The land is packed with deer so tame I hear they can eat out of your hand.
Dudjom Rinpoche planted this Cedar Tree. For real!
The crown jewel has to be this huge Vajrasattva Statue.Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Pristine Tashi Choling
The land is packed with deer so tame I hear they can eat out of your hand.Dudjom Rinpoche planted this Cedar Tree. For real!
The crown jewel has to be this huge Vajrasattva Statue.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Auspicious Dharma Place
Sun over the valley, Near Weed, CAAfter retracing my steps, I resumed my journey up Route 5 to Tashi Choling, just over the Oregon Border. You should click on the pic above to blow it up, really pretty.
The Temple at Tashi CholingI also swear that you can feel this place 50 miles away. A blissful pure feeling started to overtake me as a came up I-5, getting into the hills that follow the flattish chapparal north of Mount Shasta. Until then, I remained a little blue.
Gyatrul Rinpoche, a Tibetan Lama in the Nyingma lineage, founded this place some 30 years ago. It is a small piece of land 80 acres or so, surrounded by properties owned by sangha members. When I arrived, the staff was very friendly and had my really nice room ready, and some texts I had ordered from them waiting for me in my room. The accomodations in the East Wing of the temple rival Tara Mandala in luxury.
Also when I walked in, an acquaintance from my own sangha unexpectedly greeted me. I had heard she was in retreat up here, but did not know I would see her. I went down to tsok, and Ani Baba (the resident nun) put out the texts I had bought on HH Dudjom Rinpoche's throne table for blessing during the tsok. So sweet. Every inch of their temple is ornamented, and to my surprize I found I liked that.
This center uses the exact same text for their feast of the Black Wrathful Mother, so I felt right at home as I sat with these 30 year sadhana experts. As I feel asleep I felt I had truly arrived at a pure land, or at least a good approximation.
Monday, October 27, 2008
To Paradise
The entrance to Wilbur Hot SpringsI left Douglas's house and checked out Wilbur Hot Springs, a quaint old sulphur springs where people go to "take the waters." I took the waters, soaking in deep troughs called flumes, and having a massage. This place fairly faithfully maintained 19th century style. I personally am nat a great fan 19th century, other than the flowering of homeopathy, and the founding of our first national parks, that century does not to much for me.
Paradise, CAGoing across the central valley, through Chico I felt more and more depressed. Perhaps it was the right wing radio, the after effects of the wine the previous night. Or it could have been an inner knowing that... yes, I left my medicine and my cell phone in Lakeport and would need to go allll the way back the next day. I spent the night in Paradise, because I know it has good views of the Sutter Buttes--which are a personal obsession of mine. But I barely glaced at the Buttes as I raced back across the state the following morning.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Pilgrimage 2008
Gull above Lakeport, California
Fall Foliage in Cobb, CAI left Oakland on Oct. 26th, and wound my way up through Calistoga and Cobb, where I landed at Douglas' house in Lakeport on Clear Lake. Douglas and I drank wine and discussed the integration of the view of Dzogchen with daily life, late into the night.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Tonight in Oakland--confrontation
Hearing that some women were called "faggot" yesterday at an intersection near my house by supporters of California Prop. 8 (the referendum to make an amendment to the California constitution to ban gay/lesbian marriage), I headed out to see if I could help tonight. I spent two and a half hours at that intersection today, but the bigots did not show up. Instead, a small group of us waved signs against Prop. 8. All different kinds of people supported us. I felt like a I should run for Congress.
Then we headed down to MacArthur and High, where it was another story. The Pro Prop 8 people were there, as were many anti. I'm so curious about who the anti-gay people are, that I took pictures of them. They could be identified as the same people who were verbally abusive yesterday. Most look to be Samoan or Tongan, perhaps one big clan. Then there were a few African American people tonight.
The lesbians were particularly adorable tonight. I will keep those pics for my personal enjoyment.
P.S. Yes, I bought a new camera.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
The Blue Blanket Conundrum
Well, the fancy canon digital camera my Dad gave me just announced it was a dead with a blood curdling buzz. Since I’m not about to buy another one in the near future, I guess that’s the end of the photography part of this blog for the time being.
