Rob Preece on the Practice of Tonglen

Before taking in other people’s pain, it’s sometimes wise to take in your own suffering. In the practice of tonglen—the sending of good thoughts and taking in of others’ suffering—it is often suggested that we should first become familiar with taking on and accepting our own suffering. This can be done simply by considering our own emotional or physical problems and then willingly accepting them as they are as we breathe in, rather than struggling against them and fighting ourselves. To make this more effective, it can be very helpful to visualize yourself in front of you and then spend time connecting to particular difficulties you might have. When working with clients who have suffered significant trauma or difficulties in childhood that are still emotionally disturbing, I have often suggested that people visualize themselves as that child in front of them. The person then spends time feeling into the nature of the childhood difficulties and eventually begins a process of tonglen. Meditating in this way has helped them to begin to love themselves with their wounding and pain rather than reject the child within because it is unacceptable. Another variety of practice is to reflect on problems or illnesses we experience currently and then recall all those whose suffering is probably equal or much worse. This may be very powerful if we are the kind of person who becomes depressed or downhearted when there are problems in our life. It helps us to realize that we are not the only one who is suffering in this way. It can aid us in letting go of the disposition to be caught in a self-preoccupied state. For example, if I have the flu or some similar ailment, I find it very useful to take on the suffering of all those who may be suffering in a similar way. On those occasions when I find myself laid out with illness, it is the one thing I can do that opens up my mind and my heart. Whatever the hardship is in our life, if we include it in our meditation, we can think of those around who are suffering just as much, if not worse. Our relationship to hardship and pain changes as we let go. It can feel less distressing and overwhelming. Our mind begins to open up and feel more spacious, and our heart can begin to feel a greater concern and compassion for those who suffer similarly. Adapted from The Courage to Feel: Buddhist Practices for Opening to Others by Rob Preece Books on Tonglen

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Understanding the "Four Orders" of Tibetan Buddhism

