Decision To Go

“Tara Tulku died and in a flash the fulcrum at the center of our already spinning lives was gone. A void opened up; the cloth was torn apart. It was time to begin reweaving. Kay and I talked it over and agreed… It was time to go on pilgrimage and let the next chapter of our lives reveal itself to us. Packing up our possessions, we cashed in our lives for around-the-world plane tickets and the unknown. But our karma seemed to have other plans for us. Within a few months of setting out on the journey we were meeting with H. H. the Dalai Lama in Dharamsala, in the Western Himalayas. Asking for his advice, he suggested a retreat, and our outer pilgrimage turned inward, as we settled into the guest house of his monastery.

I'd first met Tara Tulku in Dharamsala in 1983. He had been one of those great practitioners. Between 1983 and 1991, when he died, I received teachings from him spanning an extraordinary range of philosophy, psychology and meditation practice. They had revolutionized my inner life. Would I find a new teacher in Dharamsala? Would His Holiness the Dalai Lama send me to one?

The Tibetan Vajrayana path (i.e., "the vehicle of the vajra," or "tantra") was very specific about the importance of the lama. So I knew I needed another teacher if I was to make progress, and did not look forward to years of cultivating a relationship with a new lama, if I could find one. I held on to the slim hope provided by Tara Rinpoche's instructions that Kay and I should see His Holiness. Would he see us?..

When the message suddenly came to us one morning that we could have an audience that afternoon if we wished… In one way it all seemed familiar. Yet something just beyond my awareness seemed different.

Finally I placed it: I could not hear any hawk screeches. As the compound was on the top of a hill, hawks, eagles and vultures often cruised in the updrafts over the compound, and their cries created a sense of tangible, almost solid spaciousness over and around the compound. To me their cries had defined the borders of a space which had seemed filled with a special atmosphere generated by His Holiness. In this space time seemed to flow at a different rate, actions seemed to have an increased significance and the space itself seemed filled with a peaceful and slightly blissful quality. It was if His Holiness' mind filled the compound and the space above it, and at those moments when we both had heard the bird cries our minds had merged in that space. This time, as we waited, there were no bird cries. To me their absence now was as tangible as their presence had been.

His Holiness was standing and waiting for us as we walked in. We offered ceremonial scarves and bundles of incense to him, and he motioned us to sit on a couch beside his own chair. His translator sat across from us, ready should he be needed, although His Holiness' English was more than adequate to the needs of our conversation. I had an impression that the room was lovely and well appointed with paintings and sculptures. But because all my attention was focused on His Holiness, and especially his eyes, I barely saw what was in the room. Only the white cloth slipcovers on the chairs and couches really registered in my attention. As usual, His Holiness was deeply engaging and remarkably present with us. Yet, paradoxically, while his attention seemed completely with us, at the same time it seemed completely elsewhere. His eyes were deep and sparkling, inviting me to enter them and see him, yet at the same time I felt too shy to look too closely for too long. 

Now, as we spoke of the reason for our visit, our grief over Tara Rinpoche's death came to the surface. His Holiness reminisced about Rinpoche with us and recalled "what a nice lama he had been," how the praise and love of those around him "had only made him more humble." He reminded us that our lama was with us whether in a physical body or not and that such a distinction was of no particular relevance. As to what we should do next in our spiritual practice, His Holiness suggested a retreat on our meditational deity, Yamantaka. I'd already told him we'd done four such retreats under the supervision of Tara Rinpoche, but now I expressed some concern about doing this fifth retreat, as we had never done one on our own. Could he suggest a "spiritual friend" who could give us guidance?

He suggested Geshe Wangdrak, the current Abbot of Namgyal Monastery and Denma Locho Rinpoche, the former Abbot of Namgyal. In the half hour of our meeting the course of our entire trip to India was changed. We had been anticipating a month's stay in Dharamsala, followed by seven months of travel throughout the country.