This death is in keeping with my theme: impermanence. My afternoons are spent going through all the boxes of my accumulated stuff. First, I scanned all the photos, then I scanned all the correspondence I could, now I am taking apart and shredding all the medical charts I have accumulated.
That’s right, medical charts. For about 18 years I practiced homeopathy, and then quit for financial reasons. Medical charts can’t be destroyed for 7 years, so I’ve been holding on to them. I had hundreds of clients over the years, and the faces of most of them pop into my mind as I shred their charts. I think there are companies who do this for you, but being a cheapskate, I am doing it myself. It is unclear if the $85 shredder will survive the whole job. Sometimes it seems unclear if I will survive the whole job! These charts have clasps and staples, and these need to be undone by hand. I suppose I could throw away the file folder part, but I am too much of a tree-hugger to waste all that cardboard. So, I cut or pry the clasps off. The shredding part seems to generate a some kind of electrical field that does not make me feel well. Fortunately, I have moved beyond the moldy files now—I am no longer vaporizing mould into the atmosphere. But there is a charge to all that violent churning of the machine, and I am a sensitive little flower.
The boxes of non-paper stuff are a delight to dispense with after dealing with files. I just threw out yards of rainbow colored cloth from an ill-conceived curtain project in Greenfield, MA. I just found my faded corsage from my wedding there—I am happily friends with my ex, but don’t need to keep dead flowers to remember her. Yellow vinyl men’s rain pants. A worn out ill-fitting Tibetan skirt. A dirty down coat with a broken zipper and duct tape patches. These items post no obstacle to disposal.
Tonight, though, I face two of my own baby blankets. The pink one that I never favored, and MY BLUE BLANKET. I was as inseparable from my blue blanket as Linus was from his. The blanket use persisted, and did the pacifier, long beyond the appropriate age of obsolescence. In fact, the fact that I still have it bespeaks of it’s symbolism.
The qualities of my blue blanket that made it so lovable were three-fold. First, I think in the back of my mind I knew my Mom knitted it during while she was pregnant with me. Second, it is a nice soothing color, a light greenish blue. Third, the yarn is fabulously soft, perhaps cashmere. But the most satisfying thing about this blanket was it’s smell.
Now, the little faded blanket smells mostly like basement. But, if I bury my face in it like I once did, I do believe I can perceive a faint hint of its old aroma. I think the old smell must have been the smell of the wool itself. Family systems being what they are, I could always seek solace from my blue blanket, plunging face into it’s comforting folds and being transported to some other place of warmth, softness, soothingness: unconditional love.
I would like to thank the goat who’s wool became my alternate universe.
But, what to do with the blanket?
This death is in keeping with my theme: impermanence. My afternoons are spent going through all the boxes of my accumulated stuff. First, I scanned all the photos, then I scanned all the correspondence I could, now I am taking apart and shredding all the medical charts I have accumulated.
That’s right, medical charts. For about 18 years I practiced homeopathy, and then quit for financial reasons. Medical charts can’t be destroyed for 7 years, so I’ve been holding on to them. I had hundreds of clients over the years, and the faces of most of them pop into my mind as I shred their charts. I think there are companies who do this for you, but being a cheapskate, I am doing it myself. It is unclear if the $85 shredder will survive the whole job. Sometimes it seems unclear if I will survive the whole job! These charts have clasps and staples, and these need to be undone by hand. I suppose I could throw away the file folder part, but I am too much of a tree-hugger to waste all that cardboard. So, I cut or pry the clasps off. The shredding part seems to generate a some kind of electrical field that does not make me feel well. Fortunately, I have moved beyond the moldy files now—I am no longer vaporizing mould into the atmosphere. But there is a charge to all that violent churning of the machine, and I am a sensitive little flower.
The boxes of non-paper stuff are a delight to dispense with after dealing with files. I just threw out yards of rainbow colored cloth from an ill-conceived curtain project in Greenfield, MA. I just found my faded corsage from my wedding there—I am happily friends with my ex, but don’t need to keep dead flowers to remember her. Yellow vinyl men’s rain pants. A worn out ill-fitting Tibetan skirt. A dirty down coat with a broken zipper and duct tape patches. These items post no obstacle to disposal.