Being identified with one of the four orders—Geluk, Kagyu, Nyingma, or Sakya—may say less about one’s practices than we think, according to Ngawang Zangpo, translator of Jamgon Kongtrul’s The Treasury of Knowledge: Books 2-4: Buddhism’s Journey to Tibet, in this adaptation from his translator’s postscript. The four orders of Tibetan Buddhism are, simply put, institutions—containers that house diverse scriptural transmissions and lineages of meditation techniques. The institutions were likely founded with the intent to preserve and promote specific scriptures and meditations, yet those institutions’ missions invariably evolved over the centuries. For example, while Tilopa, Naropa, Marpa, and Milarepa—non-monks all—might view with astonishment the many Kagyu monastic networks erected in their name, Gampopa, Dusum Kyenpa, Pamo Drupa, and the others who founded those networks might be equally amazed at their modern content. What a strictly Kagyu practitioner learns today as the lineage’s core curriculum of theory and practice would hardly have been considered kosher in the founding fathers’ day. To identify anyone as affiliated with one of the four orders is fair—we all start somewhere. In Kalu Rinpoché’s case, he joined a Kagyu monastery during his adolescence and he would sometimes add the prefix “Karma” to his name in veneration of the Karmapa and his lineage. Nevertheless, after his early training, his three-year retreat course consisted of mostly non-Karma Kagyu meditations, and in his post-retreat-graduate period of education and meditation, he seems to have treated Tibetan Buddhism as a self-serve buffet from which he slowly but surely tried and savored just about everything. Some of us had the impression that at some point he reached the end of the path, about which he was fond of saying, “There is no such thing as a Nyingma, Sakya, Kagyu, or Géluk enlightenment, just enlightenment.” He worked tirelessly to give back to the institutions, mainly Kagyu, that had given him so much over the years, but he found it tiresome and limiting to be regarded as a Kagyu Buddha, even among a stellar group of other equally misidentified Kagyu, Nyingma, Sakya, and Géluk buddhas. Kalu Rinpoché did not live long enough to successfully supplant the “four orders” schema with the eightfold framework of meditation lineages that is more helpful in situating us in relation to our spiritual path in Tibetan Buddhism. An institution provides the setting, teachers, and companions that most of us need at the outset of our practice. Yet it is one of the eight lineages of meditation practice that we receive and follow, ideally in stages from the preliminary to the culminant practices. And having finished one course, we could then engage in another, and then another, to our heart’s content, without changing our affiliation and loyalty to the first institution we joined. Kalu Rinpoché remained a lifelong Kagyu lama whose mastery extended to most, if not all, the eight lineages of meditation practice. Like Jamgön Kongtrul before him, he lived as a happy spiritual omnivore, encouraged others to do the same once they had completed one path from start to finish, and expected at all times from his followers unfailing respect toward all spiritual traditions, Buddhist or non-Buddhist. One significant difference between the four-order and eight-lineage approaches is their respective locations: the four orders are centered in the Himalayas; the eight lineages of meditation exist mainly in the spiritual masters who embody them, and once you have received instruction in one of the lineages, it only really takes life wherever you sit on a meditation cushion or whenever their teachings’ wisdom intrudes upon the flow of your daily plans and preoccupations. Further, one cannot assume that monasteries labeled as belonging to a specific order will specialize in the teachings we might associate with that order. For example, the senior lamas of Kalu Rinpoché’s “Kagyu” monastery were likely to be most proficient in the Shangpa Doctrinal Lineage, whereas at Bokar Rinpoché’s “Kagyu” monastery, the greatest enthusiasm was reserved for Vajra Yoga, the lineage of meditation instructions related to the Wheel of Time (Kalachakra). Other “Kagyu” monasteries seem to feature a preponderance of Ancient Lineage rituals and practices in their programs. Some “Nyingma” groups focus on Severance practices, as do some Kagyus. If the institutions are unpredictable in orientation, the same and more can be said for individuals, whose lifelong dedication to the Buddhist path can be expressed in many different rites, liturgies, and practices. Among “organized religions,” Buddhism is the least organized, but I do not mean to suggest that its Tibetan strain has descended into chaos and anarchy. Yet if one is only armed with the organizing principle of “four orders,” one will soon be confronted with many inconvenient facts of lived faith that are clearly incompatible with that framework. If one instead learns and retains the eight lineage template, everything that may have seemed incongruous and haphazard in Himalayan meditation practice can be understood as part of a larger, coherent system. It is this system that Kongtrul introduces to us here, to the detriment of the four-order scheme, which does not merit a single explicit mention in this chapter. The four-order scheme can be useful as long as its field of usage is identified and that it is wielded gently and mindfully. It is not a precision instrument. My personal preference is to mentally adopt the Chinese names for the four Tibetan orders. In the place of our transliterated Tibetan names—Nyingma, Sakya, Kagyu, and Géluk—the Chinese use their own words for the four: red, multicolored, white, and yellow. These terms seem like code, and they are in fact ingenious in that they identify all we can know for sure without further enquiry concerning any specific monastery: the color of its exterior walls. (To explain “multicolored,” Sakyas paint a single horizontal, multicolored stripe around their buildings.) When I meet a Nyingma, all I can safely assume about her is that she and her spiritual community gather to learn, reflect, meditate, and worship in a red building; if Géluk, in a yellow one. That system has the virtues of simplicity, ease of use, and accuracy, but I don’t expect it to gain any currency: we are not yet close enough to Tibet to comfortably call things by our own names. Jamgön Kongtrul Lodrö Taye (1813–1900) was a versatile and prolific scholar and one of the most outstanding writers and teachers of his time in Tibet. He was a pivotal figure in eastern Tibet’s nonsectarian movement and made major contributions to education, politics, and medicine. Ngawang Zangpo (Hugh Leslie Thompson) completed two three-year retreats under the direction of the late Kalu Rinpoche. He is presently working on a number of translation projects that were initiated under the direction of Chadral Rinpoche and Lama Tharchin Rinpoche. He has also contributed to Kalu Rinpoche's translation group's books Myriad Worlds and Buddhist Ethics. Discover more from our Reader Guide to Jamgön Kongtrul Lodro Taye Other Related Reader Guides: The Treasury of Knowledge Resource Guide A Guide to the Treasury of Precious Instructions   Books by Jamgon Kongtrul Lodro Taye

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Alexander Berzin on the Tulku Tradition

