Ferocious

“Künzang Dorje Rinpoche was beyond anything I’d ever known. He was kind—extremely kind—but in a manner that was initially incomprehensible. He was also majestically—if not vividly—ruthless. Somehow, I knew he liked me – but whether he liked me as a father might like his son, or as a tiger might like a gazelle – was not easy to distinguish. He was dazzlingly wild—magnificently ferocious—and he knew the answer to the nature of existence. He read it like a book. He read it in everything he saw, heard, tasted, or otherwise sensated. At the outset of my training, being able to relax in his company was a fleeting experience. I suppose I must say that—apart from Düd’jom Rinpoche and Dilgo Khyentsé Rinpoche—I’d never really experienced devotion for anyone before…

I was simply searching for the secrets of existence – and Rinpoche was a major custodian of that knowledge. I’d learned enough about Vajrayana by the point I met him, to regard him as a Viking might regard Thor or Odin. When you begin having even the faintest idea that someone knows everything there is to know about reality – that person ceases to be ordinary in any sense. How did I know he knew that? Well … to be honest … I can’t answer that. All I can say is that it seemed obvious to me at the time. I felt it in my blood, bone, muscle, cartilage, and nasal septum. There was also some logic that went along with it – because I’d studied the Madhyamaka psychology of perception. That—together with the sheer human presence of Lamas such as Kyabjé Düd’jom Rinpoche and Künzang Dorje Rinpoche—filled me with awe.

You obviously have to get over awe to some degree. If you don’t get over it, you’d never learn anything – but it’s a state of mind that’s probably necessary in the beginning. It happens of itself—in any case—because study and practice lift the veil that prevents a person seeing certain Lamas for what they are. True, there are some Lamas who are simply members of the clergy; and, although worthy of high respect, they’re not likely to nail your head to the wall with a mere glance. Much is said of ‘devotion’ in Tibetan Buddhist circles. The general idea is that you’re supposed to have it. If you don’t have it, there’s no way forward. Because of this, too many people try to have it – without it having them. What’s that supposed to mean? It’s not mysterious – it means there’s no choice about devotion once you follow a certain line far enough to have direct experience. When it happens – it’s obvious…

I don’t want to give the impression that my gasping at Rinpoche’s spiritual genius is some mighty qualification. I certainly gasped – but there was much in what he did that made the gasping possible. He made it possible in the way a racing driver could introduce an experience that was out of your range. You’d get yourself strapped into the seat—cocoon your head in the safety helmet—and then … the racing driver would make you gasp. You’d probably not be able to drive in excess of 200 miles an hour and handle bends on a race track at that speed – but you could sit there and gasp. Of course … I’d had preparation for this experience, with Kyabjé Düd’jom Rinpoche. Düd’jom Rinpoche had certainly inspired me to gasp – but in a different way from Rinpoche. With Kyabjé Düd’jom Rinpoche it was like being on another planet – but with Rinpoche that planet was teeming with harrowing threats to my sanity. I was electrically on-edge in circumstances that were utterly unpredictable. I never knew which way the tiger was going to pounce. I never knew which of my cherished concepts of reality he was going to devour. In spite of the terror however, I came back day after day to a jungle – in which I was tentatively willing prey.

Sometimes we’d simply sit in silence together. Sometimes in the silence he would suddenly roar “Hey! Look! Now! What is the nature of Mind!” So … what was I doing putting my head into the tiger’s jaws, when Düd’jom Rinpoche and Dilgo Khyentsé Rinpoche had both been the epitome of gentleness? They’d both made me tingle with giddy exhilaration as my practice evolved – but they never terrified me. It would have been wonderful to have stayed with Kyabjé Düd’jom Rinpoche – but he was the head of the Nyingma Tradition. His responsibilities had grown since I’d first met him in 1971, and he no longer had the time he used to have at his disposal for wandering Westerners. Kyabjé Dilgo Khyentsé Rinpoche also had disciples in great numbers in India, Nepal, and Bhutan. Both great Lamas were committed to giving teachings and empowerments throughout the Indian subcontinent and Taiwan.

