The Collected Works of Chogyam Trungpa: Volume Three: 3 (33 page)

This book is dedicated to Dorje Trolö, the Crazy Wisdom form of Padmasambhava, the father and protector of all beings.

Foreword

I
N
1972 I was teaching at an alternative school in New Mexico. I introduced my class of eight- to twelve-year-olds to a book called
Born in Tibet
and we all fell in love with it. When we learned that the author, Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, was living in Boulder, Colorado, the children wrote a letter asking if they could meet him. Rinpoche replied that in fact he was soon coming to teach at the nearby Lama Foundation. To our delight, we were invited to visit him there. When we arrived, one of Rinpoche’s students met with us briefly. He told the children that Chögyam Trungpa was happy that we had come, but that he wanted the children to know that he was just an ordinary person, nothing special. With plenty of questions and handmade gifts, the children approached him, and they had a wonderful encounter. Three hours later, they returned home. As for me, I guess you could say that I never left. That is when I became the student of this ordinary extraordinary man.

When
The Myth of Freedom
was published a few years later, I read it over and over. It is a profound distillation of Buddhist truths expressed in the accessible style of a master adept at translating them into the language of his audience. I was extremely eager to digest what he was saying. Over the years, this book has continued to be an endless source of benefit to me and many others in our understanding and teaching Buddhism in North America. I think I have now read it at least twenty times, and each time I find something new. Its power lies in how directly it addresses the extremely unhabitual process of dissolving the barriers we put up between ourselves and the rest of the world.

When I took to heart the teachings presented here, a curious change slowly began to take place. I became far more open to the pain of myself and others; far more open to laughing and crying; far more able to love and accept and see my interconnectedness with all beings. As the years go by, I gradually become more and more at home in this world with its inevitable ups and downs.

It is in this spirit that I invite you to read the teachings presented here. If you too bring them into your life and put them into practice, I have no doubt that you will make a similar journey.

As my root teacher, the Vidyadhara Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche vividly demonstrated this path to me, he also supported and encouraged me in following it. I feel glad that I can now encourage you and those who come after you to do the same. Thanks to the teachings of Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, ordinary people like you and me can do something extraordinary: we can learn to benefit all beings, including ourselves.

P
EMA
C
HÖDRÖN

Editors’ Preface

T
HE MYTH OF FREEDOM
is based on lectures given by Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche in various parts of the United States between 1971 and 1973. The enormous interest in Trungpa’s previous book,
Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism,
has inspired us to present another set of his lectures in book form.
The Myth of Freedom
can be viewed as a companion volume to
Cutting Through
or as an independent introduction to the Buddhist psychology and meditative practice of Tibet.

The book is flanked in the front by an original poem by Chögyam Trungpa which describes the stages of the spiritual path and in back by Trungpa’s translation of a classic text, Tilopa’s instructions on mahamudra meditation to his disciple Naropa. The text seemed particularly appropriate since Tilopa was the father of Trungpa’s eleven-hundred-year-old Kagyü lineage.

His Holiness the sixteenth Gyalwang Karmapa, Rangjung Rikpe Dorje (1923–1981). The Gyalwang Karmapa is the supreme head of the Kagyü order of Tibetan Buddhism. He is the embodiment of the power and compassion of Buddhist tantra. He was a friend and inspiration to the author.

ENTHRONEMENT

ONE

Parents are very kind,

But I am too young to appreciate it.

The highland mountains and valleys are beautiful,

But having never seen the lowlands, I am stupid.

TWO

Having striven for mind’s nourishment,

Sharpening the spearhead of intellect,

I discovered permanent parents

Whom I can never forget.

THREE

Having no one to influence my outlook,

I display my primordial nature

And adopt the style of a youthful prince.

This is due to the only father guru.

FOUR

I am busy working for others.

Prajna, penetrating all obstacles,

Has made the prince old and wise,

Fearing no one.

FIVE

Dancing in space,

Clad in clouds,

Eating the sun and holding the moon,

The stars are my retinue.

SIX

The naked child is beautiful and dignified.

