Nalanda University: we mention it so often in Tibetan Buddhism. BBC says, “More than 500 years before Oxford University was founded, India’s Nalanda University was home to nine million books and attracted 10,000 students from around the world.”
Read the brief but informative article here. There a handful of awesome photos, too, showing the remains of the buildings.
You may need to create a BBC free account. I did. It took less and one minute.
Saturday, December 3, Lama David Curtis will present a free 1-hour lecture by Zoom on a verse from the 37 Practices of a Bodhisattva, explaining each word and how Tibetan is put together.
This is a wonderful way to stay connected to Tibetan and the Dharma during the Holidays. Click here to learn more and to register for the free lecture.
We would be delighted if you joined the group on December 3rd. Please let your Dharma friends and Dharma centers know about this lecture: Forward this message to a friend
May our minds be enriched, our connections deepened, and our love expanded for the benefit of all.
With all good wishes for a peaceful and joyous Thanksgiving,
Deanna Curtis – Tibetan Language Institute
I leave for Asia on December 29th and return early February. I may not have access to email while I am there, so you’ll need to rely on sangha members to answer questions. I’ll send out more information about all that in December.
In the meantime, I plan to make a trip to Patan, a suburb of Kathmandu, to look at ‘rupas’ statues of Buddhas and yidams like Green Tara. Patan still makes some of the best bronze, gold, silver and copper Buddhist statues in the world. If you were thinking to get one, I could have a look for you and let you know the price. A 5″ statue of good quality used to be about $350, but I suspect they are upwards of $500 at this time–possibly even more, so it’s a serious investment.
On the other hand, for $200 – $300 one can probably get a decent statue. These items are mental, so expensive to ship, so if you got one, you’d have to cover shipping, too, though I can have it shipped from Kathmandu.
I have it in my mind to possibly make a second dharma trip to Nepal in fall, 2023, so that’s another possibility for acquiring a statue or thangka. I’ve been mulling over the possibility of taking a group for 7-10 days. Kind of a loosely guided tour, if there are people in our community interested in that kind of thing. You could stay longer, but this would give you support for your first days in the country.
Let me know if you want to learn more about statues or thangkas from Nepal.
We’re in the final stages of preparing a Zoom talk for members of our Dekeling community with Lama Sarah Harding, author of several best-selling books on Buddhism. This talk is not an open public event, and is more meant for folks at Dekeling who come on Mondays and practice with our community, at any level from beginner to advanced. Registration will be required to get the link and recording. Stay tuned for more information. The talk is likely to be in February.
Best wishes as fall transforms into winter,
Lekshe
This will likely be quite good.
“The Sutra of the Heart of the Transcendent Perfection of Wisdom” or “The Heart Sutra” in short, encapsulates the topic of the Prajnaparamita (Transcendent Perfection of Wisdom) Sutra on the unerring paths of methods taught in all Sutras. The infallible meaning of the entire essence of the vast and profound Prajnaparamita Sutra is brought together here in this one Sutra—The Heart Sutra. Thus, it is that when listening, contemplating and meditating on The Heart Sutra are practiced to their ultimate end, the great unsurpassable knowledge naturally and directly manifests. All sufferings are completely pacified. The unequalled states of liberation and omniscience of Arhats, Bodhisattvas, and Buddhas are attained. As a result, one shall definitely abide in the undeceiving Genuine Reality.
The teacher is DRUPON KHENPO LODRO NAMGYAL has a combination of immense learning and intensive meditation that is clearly evident in his teachings. His way of making the most complex and subtle Dharma subjects immediately accessible is a constant inspiration to all.
The link is at the top of this page. It has free options and donation options.
a poem by Mary Oliver
I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally, I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.
One of three journal posts I wrote on the three and a half years I was in long retreat.
Little bird tracks. Squirrel tracks. Mouse tracks. Slippers and boots and some large, unidentified paw prints. There is a fine dust of snow on the breeze way, and there is a map of who’s been where since the last snow fall. It’s January and we leave nuts and seeds for the animals.