The following excerpt is from Wise Teacher, Wise Student by Alexander Berzin The word tulku means a network of emanations (Skt. nirmanakaya, emanation body). Not only do fully enlightened Buddhas generate and appear as an array of emanations, so do advanced practitioners of the highest class of tantra. The array they generate is called a network of pathway-level emanations. The founders of lines of tulkus, then, may have achieved any level of spiritual attainment ranging from part of the generation stage to Buddhahood. Thus, they do not even need to have attained straightforward nonconceptual perception of reality (voidness, emptiness, the absence of impossible ways of existing). In short, only a tiny fraction of the founders of tulku lines comprises enlightened beings. For this reason, the majority of tulkus still have negative karmic potentials in addition to a vast network of positive instincts (collection of merit). Depending on the circumstances of their upbringing and the societies in which they live, different potentials come to the fore and ripen in each lifetime. Thus, some tulkus may act in completely unenlightened ways. Nevertheless, by the force of the death-juncture meditation and prayers of the founders of their lines, their next incarnations may still be as rinpocheys, located and recognized by the masters who have determined that to do so would have special benefit. This may occur even if the tulkus in question failed to perform death-juncture meditation when they died. In short, as His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama stressed at the 1988 conference of tulkus in exile, just because tulkus bear famous names does not mean that they qualify now as spiritual mentors. It merely signifies that they are the reincarnations of great spiritual masters and have been born with enormous amounts of positive potential. Tulkus need to prove themselves as mentors now, through their attainments in this lifetime… Because of inherited potentials, reincarnate lamas naturally command respect. Nevertheless, circumstances may not allow full activation of those potentials or may not be conducive for their optimal use. For example, because a rinpochey may still be a child, the potentials may enable the boy or girl merely to advance quickly. Occasionally, excessive reverence shown by followers may act as the circumstance merely for success in power politics or empire building. In some cases, inordinate deference, lavish gifts, and high expectations may even spoil young rinpocheys or activate negative potentials for them to rebel when older. Differentiating the term reincarnate lama from lama—either in its meaning as a spiritual mentor or as a living Buddha—can help prevent disappointment. Alexander Berzin received a PhD from Harvard University in 1972 from the Departments of Far Eastern Languages and Sanskrit and Indian Studies. A member of the Translation Bureau of the Library of Tibetan Works and Archives since 1972, he is the author of numerous books and articles. He frequently travels to the Americas, Central and Eastern Europe, Central Asia, Africa, and the Middle East, lecturing on Buddhism and Tibetan culture and helping to establish programs of co-operation between the Tibetan community and academic and religious institutions. Books on the Tulku Tradition

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His Holiness Drikung Chetsang Rinpoche on Body Posture