But we followed his advice and in a natural flow first our travel was postponed for a retreat, and then our one month retreat became a three month retreat, and then our whole eight months in India ended up being spent in Dharamsala. This was a manifestation of His Holiness' wisdom and blessings. But, having been in his extraordinary presence, it was not hard to have faith in his guidance, and act upon it by abandoning our plans. Having faith in my own practice, in my ability to fully embrace that guidance, was another, more difficult matter. Yet, having faith in his guidance and having devotion to his person was, in fact, actually an important form of practice. And as in so many other cases, here Tara Rinpoche also had first shown us the way by stimulating our faith in him. 

His Holiness recalled for us Rinpoche's last visit to him before his death. Extremely sick with advanced stomach cancer, Rinpoche had traveled from Bombay to Delhi, and then from Delhi to Dharamsala. His Holiness said that during their meeting Tara Rinpoche "never thought of himself or his own suffering. He only thought of my welfare." Tears came to our eyes, oddly mixed with our smiles and joy as we reminisced about Tara Rinpoche with His Holiness. Then his posture shifted a bit and he said that it sometimes scared him that people put such faith in him. As we felt the weight he carried, I began to feel a deep concern for him, even a fear for his health and welfare. It was not hard to understand how it was that Tara Rinpoche had felt the same thing, though it was a measure of Rinpoche's practice that he felt it in spite of his own pain and immanent death. By the end of our meeting my devotion to His Holiness had been renewed.

Simultaneously, my devotion had become another burden to be carried by the Ocean Lama and the foundation for my forthcoming months of practice. Giving us scarves and small statues of the Buddha, which he first blessed, he took our hands and escorted us to the door, telling us that we would be in Dharamsala a long time and to come back and see him if we had something important to discuss.

We walked down the path to the gate of the palace very carefully, as our legs seemed weak. Now there was no escort. I held Kay's arm. We shared private "knowing" smiles that spoke of our good fortune. As we stepped out the palace gate into the debate courtyard I felt that even if we were to leave India tomorrow, the trip would have been worth it. We decided to walk a bit to get more grounded. Walking in a slightly dazed state on the road between Namgyal and town Kay suddenly turned her head, commenting "I recognize that monk" who had just walked past us. He also turned his head with delayed recognition, and we had a brief conversation…

As we were about to leave the monastery I suggested to Kay that we look at the guest house rooms, "for future reference." I'd learned already that in India there is no time like the present for whatever is on one’s mind because planning for the future was so uncertain… The guest house was a small affair, consisting of just six guest rooms (three with private bathrooms), a kitchen and two dining rooms: one public (the canteen) and one for private parties. Looking out over the road and the gorge below it, they promised excellent views and afternoon sun for all the guest rooms.  The guest house roof was a sun-splashed slab of concrete with railings all around it's edge, and with many chairs, indicated that it was well used as a patio.  Across a small courtyard from the guest house and directly below the Kalachakra Temple was a parallel row of guest rooms belonging to the Dalai Lama's "Private Office;" that is to say, they were not controlled by his government nor by his monastery…

We tracked down the guest house manager, a monk named Lobsang, who showed us a room. It was unoccupied; the previous resident had left unexpectedly that morning. The room was clean, compact, and most important, at the monastery… The windows had spectacular views out over the road and the gorge below it, and they even had screens. I fantasized being able to open windows to let the breeze in, but not the bugs -- another luxury not to be found at the Green Hotel. And finally, the room was three stories above a paved road, while our room at the Green, being two stories above a dirt road, was constantly being filled with dust from below.

I wanted to move in immediately. Kay resisted a bit, pointing out we would have one day to move and set up before going into retreat. I pushed, reminding her of "priorities." "This way we will not miss another event at the temple," I urged.  By the end of the next day we were out of the Green Hotel and into the monastery's guest house. It was one of the best decisions I've ever made in this life...”

~ David Ross Komito, Rehearsing Enlightenment: A Retreat in the Buddhist Himalayas
David Ross Komito is a professor of Asian Philosophy and author on the subjects of Mādhyamaka Buddhist philosophy, meditation and the psychology of religion. He is married to the thanka artist Kayla Komito.