buddha’s teachings when the Lotus-Born master came to Tibet.53 Vairotsana, in turn, was regarded as an emanation of Buddha Vairochana.
Kongtrul had the ability to reveal a vast number of terma treasures; he once found a prophecy by Padmasambhava predicting that he, Kongtrul, was to compose five great treasuries of teachings. In his view, the older termas had great value, and he wished to gather them all into a collection to be called the Treasury of Precious Termas, covering the three inner tantras: Maha, Anu, and Ati Yoga.54
So Kongtrul sent a message to Chokgyur Lingpa: “You often meet the Lotus-Born in person. Could you please ask him if I may compile the Treasury of Precious Termas?”
Chokgyur Lingpa soon sent back this reply: “I asked Padmasambhava. He said, ‘Excellent!’ Since that is the case, you must definitely undertake this task.”
While Kongtrul was in the process of collecting these treasure texts, the lineage for many of the termas of former tertöns had disappeared, some of them centuries before. Khyentse revived them as ‘rediscovered treasures’ and in this way supplied the important missing parts for the Treasury of Precious Termas, while Chokgyur Lingpa was the one who asked the Lotus-Born master for permission. Thus, the incredibly important collection now renowned as the Treasury of Precious Termas was a combined effort of all three masters.55
Old Kongtrul’s reincarnation, Karsey Kongtrul, the famous son of the fifteenth Karmapa who was also one of my teachers, was in charge of the library at Tsari-like Jewel Rock. He still had this exchange of letters in which Kongtrul requested Chokgyur Lingpa to ask Padmasambhava about the Treasury. Once, while Karsey Kongtrul transmitted this very same Treasury of Precious Termas, he told me the above story in the presence of the sixteenth Karmapa.
In terms of scholarship, Kongtrul was nearly unsurpassed, as a story about him and the learned Mipham shows. After Mipham had composed his Summary of Logic, a sophisticated and complex philosophical volume, he brought it to Kongtrul to get his opinion.
“It looks like a work of outstanding precision and clarity,” remarked Kongtrul. “But honestly, I’m not the one to judge. I don’t know much about Buddhist logic, since I never studied the subject. You are an expert in the art of validating knowledge; I’m sure it’s very good.”
Mipham wouldn’t accept Kongtrul’s modesty. So he made the request, “Please, Rinpoche, give me the reading transmission for it.”
“How could I possibly do that?” replied Kongtrul. “You’re the author. If I had written it, I could give the transmission. But you should read it to me instead.”
So, obediently, Mipham read the text aloud. At the end, Kongtrul suddenly exclaimed, “Ha, ha! Let me try to explain it.”
“Please do, Rinpoche,” Mipham replied. “You may not have studied many words of logic, but you certainly know the meaning.”
“No, no,” Kongtrul insisted. “I am not well versed in either the words or the meaning. But today is a fine day and I’m in a good mood. Let me try explaining it.”
When he had finished his explanation, Mipham was astounded. “Rinpoche, how could you give such a brilliant clarification without having studied logic?” Mipham asked.
Kongtrul explained, “Well, it’s not exactly the case that I didn’t study logic ever, since in a former life as Sakya Pandita I studied it extensively. In fact, it all came flooding back to me while you were reading. I don’t usually have that ability, so I wanted to explain it to you while the glimpse lasted.”
After this encounter, Mipham saw Kongtrul in a completely new light, and his admiration and trust in him grew. As Mipham explained, “Our intellectual understanding is completely different. That man’s learning extends back through many lifetimes, completely unlike ordinary scholars who study a few books here and there in this life.”
After the scholar Tashi Özer had studied with the renowned Paltrul, he remarked, “How can there be another lama of that kind on the surface of the earth? He is tremendously learned and accomplished!” Later, having studied with Khyentse, he said, “No one can possibly be more extraordinary!” Lastly, when he had studied with Kongtrul, he said, “Fantastic; this man is incomparable!”
One day, he had the chance to ask Khyentse, “Rinpoche, I’m a student of all three of you lamas, and I don’t perceive anything other than great qualities in each of you. But tell me: If you were to compete, who would be the most learned?”
“Paltrul for sure is the most learned,” Khyentse replied.
“Of the three of you, who benefits beings the most?”
Khyentse replied, “As the translator Vairotsana in human form, there is nobody who benefits beings like Kongtrul.”
Again the scholar asked, “But among you three who has the highest realization?”
Khyentse raised his shoulders and head high and, without any hypocrisy or the least hint of smugness, declared, “Hey! The one with the highest realization? That’s me! I’m the best.”
When Old Khyentse passed away, the fifteenth Karmapa saw in a vision that instead of just a single reincarnation, twenty-five emanations would appear, each embodying one of the twenty-five aspects of fruition: five each for enlightened body, speech, mind, qualities, and activity. Among these, five principal incarnations were recognized and enthroned. That’s why we see so many reincarnations these days with the name Khyentse.
It is said that the activity of these amazing Khyentse incarnations is unceasing, like the moon rising when the sun sets: when one passes away, another appears in his place. When he died, several tulkus appeared to take over his Dharma activities. Seen from our side, while one of them dissolves back into the buddhafield, another emanation appears, sometimes even more brilliant than the previous one. After the great Khyentse died, Dzongsar Khyentse appeared, who was equally amazing. Then when Dzongsar Khyentse set, Dilgo Khyentse rose.
Khakyab Dorje had a similar vision that after Kongtrul passed away there would be twenty-five reincarnations as well. The number of such tulkus—“magical forms” that appear to benefit beings—is inconceivable.
I don’t know much more than this about Kongtrul and Khyentse. You can find the details of their lives in their respective biographies.56 I haven’t made up any of these stories myself; I’ve only repeated the words I have heard from my precious teachers.