How we sit, stand, and hold our body affects our mind—which is of importance especially during meditation. This excerpt from The Practice of Mahamudra by Drikung Kyabgon Chetsang Rinpoche concisely describes the subtle effects of placements of the hands, tongue, and so forth. "It is very important to know what to do with the body while engaging in various types of meditation. First, there is the teaching on the sevenfold posture of Buddha Vairochana. The first of the seven aspects is the placement of the legs. In this posture, the legs are crossed in the lotus position, also called the vajra position. This position has many benefits. The benefit discussed in this context is that of redirecting one of the five winds. There are five main winds in the body. One is called the downward-clearing wind. Normally this wind is involved in all of the processes of evacuating things from the body, like the bowels, the urine, and so forth. It is responsible for anything that is pushed downward and out the lower orifices. Regarding its function for the mind, it is engaged in the activity of the kleshas (poisons): greed, hatred, ignorance, jealousy, and pride. Of these five, the downward-clearing wind is most connected with the klesha of jealousy. Placing the legs in the vajra position inhibits, or blocks, the function of jealousy and in general redirects the force of the downward-clearing wind to the central channel, thereby clarifying mind and inhibiting the klesha of jealousy. Next, the hands are folded together, palm upward, right on top of the left. The thumbs are held over the palms. The position of the right palm should be four finger-widths below the navel. This hand position redirects the force of the wind which is associated with the water element. By inhibiting its movement, by redirecting it to the central channel, the klesha of anger is inhibited. Next, the spine is set very straight, not leaning one way or the other, forward or back, but completely straight up and down. You should visualize it as a stack of coins one on top of the other, all the way up the length of the spine such that it would fall over if it leaned one way or the other. The shoulders should be held back a bit, opening up the chest. This is said to be like a soaring bird with its wings stretched back, but don’t hold them too far back, just a little. Another way to think of this posture is that you are holding your chest out ward and shoulders slightly back. This causes the wind associated with the earth element to enter the central channel, thereby inhibiting the klesha of delusion. The chin is held slightly downward and the tongue is held up towards the palate near the base of the upper front teeth. The teeth are held slightly open so air can pass between the upper and lower teeth, so don’t clench the jaw. All of this influences the wind associated with the fire element, causing it to enter the central channel and inhibit the klesha of desire. The eyes should be generally directed at a spot four finger-widths in front of the tip of the nose and slightly down ward. Gently, softly focus at that spot about an arm’s length in front of your nose. The eyes should not be wide open, just gently look in that direction. This influences the wind associated with the space element, causing it to enter the central channel and inhibit the klesha of pride. This position of the body is very important because the channels within the body will follow the external disposition of the body. The way the body is placed will set the channels; and the winds, of course, flow inside the channels, so if they are properly set, the winds will flow properly. Mind follows the wind. To focus the mind properly, the winds must also be functioning properly. The closest association between the mind and the winds comes through the eyes. The focus, or disposition, of the eyes is influenced by the winds, which in turn influence mind, so it is very important how the eyes are focused. For the beginner, it’s easiest for the gaze to be directed somewhat downward and in front of you. A more advanced practice takes place with the eyes focused more straight ahead, and some highly advanced practices involve looking somewhat upward. There is also an association between the various practices and various goals or attainments. The manifestation body, nirmanakaya, is associated with the gaze directed downward, sambhogakaya straight ahead, and dharmakaya with the gaze directed slightly upward. The direction and focus of the eyes is important depending on one’s disposition and the relative predominance of the elements. The four elements are of different strengths in different individuals. Some individuals are said to have a relatively greater amount of the earth element, for instance. Such a person will tend to relax and easily fall asleep, get drowsy very easily. For that type of person, it’s good to focus the eyes somewhat upward which will help keep them from falling into lethargy and sleep. Others, whose minds are constantly disturbed by random thoughts or excited thoughts, should look downward to help gain control over that process." His Holiness Chetsang Rinpoche is the thirty-seventh Drikung Kyabgon head of the Drikung Kagyu order of Tibetan Buddhism. He has worked tirelessly to renew and spread its scholarly and meditative traditions in many countries, including the United States. He lives at the seat of the Drikung Kagyu order in Dehra Dun, India. Books from the Drikung Kagyu Tradition

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Nyoshul Khen Rinpoche on How Not to Get Lost on the Direct Path