Because of this, Düd’jom Rinpoche advised me to seek Künzang Dorje Rinpoche out as my main teacher, and so it was that he became my Tsawa’i Lama. It was from him that I received almost everything I understand of Dzogchen men-ngag-dé – the series of implicit instruction. Now we come to another subject that needs to be understood, in order to comprehend the wisdom-lays that compose this book: the rôle of the vajra master. Rinpoche was my vajra master and that meant that I was committed to seeing everything exactly as he saw it. If we differed in view – I was wrong. I was at his command – for whatever it might be. I’d put myself—and my sanity—in his hands. Some people think this is an Eastern mode of tutelage that has no place in the West or with Western people – but in that they are misguided.

The vajra master exists in Christianity and Judæism – and probably in most other religious traditions. Rather than quote scripture however, I’ll quote Bob Dylan: God said “Abraham kill me a son.” Abe said “Man, you must be putting me on!” God said “No.” And Abe said “What?!” God said “You can do what you want, Abe, but next time you see me coming you better run.” Abe said “Where d’you want this killing done?” God said “Out on Highway 61.” The reason I choose to quote Bob Dylan is because I live in that world as much as I live in the world of Vajrayana. Rinpoche didn’t use any form of exalted speech with me – and what he had to say was often loaded and ironic in the same way that the God of Bob Dylan’s song said “You can do what you want, Abe …”

I could have done what I wanted – I could have walked out at any point. Rinpoche was not keeping me there. Unlike the God of Bob Dylan’s song, there was no threat “… but next time you see me coming you better run”, because Rinpoche was no tyrant or sociopathic cult guru. I doubt whether Düd’jom Rinpoche would have minded too much if I’d quit. It was well known that Künzang Dorje Rinpoche was a wrathful Lama. The problem was that I would have minded. Anyhow, I knew that Rinpoche was the real deal. I knew it with every goddamn fibre of my being. I was actually entirely at liberty; completely the master of my own destiny – as far as that is conventionally possible. I was simply trapped by my own knowledge of what was possible in my relationship with the Tiger of Tantra…

Künzang Dorje could be translated as ‘thunderbolt of total completeness’. It could also mean the tiger who ate me from the inside out. That might not make sense to anyone – but it gives the sense of the Lama who rearranged my conceptual mind with the violent virtuosity of consummate uncompromising skill
Now … people don’t tend to like that limbo—that intermediate state between certainty and uncertainty—but … it’s highly creative and open to endless possibilities. I feel that it is possible to enter the world of Vajrayana – whilst remaining English or whatever nationality you happen to be. I believe that you can cross boundaries and live in the tidal margins between cultures. You can be a gay rodeo rider; a vegetarian fire-arms enthusiast; a priest who enjoys the sport of pugilism; a pacifist who enjoys war novels; or, a heavy metal guitarist who loves Baroque chamber music. You can even be a hippie who speaks the Queen’s English, enjoys Shakespeare plays, and reads Jane Austen novels … Oh, that’s me by the way – welcome to my book. speaking in tongues…

Ajo Répa Rinpoche – a ngakpa wearing a white widely pleated skirt, a striped shawl, and a meditation strap across his chest. He wore conch spiral earrings. His uncut hair was wound up into a considerable topknot. I would always return to that picture – every time I did, I had the same thought: ‘This man knows what it’s all about.’ Ngakpas were people who inhabited the stratosphere of Vajrayana. They could be both part of the community and simultaneously entirely removed from mundane appearances. Wherever they lived, they lived in their own dimension – a tidal margin between the explicable and the inexplicable. I had no idea how I was going to find such an embodiment of visions – but I had time to wander and follow my nose. I’d just start asking questions and see where they led me…

Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche taught me how to make gTormas and all manner of ritual artefacts. These instructions could be given sans language – as I simply copied what he made and wrote down the Tibetan words which related to them. Often Sonam would accompany me to translate – and then I learnt a great deal about the Düd’jom gTér practice of Tröma Nakmo. It had been imparted to me that I’d be well served by going to Bodha in Nepal to meet Kyabjé Düd’jom Rinpoche, as it was from him that I should receive the transmission for the practice. It was thus that I made the decision to accompany Yeshé Khandro to Nepal a month after I arrived in McLeod Ganj. The journey to Nepal was arduous and got complicated when we reached the Nepalese border. Yeshé told me that her papers were unacceptable—she’d only just realised that they were out of date—and they’d not let her through.