Tonight, though, I face two of my own baby blankets. The pink one that I never favored, and MY BLUE BLANKET. I was as inseparable from my blue blanket as Linus was from his. The blanket use persisted, and did the pacifier, long beyond the appropriate age of obsolescence. In fact, the fact that I still have it bespeaks of it’s symbolism.
The qualities of my blue blanket that made it so lovable were three-fold. First, I think in the back of my mind I knew my Mom knitted it during while she was pregnant with me. Second, it is a nice soothing color, a light greenish blue. Third, the yarn is fabulously soft, perhaps cashmere. But the most satisfying thing about this blanket was it’s smell.
Now, the little faded blanket smells mostly like basement. But, if I bury my face in it like I once did, I do believe I can perceive a faint hint of its old aroma. I think the old smell must have been the smell of the wool itself. Family systems being what they are, I could always seek solace from my blue blanket, plunging face into it’s comforting folds and being transported to some other place of warmth, softness, soothingness: unconditional love.
I would like to thank the goat who’s wool became my alternate universe.
But, what to do with the blanket?
Thursday, October 2, 2008
On Tibetan Grammer, Goats, and so on
I started a class with David Curtis or the Tibetan Language Institute tonight, mainly on Tibetan grammar. He started to discuss the poem the Divine Tree (ljon pai dbangpo) tonight by teleconference. When I got off the line, I asked Lama Pema Dorje about it. Rinpoche is not a scholar, has little formal education, yet has an incredible wealth of knowledge--and a great memory for detail--based on extensive reading of Dharma texts and receiving oral teachings. We had an off-the-cuff conversation with various members of the family chiming in periodically with their memorized (sung!) renditions of this poem--all learned in different times and places.
He said the name of the author of our text Yangchen Drupei Dorje, is a name he was awarded based on his mastery of the first two of the five outer knowledges. He could not remember the other name the author is known by. To the best of his memory, and he is not sure of this without looking it up, these five are (phonetically, via my tin ear)
Sum da--grammer
Yeng Nga--poems, songs
Nyon Ju--many names
Do Kar--drama
Kat-di--astrology
When Sum da and Yeng nga are accomplished, one is given a lovely name related to Manjushri or Saraswati. Yangchen in this particular author’s name refers to Saraswati. Saraswati is a knowledge-language--music related female Buddha.
Rinpoche was in school for two years as a child in the 1940’s, before that he was home schooled by his father. His father was a Tibetan lama who settled in Dolpo, Nepal. The family followed their lama Golok Serthar Rinpoche for a couple of years when he taught throughout Nepal. This nomadic community of practitioners arranged a group teachings for the children each day with an old lama named Dorje. These were considered to be Dharma teachings, but they were learning the language at the same time. Rinpoche did not come in contact with Divine Tree text until he was older. First, the kids learned the alphabet by reciting it out loud for several years. Then, I think they did some spelling out loud. What they did during this two years in this little school was recite texts out load, both alone and in groups, starting slow and gaining speed. They traced the letters as they recited, because otherwise they would be reciting from memory and not learning how to read and write. If they looked up they were reprimanded.
The texts they learned from were:
Dorje Chopa (Diamond Cutter Sutra)--Lay households had a shrine at home and at minimum it always had a Dorje Chopa text--if they could afford more they had a whole collection of texts including many mantras and sutras, called sung du. As a young person, Rinpoche would copy out the Dorje Chopa for friends (for free), or for nomad people (for goats). He knew how to make the paper, the ink and the brushes--remember there was no industrial revolution there. Once the supplies were made, the process of copying took several days.
The other texts that were recited were the Seven Supplications to Guru Rinpoche, the long sutra level Twenty one Taras, and the Manjushri supplication.
If you are curious what happened to the goats: The females were milked, the males were saved from slaughter.