Although—or perhaps because—Dzogchen is a “pathless path,” practitioners can sometimes go astray. In this excerpt, adapted from Natural Great Perfection, Nyoshul Khenpo gives essential guidance on how not to get side-tracked. If one practices the incredibly rare and profound teaching of Dzogchen, nondual Dzogchen, with an intention like this: “I want Dzogchen, I want enlightenment. I’m going to get it in this life,” and there is a great deal of grasping, pushy, small-minded selfishness, how can there be any Dzogchen? This is the very antithesis of the vast, unconditional openness of Dzogchen. This is how we stray from the true path and become wild practitioners and even become crazy. If self-clinging, self-cherishing, and clinging to the reality of things remains strong, how can there be any genuine Dzogchen, which is the true natural state of freedom, openness, and primordial perfection? If you practice bodhicitta practices—mind training, loving-kindness prayers, exchanging oneself and others (tong len), and so forth—these practices may seem conceptual and relative, but they actually include the absolute truth that is the very nature of Dzogchen: vast openness, big mind, purity, freedom, and non-grasping. Unselfishness is no different than that nondual openness, vast emptiness, shunyata. Dzogchen may be as primordially pure and ever unaffected as the virgin snow, but approaching it with mixed motivation or impure selfish aspiration is a great limitation. When you urinate in the snow, the snow starts white, but suddenly it’s yellow. The word for bodhicitta in Tibetan is sem kye. This literally means “the opening or blossoming of the mind.” It is the opposite of small mind, of self-preoccupation, self-contraction, and narrowness. Whatever practice-path we find ourselves on—be it Dzogchen, Vajrayana, the Bodhisattvayana, the fundamental Theravadin Vehicle, or another spiritual path—if we have a pure, wholesome attitude and a spacious and tolerant mind, then our practice is really Buddhist practice; it is in line with practice that really blossoms and unties the mind. This is the real meaning of bodhicitta. It may be that the sky is always limpid, clear, vast, infinite, and so on, but when the moment of Dzogchen arrives it is as if the sun has suddenly risen. It is not that the sky of our inherent nature has improved, but something definitely does seem to happen. This metaphor of the rising sun refers to the rangjung yeshe, the spontaneous, self-born awareness wisdom or innate wakefulness dawning within our nature. This is the moment of Dzogchen, the dawn of the self-arisen awareness wisdom, innate wisdom. This is the meaning of what is called in Tibetan nyur de dzogpa chenpo, meaning “swift and comfy innate Great Perfection”—a path that does not require austerities or arduous practices. It is direct, swift, spacious, natural, and comfy. It is doable! In one lifetime, in one body, even in one instant of self-arisen awareness, this dawn of Vajrasattva—the self-born innate awareness wisdom—shines forth like a blazing inner sun. When you relate to this self-arisen innate awareness wisdom, when you practice Dzogchen as it actually is, this fleeting human existence is instantaneously made meaningful. And not just this life, but all our lives are made meaningful, as well as the lives of all those who have been connected with us. This experience of the natural state of the luminous innate Great Perfection implies the annihilation, the crashing into dust, of all forms of self-clinging and duality, of clinging to the concrete reality of things, to their appearances. The inherent freedom of being is spontaneously, primordially present. All delusory perceptions are naturally nonexistent in this dawn of innate awareness wisdom. The proliferation of karma and klesha is based on dualistic clinging, ignorance: in the light of nondual awareness, the kleshas do not obtain. Everything “falls apart” because it is inherently unborn from the beginning; and the freedom of perfect being, of rigpa, spontaneously present since the beginningless beginning, is clearly and thoroughly realized in that very moment. It is easy to stray into sidetracks in this vast, luminous profundity. Of course we know that we need a vast, open, altruistic bodhi-mind. We can see that the innate Great Perfection, the ultimate nature of things, is beyond the conceptual mind and its dualistic perceptions. But still—here the deviation point comes in—still we are spying, searching in a very constricted and pointed way, wondering: What is Dzogchen? Where is Dzogchen? What is it? I want to perceive and experience it. This is natural, but it precedes the recognition of our true nature. This is a deviation point that, after recognition, is not necessary to indulge in. It is like after meeting and getting to know someone, one doesn’t have to think too much to imagine what that person looks like or is like: there is an intuitive freedom from such doubts and speculations, and one gets on with more direct, firsthand appreciation. We can make many productive inquiries, such as, when a thought arises, noticing: That’s a thought. Where does it arise from? Where is it going? Where did it go? Where is the gap or open space between thoughts that I heard about in Mahamudra teachings, which I’m supposed to recognize? This has little to do with actual Dzogchen practice: this is mind practice, mind-made meditation, not rigpa practice per se. Yet these questions are part of the explicit preliminaries to Dzogchen practice and help one to distinguish between mind (sems) and innate wakefulness (rigpa). The danger is that we hear too much too soon. We think we have understood shunyata, err on the side of the absolute in a nihilistic fashion, and are obscured by concepts. Nagarjuna said, “It is sad to see those who mistakenly believe in material, concrete reality, but far more pitiful are those who believe in emptiness.” Those who believe in things can be helped through various kinds of practice, through the way of skillful means, but those who have fallen into the abyss of emptiness find it almost impossible to re-emerge, since there seem to be no handholds, no steps, no gradual progression, and nothing to do.

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Ringu Tulku on Tonglen Practice to Deal with Fear