After some thought I decided the best idea would be to bribe the driver of a vegetable truck to take us on board and tell the passport control that I was on my own. It actually sounded quite plausible. I’d cover Yeshé with Brussels sprouts while we passed through the border – and uncover her when we were safe. The ruse worked. Yeshé and I were suddenly in Nepal. After what was probably a little too long, I let her know it was safe to emerge from her vegetable hideout, and we had a relatively pleasant journey to Kathmandu.

We arrived in Bodha having spent a grimy night in an insanitary guesthouse on Freak Street in Kathmandu. We were met by Pema Dorje, Yeshé’s fiancé, on our arrival in Bodha. Like Yeshé he’d come to meet each bus that pulled in. Suddenly – there he was – a very fine young gentleman who spoke extremely good English. He helped me gain an interview with Kyabjé Düd’jom Rinpoche. I found a good translator in Karma Lama, a splendid fellow who ran a Tibetan antiques emporium in Kathmandu. Karma Lama had a great interest in Rhythm and Blues and we therefore traded skills. He was fascinated by my previous life as a Bluesman, and I told him just about everything I knew. I knew quite a lot and he never tired of plying me with questions about Robert Johnson, Son House, Muddy Waters, et al. He asked me if I would sing something for him – and I did. I sang ‘Born Under a Bad Sign’, and his eyes lit up. At that point I think he finally believed that I’d not strung him a line. “If you have a guitar I’ll play.” He saw to it—even though a twelve-string was unobtainable—and we had some rare evenings. This worked out well, as I didn’t want to intrude too much on the newly wed Yeshé Khandro and Pema Dorje.

I wrote down lyrics for him, and he eventually joined in with surprising gusto. How strange that I could spend evenings talking with Karma Lama about Blues – and yet had no way of conversing with most Western people I met … I visited with Düd’jom Rinpoche often and asked many questions. I realise now that I had no idea how unusual my situation was. Being able to spend so much time with Düd’jom Rinpoche was a rare privilege. He was immensely kind and dealt with my experience of silent sitting directly – answering every question I had; and I had plenty. He was intrigued by my autodidact training in Zen and Theravada and opined that this system was somewhat like Dzogchen sem-dé. He encouraged me to continue and persevere ’til I gained experience of the nondual state.

I was able to receive transmission for the Düd’jom gTér Tröma Nakmo practice as well as to acquire a text – which I was able to take back to McLeod Ganj. It’s not appropriate here to give a detailed account of the time I spent with Düd’jom Rinpoche – or with Dilgo Khyentsé Rinpoche. I studied with both Lamas whenever I could, and what they taught me was of immense value. Dilgo Khyentsé Rinpoche was also immensely kind and understood the nature of my experience with silent sitting – giving me wonderfully pertinent advice. I put the advice of both Lamas into practice immediately, and it changed the course of my life utterly.”

~ Ngakpa Chögyam, Wisdom Eccentrics
"Ngakpa Chögyam and Khandro Déchen, both Westerners, are teachers in the Nyingma School of Vajrayana Buddhism in the lineage of the Aro gTer. A married couple who teach together, they spend much of their time traveling and teaching in Europe and the United States. They live in Penarth, Wales."

“I have no idea how Rinpoche does what he does. The Aro gTér is continually astonishing in making useful connections between subtle aspects of experience for which I previously had no names. Over and over, I think “where on earth did that come from?” So, I don’t think the Aro gTér is the product of conceptual mind—Rinpoche’s or anyone else’s. I don’t worry about where the Aro gTér came from. It wouldn’t bother me at all if Rinpoche did make it up, so long as it works. But I am quite sure that he did not make it up. In Dzogchen terminology, it appears to come straight outta tha dharmakaya.”