Sitting here after our conversation it sparked a few thoughts for me. I am always thinking about the drop-out rate of Americans who are dropped right into the foundational practices (ngondro), and read the Words of My Perfect Teacher, when they get inspired by a Nyingmapa lama to start practicing and studying the Dharma. Our Nyingmapa lamas often see how educated we are (and how old we are) in America and want us to move ahead very quickly. This is perhaps more true of us than of other schools of Tibetan Buddhism. But we see here that classic Nyingma ngakpas started studying and practicing the Mahayana--albeit by rote--in childhood.
I wonder if it wouldn't be good for many of us to start by studying the Dorje Chopa, and these Guru Rinpoche and Tara supplications, in a cultural appropriate way, as a pre-ngondro. The great unifying master of the 20th century Nyingmapas, HH Dudjom Rinpoche made his own daily practice compilation (chos spyod) of these Mahayana teacings, practices and supplications, plus some mantrayana practices, which can be found in volume Tsa (18) of his collected works. As I understand it, all his people used this daily practice book. Yet, no one has translated this. Not sexy enough?
He said the name of the author of our text Yangchen Drupei Dorje, is a name he was awarded based on his mastery of the first two of the five outer knowledges. He could not remember the other name the author is known by. To the best of his memory, and he is not sure of this without looking it up, these five are (phonetically, via my tin ear)
Sum da--grammer
Yeng Nga--poems, songs
Nyon Ju--many names
Do Kar--drama
Kat-di--astrology
When Sum da and Yeng nga are accomplished, one is given a lovely name related to Manjushri or Saraswati. Yangchen in this particular author’s name refers to Saraswati. Saraswati is a knowledge-language--music related female Buddha.
Rinpoche was in school for two years as a child in the 1940’s, before that he was home schooled by his father. His father was a Tibetan lama who settled in Dolpo, Nepal. The family followed their lama Golok Serthar Rinpoche for a couple of years when he taught throughout Nepal. This nomadic community of practitioners arranged a group teachings for the children each day with an old lama named Dorje. These were considered to be Dharma teachings, but they were learning the language at the same time. Rinpoche did not come in contact with Divine Tree text until he was older. First, the kids learned the alphabet by reciting it out loud for several years. Then, I think they did some spelling out loud. What they did during this two years in this little school was recite texts out load, both alone and in groups, starting slow and gaining speed. They traced the letters as they recited, because otherwise they would be reciting from memory and not learning how to read and write. If they looked up they were reprimanded.
The texts they learned from were:
Dorje Chopa (Diamond Cutter Sutra)--Lay households had a shrine at home and at minimum it always had a Dorje Chopa text--if they could afford more they had a whole collection of texts including many mantras and sutras, called sung du. As a young person, Rinpoche would copy out the Dorje Chopa for friends (for free), or for nomad people (for goats). He knew how to make the paper, the ink and the brushes--remember there was no industrial revolution there. Once the supplies were made, the process of copying took several days.
The other texts that were recited were the Seven Supplications to Guru Rinpoche, the long sutra level Twenty one Taras, and the Manjushri supplication.
If you are curious what happened to the goats: The females were milked, the males were saved from slaughter.
Sitting here after our conversation it sparked a few thoughts for me. I am always thinking about the drop-out rate of Americans who are dropped right into the foundational practices (ngondro), and read the Words of My Perfect Teacher, when they get inspired by a Nyingmapa lama to start practicing and studying the Dharma. Our Nyingmapa lamas often see how educated we are (and how old we are) in America and want us to move ahead very quickly. This is perhaps more true of us than of other schools of Tibetan Buddhism. But we see here that classic Nyingma ngakpas started studying and practicing the Mahayana--albeit by rote--in childhood.
I wonder if it wouldn't be good for many of us to start by studying the Dorje Chopa, and these Guru Rinpoche and Tara supplications, in a cultural appropriate way, as a pre-ngondro. The great unifying master of the 20th century Nyingmapas, HH Dudjom Rinpoche made his own daily practice compilation (chos spyod) of these Mahayana teacings, practices and supplications, plus some mantrayana practices, which can be found in volume Tsa (18) of his collected works. As I understand it, all his people used this daily practice book. Yet, no one has translated this. Not sexy enough?
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