In this excerpt from Mind Training, Ringu Tulku teases out some of the issues that we face when doing Tonglen practice—metabolizing the suffering within and around us, and using it for spiritual practice. The Tibetan word tonglen means “giving and taking” and this simple and short exchange is essential for releasing us from suffering and generating compassion. Both our fear and our desire are directly provoked by the tonglen meditation and it is an especially direct and effective way of dealing with aversion. We deliberately face all the things we dislike and dread. This takes courage. We imagine taking in and eliminating the hardship and pain that we have previously fought against and tried to run away from. The pleasures of wealth, power, and health that we wished for ourselves we now send to others. This totally counteracts our normal behavior and puts us on a collision course with the ego. Accepting and enduring negative things and daring to let them happen to us dispels both their harmful effects and our own anger and hatred. It makes adversity less frightening. We do not cause suffering or seek it out. We take up whatever suffering is around us, transforming it in the “giving and taking” exercise so that no one else will be injured by it and the negativity which already exists in the world is reduced. Thinking of our family and friends, the people we love—both alive and dead—our acquaintances, strangers, and even our enemies, we resolve to work on conquering all their misery and bad karma. It would not be possible to give out such positive energy unless we felt positive ourselves, and the more we exchange good things for bad, the better we feel. We are the source of healing and happiness. Our generosity and concern pacify every negative situation. As we send out kindness, we grow accustomed to being strong and kind. In this way, our positive feelings are constantly renewed and can never be exhausted. Perhaps you know the story about the man who arrived in heaven and when asked by God where he wanted to go replied that he wanted to see both heaven and hell. First, he went to hell. There was a large table with all the inhabitants of hell sitting around it. The center of the table was full of delicious food. Each person had two very long chopsticks. They could reach the food but they could not get it into their mouths because their chopsticks were too long. They were miserable. No one was eating and everyone went hungry. Next he was taken to visit heaven. All the inhabitants of heaven were also sitting around a big table full of delicious food but they were happy. They too had very long chopsticks but they were eating and enjoying themselves. They used the chopsticks to feed each other across the table. The people in heaven had discovered that it was in their interest to collaborate unselfishly. Tonglen subdues our fear. What frightens us most is the thought of being afraid. That is the greatest fear. Nothing puts us in more danger than our own mind and when what we are frightened of actually happens, it is never as bad as we imagined. There is no protection against fear. Even when we think that we have found some safety, we still wonder if our defenses are reliable and this uncertainty destroys our security. We create fear and we can uncreate it. It is a habit that can be broken. A good remedy against fear is to actively provoke it. Instead of feeling helpless we confront our worst fear. If you are frightened of losing something, give it away. If heights scare you, climb to a high place. If you are terrified of speaking in public, stand before an audience. This is the simplest way of mastering fear. “Train in taking and sending. These two should ride the breath.” The exchange we make between ourselves and others is based on the breath. As we exhale we send out all our good fortune and well-being into the world around us. Breathing in again we absorb all the suffering of others, taking every sad and uncomfortable aspect of life upon ourselves. All the negativity in the world is visualized either as a cloud of dust or black smoke, almost as a form of pollution. This enters our body through the nose and settles in our heart. It purifies and eats away all our own fear, aversion, and ignorance instantly. Like the sun coming out, our alaya nature arises as bright, radiant light. Healing and purifying us from within, it totally erases every trace of negativity. Breathing out, positive energy, joy, wisdom, and purity stream from our heart as light towards all beings. It touches them and they are well, happy, and free. Our first attempts to practice tonglen may go better if we hold in our mind someone who has been very loving towards us. They feel so dear to us that we willingly take on their negativity and pain. Drawing their sorrows in and sending back to them our peaceful and protective qualities, we remove all their suffering. During the meditation it is important to breathe normally and it is not necessary to make the exchange with each and every breath. Negativity is an illusion and a symptom of our mistaken view of things, so taking on negativity cannot possibly harm us or put us at any risk. We are the cause of healing. Our focus is not on suffering but on creating complete freedom from suffering. Tonglen does not threaten anything except our ego. The anxiety that we may be injured by the exchange only develops because our aversion is intensified by the meditation. Remember that the greatest source of suffering is our aversion to suffering and when we take on this aversion fearlessly, meeting it in an inclusive way, it becomes a friend and an ally.

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The truth, and nothing but the truth-except sometimes