Somehow the birds know exactly when to come. The Stellar Jays are looking for butter. They will find it and when they call out, their companions will join them. They are electric blue, noisy and smart. Some of the animals come in the night. The small ones. The vulnerable ones that can’t run fast enough to escape the swift and shadowy birds of prey. They have taken tiny bites out of the tormas. They have taken their time in the luxury of darkness. Two friends have stopped for a conversation on their way to their cabins. I know the imprints of their shoes. Maybe it was uncomfortable; they shifted a lot. Maybe they were cold.
In summer, these same animals come and go, but their wandering is invisible. But in winter, every step leaves a trace. Their footprints are a kind of calligraphic map of their movement.
I go to my room. I stop at the door and look back down the breeze way. There are my footprints: same old slippers as last year, mouse-eaten wool. The soles are worn on the outside edges. I can see I stopped near the big tree and turned to face the kitchen. I had forgotten something.
It’s all there in the footprints, frozen for anyone to see.
(On three year retreat I thought I would keep a journal. There was no time. Well, perhaps there was time, but it soon became clear that there were better things to do with the time. But I did write two essays. this and one other.)
I am mid-way through a three and a half hour Vajrayana ritual service, and I am standing in front of the shrine. The group is chanting at lightning pace. I have approached the shrine in my role as ritual master. I have pulled my tsen–my shawl–up over my left forearm, but I realize I have no idea what comes next. I am asleep.
The shrine is crowded with tentors–colorful, abstract sculptures that are the deities we practice. There are offering bowls and ‘skull cups’ and spoons and candles and incense. There are flowers and food and water–perfumed and plain. There is an endless variety of brocade and piles of rice and dough and brass thing-a-ma-bobs. There is no clue what comes next.
I count. There are fifty things on the shrine. I know the function and meaning of each one, at least to some degree. I have used them, and I know in which hand they are held, and the arc and angle of the hand as it performs its ritual task. Though I have some comfort–and unfortunately, some pride–in knowing these things, this knowledge does not tell me what comes next.
I am listening. The music was cleverly arranged, centuries ago, to give me a narrative clue, wasn’t it? We are living a vajra life in this service. We are born, we meet beings, we do things together and then we dissolve back into nothingness; just as we do in our embodied lives. The music tells the story. The words, chanted in Tibetan, tell the story. The mudras and mantras and even the structure and sequence of the ritual all have embedded meaning as a support for the intended experiences.
We live and die in this world of mind–but ritually, with explicit intention. We create it and we know it. It is an exercise, created by enlightened beings, to bring us out of sleep and into awakened mind. The chant leader picks up the rolmos, the heavy, solemn Tibetan cymbals, and begins to keep time with the chanting. I feel the vibration in my chest. Suddenly my right hand knows what to do. Only seconds have passed since I stood up and came to the shrine. I am awake.
Form is a container inside which we practice. Every moment has meaning and consequence. We practice a form over and over–thousands and thousands of times. Inside the form, each person expresses their individuality. A simple gesture like an offering held in two hands above the head is different for each of us, and different each time we do it–but only if you look very carefully.
It’s possible to do an entire ritual while sleeping. I have done it, I think. I have woken up while extinguishing the candles in an empty shrine room and wondered how it was possible to sleep while standing, while walking, while reciting long passages of un-memorized text. Is it possible to live an entire life like that–completely asleep? The body knows what to do. The mouth speaks, but spiritual intelligence is absent. We are vacant. Automated, but empty. The whole culture moves and carries you along, drowsy and anesthetized. It is possible, I think to myself. I have narrowly escaped it. I am sweeping the rice from the shrine room floor. I feel the weight of my body shifting from left foot to right, the small muscles of my hands guiding the broom. The handle is smooth and worn.
It is snowing outside. A small bird sits on the fence, its head tilted, as if to listen. My breathing is even and relaxed. I like sweeping, and I say to myself, “I am awake.”
Someone sent me this photo just now. This is Jan “Chozen” Bays, Roshi, a bright star of the Buddhadharma, a living, breathing example of “the Great Vow” of compassion.
Many of my closest dharma friends are approaching their twilight years. Nearly all of them have devoted their last five to six decades to serving the dharma. These lights are at their most brilliant. Are you seeking out their retreats and teachings? Are you engaging with their their books, their podcasts, their YouTube videos? Are you getting this nectar while it is dropping like dew onto your path? I would trade 10 minutes with any of these teachers for a whole day with most people I respect and admire.