The following excerpt is adapted from  Buddhism for Busy People by David Michie The average American lies 25 times a day, according to recent statistics. Does Buddhism say that lying is always wrong? This excerpt, adapted from David Michie’s Buddhism for Busy People, takes a look at the surprising complexities of perfecting ethical behaviors. Day one on your five-star African safari, and you and your friends are about to enjoy a banquet in the bush. It’s lunchtime on a balmy granite outcrop. You’re set up in the perfect spot—all cane furniture, white tablecloths and spectacular views. Everything seems perfect—until there’s a commotion, and a buck suddenly comes bounding through the undergrowth. Catching sight of the group, it immediately veers left, charging back into the elephant grass. You’re a bit taken aback, but not unduly. But half a minute after the buck has disappeared, there’s another scramble through the bush—this time it’s a game warden that appears, followed by a panting, pink-faced hunter, rifle at the ready. “Which way did it go?” they shout. A simple question, but answering it isn’t so straightforward. And if you’re a Buddhist it could present you with a significant ethical dilemma. Do you create black karma by telling a lie? Or do you tell the truth, and assist in the likely killing of a sentient being? This is not my ethical brain-teaser, but Buddha’s, one he used to illustrate the fact that ethical issues are often far from straightforward. Which does not excuse us from trying to practice ethics, but does recognize that lists of “dos” and “don’ts” aren’t always foolproof, and that there is a more important factor that should always be considered. Buddhism encourages us to get real about ethics. While practicing the first perfection of generosity can be transformational, if generosity is combined with slippery ethics the end result is unlikely to make us happy. So closely are the first two perfections related that they are sometimes likened to a bird’s wings—both necessary to achieve lift-off. As Buddha suggested, there is nothing straightforward about ethics, even when we try to do the right thing. In the business world, notions like corporate responsibility, triple bottom line reporting, accountability and transparency suggest we are moving into a more ethical age. But the collapse of global accountancy firms, oil firms and IT companies remind us how easily ethical standards can be compromised. We might like to tell ourselves we do the right thing, but sometimes it’s only when a mirror is held up to our face that we are confronted by the unattractive truth. Even if we want to do the right thing, we may be concerned that by adhering to high ethics we’ll put ourselves in a weak situation. If we work in an industry where everyone else “exaggerates,“ what will become of us if we don’t? If we reveal every source of income to the tax department, how can that possibly benefit us at the financial year end? The karmic pay-off in our next lifetime may be wonderful, but who is going to pay this year’s school fees? Buddhism encourages us to analyze ethics from the perspectives of both the disadvantages of non-practice and the advantages of practice. To quote Geshe Loden, “The Buddha said that wishing for liberation but creating non-virtue is like a blind man looking in a mirror—a pointless exercise.” Just as the man’s visual handicap prevents him from seeing anything in a literal sense, an ethical handicap will prevent us from seeing the truth in our dharma practice. We can spend as many hours as we like in silent meditation, but if we also engage in duplicitous activities we might as well not bother. The happiness that derives from ethics is not all about delayed gratification. People who are truly ethical—as opposed to merely sanctimonious—are frequently the most pleasant to be around. They are open, rather than guarded, because they don’t have to conceal things. They are relaxed, free from the concern that past actions may come back to haunt them. So the happiness that comes from good ethics isn’t all in the future, it is also here and now. The practice of ethics is a vast subject within Buddhism, and includes eighteen root and 46 branch bodhichitta vows, starting with that most universally broken injunction against praising yourself and denigrating others. However, not even this framework provides all the answers to the troubling ethical issues that underlie contemporary headlines about economic refugees, stem cell research and nuclear waste disposal, let alone such age-old controversies as abortion and euthanasia. Buddha did provide a useful principle, however, which he illustrated with his hunters and the buck story. In such circumstances, he said, the right ethical choice was to mislead the hunters about where the buck went in order to save its life. What really counts, he said, is motivation. The motivation to save the life of a sentient being is more important than the motivation to keep a vow of truthfulness which, in the circumstances, would have been a meaningless accomplishment. David Michie is a corporate communications consultant, published novelist, and Buddhist practitioner. He lives in Perth, Australia. Books by David Michie