I remember having a conversation a few years back with a dharma student of my own generation. She said something along the lines of, “All those years I had such generous and free access to (our teacher). I so wish I had known then what I know now: that that great realization, great compassion, that was available to me for years was slipping quickly away.” She went on to say that he was so ‘ordinary’ that she had not appreciated the preciousness of contact with his awakening mind. She had treated their relating like an ordinary friendship and had frittered away time with trivial conversation about movies and boyfriends. Suddenly, sitting on retreat, she realized this, and felt a great shock and sadness at her innocent mistake. She was grieved by having been offered unfettered access and having treated it like the most mundane meetings on her schedule: no preparation, no follow through, not much gratitude or depth of engagement.
Time is marching onward, friends. There are people in your life who are great benefactors, but only if you reach for what is being so freely offered. Contact with a living teacher is a hundred times more potent than a book. That candle burning so brightly?
It will not last. It will not last. It will not last. Wake up.
What are the primary roles of the lama in a dharma community? The answer depends, of course, upon the community. Let’s consider Dekeling, the community some of us know best.
You might remember in my talk on Sunday with Ken McLeod that we briefly touched on this; so let’s rewind to that. Both of us agree that the three key roles of a teacher are
In order for all of these functions to work, there must be authenticity, intimacy and trust in the student-teacher relationship and both the student and the teacher must have some potential and intention to fulfill their role. The teacher needs to be able to skillfully navigate this journey with the student and the student needs to be open to the work. This third role of the teacher is why I often say, “We can be friendly, but I cannot be your friend.” The student-teacher relationship is a different relationship. Even in a best-case scenario, it will not all be roses and joy.
As Ken pointed out in our talk, these roles could be carried out by more than one teacher, but somehow all the teachers must lead in the same general direction, at least. Some students find all this in one person.
In addition to guiding in these three ways, the teacher also does their best to create a fruitful and rich learning environment through meditation, dialogue, classes, retreats, and even volunteering—all aimed at supporting the student’s awakening.
One other aspect of the Lama’s work, from my perspective, is to create the causes and conditions of a healthy practice community. At Dekeling, I emphasize transparency, honesty, equanimity, and other related qualities among us as a community.
Community members who wish to have a strong and rich community as the container for their practice must exert quite a bit of effort to provide the structure and ‘glue’ of the community over time. Individual and community needs evolve over time, so it’s a long term effort. The work of community usually involves reaching out to sangha, volunteering, contributing to help the sangha survive, helping each other in practice, caring for each other, mending disputes in a timely and skillful way, and refraining from disruptive behavior like gossip and so on. For students who genuinely want to awaken, the caretaking of the ‘jewel’ of sangha is necessary.
As Dekeling’s Lama, I also contribute to pastoral care: attending at weddings, funerals, births and am often called to be present at times of illness and death. I respond to requests for help from families and those in distress and try to help connect them to services and opportunities when dharma is not what they actually need. I stay connected to dharma teachers in the wider community and nourish our relationships with our Asian teachers. I participate in Dekeling’s board meetings and strategic planning as an advisor. I help integrate new volunteers and work closely with the Board President to make sure we are not missing important obligations, challenges, or opportunities. I write some of our communications (like this blog) and more than 90% of our dharma content, for in-person teaching, our blog and our podcasts. In addition, I do my best to keep up with my own awakening, retreats, and my personal ‘work’ of learning to be a good human.
From my perspective—and I hold this softly as I learn—the vision for shaping the nature of our community comes mainly from the students themselves. As long as the forms of our community center on awakening, I am happy to support their evolution as suits the changing times.
I have a deep wish to create enough stability and pliancy in the community that it will long outlive me. I have a dream that I will return to be a student in your strong and powerful community of spiritual awakening that works tirelessly for all beings, and finds joy in the process.
Thanks for Eric Platzek and Mary Woods for taking photos at the Medicine Buddha retreat. Watch for more info on sangha news in our newsletter, coming out mid-October, thanks to Teri Gelber. To see more photos, click here. We’ll have another Vajrayana retreat in 2023—see you there!
Someone on retreat this weekend asked me to post this again since fire season is coming. Is here. Thank you for your practice.