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Dzogchen Teachings

The following excerpt is from Dzogchen Teachings by Chögyal Namkhai Norbu Vajra The symbol of Tantra is the vajra, which has five points at both ends and a sphere in the middle. That sphere, or thigle, represents our potentiality, which means that our real condition is beyond limitations and any kind of division into this aspect or that. At the relative level there are manifestations of all kinds of aspects, and the two main aspects are impure and pure vision, which we normally call samsara and nirvana. In the Sutra teachings they are referred to as relative and absolute truth respectively, while in Tantra impure vision corresponds to the five aggregates, and pure vision to the five Sambhogakaya Buddhas. In the symbol of the vajra, both these aspects are linked to the central sphere, which reminds us that in a real sense both of them are our own nature, our own energy. Energy is part of our real nature. Transformation Based on this recognition of energy as being part of our own nature, the Tantric teachings work with the path of transformation. When we speak of transformation it means that we understand the true value of things. At the level of samsara or impure vision we have the five emotions, but in Tantra we understand that their inherent nature is energy. That energy is our real nature. Only the ways that energy manifests are different. That which manifests as the five passions when we have impure vision, manifests as the five wisdoms in pure vision. In the central sphere or thigle of the vajra both of its seemingly opposite ends join, showing that pure and impure vision, afflictions and wisdoms, are both aspects of our own energy. At the level of the thigle there is no difference between the two manifestations. That is the knowledge of Tantric teachings. Continuation Why is this level of teaching and practice called Tantra? The real meaning of Tantra is “continuation,” or “continuity,” something continuing without interruption, which is considered our real nature. But what is it that continues? And how? We can discover this by observing ourselves. For example, if we observe ourselves we know that we have thoughts. If we observe attentively where the thought is, where it arises from and where it disappears to, we can search for a long time but we won’t find anything concrete. What we find in the end is always emptiness because that is the basis of our condition. When we try to find our thoughts, we find this base from where thoughts proceed. Even if we find the base, that doesn’t mean that our thoughts disappear forever. After a few seconds we have another thought. We can observe it again but we won’t find anything. We can do this research for many days, but we will find only emptiness. At the same time, we also have countless thoughts which are continually arising. This continuation of thought is also part of our condition, and in this way we can find that our condition is the alternation of thoughts and emptiness. Emptiness is the base, and thoughts are its manifestation. This manifestation occurs because there is a continuation of energy. Since this is so, how can we remain in our real nature? If we think a little of how thoughts arise, sometimes it seems that there is a connection between one thought and the next, but in the real sense they are not connected, there is always an empty space between two thoughts. If we are doing practice like Shine—the meditation practice used to develop a calm state—sometimes we can discover that this empty space is experienced for a longer duration, and we can stay for some seconds in it without any thought arising in the mind. We have a longer experience of emptiness, and then we notice that a thought arises again. Without practice, just observing the ordinary way we habitually think, it is sometimes not so easy to discover this empty space; but in the real sense thoughts and empty space are always alternating continuously whether we are aware of this or not. That continuity is our real nature, and that is what is meant by Tantra. Tantra means our real condition. When you say the word Tantra or speak about it you already have recognition of your own energy. The commitment of Tantra, particularly of the Higher Tantra, is to train ourselves to remain in pure vision. If you transform into a deity, whether it be peaceful, wrathful or joyful—depending on your root emotion—transforming your impure vision in this way into pure vision, you are applying that method. When you use this method according to the Tantric point of view, you are always working with pure vision. If, for example, you are working with your anger, and in order to transform that passion, you visualize yourself as a wrathful manifestation, when you make that transformation, you are in pure vision and are no longer bound up in impure vision. When you are angry with someone in the ordinary dualistic state of mind, you are caught up in thinking that that person is very bad and that you don’t like him or her; you are angry and charged and develop that emotion. This is impure vision. The anger that you feel is your own energy, so it is not necessary that you stop it. You can transform your feeling so that instead of being angry with someone you transform this anger into a wrathful manifestation. You don’t manifest as a wrathful form to fight with that person. You are simply no longer caught up in that impure vision. You are in pure vision, so that even if you were to continue for hours and hours in your feeling of anger you would have no problems. This is an example of how to use your pure vision. Training in pure vision is the samaya or commitment of the Tantric teachings. That is good also for Dzogchen practitioners. For example, if you see your Vajra brothers and sisters as enlightened beings, as if they were your teacher, you will never have problems with them. On the other hand, if you always think that it’s him or her that is creating difficulties, you will always have problems. Thus it is very useful to train a little in pure vision according to the Tantric system. This is why we also need this knowledge and understanding. Of course the methods of the various levels of the path are different. In Tantra we use transformation methods, whereas in Dzogchen the method used is that of self-liberation. If you understand how Tantric methods work, when you learn the method of self-liberation as it is practiced in Dzogchen, you can better understand what the difference is between them. Chögyal Namkhai Norbu is a Tibetan master of the Dzogchen tradition. He has been a professor at the Oriental Institute of the University of Naples, Italy, and is the author of many books, including The Crystal and the Way of Light, The Supreme Source, and Dzogchen: The Self-Perfected State. Books by Chogyal Namkhai Norbu

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