The red flower blooms in the sky.

It is ironic to see the formless dancer,

Dancing to the trumpet without a trumpeter.

SEVEN

At the palace of red ruby,

Listening to the utterance of the seed syllable,

It is joyful to watch the dance of illusion,

The seductive maidens of phenomena.

EIGHT

The warrior without a sword,

Riding on a rainbow,

Hears the limitless laughter of transcendent joy.

The poisonous snake becomes amrita.

NINE

Drinking fire, wearing water,

Holding the mace of the wind,

Breathing earth,

I am the lord of the three worlds.

January 22, 1973

ONE

The Myth of Freedom

F
ANTASY AND
R
EALITY

I
F WE ARE TO
plant the complete Buddhist teachings in American soil we must first understand the fundamental principles of Buddhism and work through its basic meditation practices. Many people respond to Buddhism as if it were a new cult which might save them, which might enable them to deal with the world in the manner of picking flowers in a beautiful garden. But if we wish to pick flowers from a tree, we must first cultivate the roots and trunk, which means that we must work with our fears, frustrations, disappointments, and irritations, the painful aspects of life.

People complain that Buddhism is an extremely gloomy religion because it emphasizes suffering and misery. Usually religions speak of beauty, song, ecstasy, bliss. But according to Buddha, we must begin by seeing the experience of life as it is. We must see the truth of suffering, the reality of dissatisfaction. We cannot ignore it and attempt to examine only the glorious, pleasurable aspects of life. If one searches for a promised land, a Treasure Island, then the search only leads to more pain. We cannot reach such islands, we cannot attain enlightenment in such a manner. So all sects and schools of Buddhism agree that we must begin by facing the reality of our living situations. We cannot begin by dreaming. That would be only a temporary escape; real escape is impossible.

In Buddhism, we express our willingness to be realistic through the practice of meditation. Meditation is not a matter of trying to achieve ecstasy, spiritual bliss, or tranquillity, nor is it attempting to become a better person. It is simply the creation of a space in which we are able to expose and undo our neurotic games, our self–deceptions, our hidden fears and hopes. We provide space through the simple discipline of doing nothing. Actually, doing nothing is very difficult. At first, we must begin by approximating doing nothing, and gradually our practice will develop. So meditation is a way of churning out the neuroses of mind and using them as part of our practice. Like manure, we do not throw our neuroses away, but we spread them on our garden; they become part of our richness.

In meditation practice, we neither hold the mind very tightly nor let it go completely. If we try to control the mind, then its energy will rebound back on us. If we let the mind go completely, then it will become very wild and chaotic. So we let the mind go, but at the same time there is some discipline involved. The techniques used in the Buddhist tradition are extremely simple. Awareness of bodily movement, breath, and one’s physical situation are techniques common to all traditions. The basic practice is to be present, right here. The goal is also the technique. Precisely being in this moment, neither suppressing nor wildly letting go, but being precisely aware of what you are. Breath, like bodily existence, is a neutral process which has no “spiritual” connotations. We simply become mindful of its natural functioning. This is called shamatha practice. With this practice we begin to tread the hinayana, or narrow, path. This is not to say that the hinayana approach is simplistic or narrow-minded. Rather, because the mind is so complicated, so exotic, craving all sorts of entertainment constantly, the only way to deal with it is to channel it into a disciplined path without sidetracks. The hinayana is a vehicle which does not speed, one which is right on the point, a vehicle which does not get sidetracked. We have no opportunity to run away; we are right here and cannot step out. It is a vehicle without a reverse gear. And the simplicity of narrowness also brings an open attitude toward life situations, because we realize that there is no escape of any kind and give in to being right on the spot.

So we acknowledge what we are rather than try to hide from our problems and irritations. Meditation should not help you forget your commitment at the office. In fact, in the practice of sitting meditation you relate to your daily life all the time. Meditation practice brings our neuroses to the surface rather than hiding them at the bottom of our minds. It enables us to relate to our lives as something workable. I think people have the idea that, if only they could get away from the hustle and bustle of life, then they could really get into some sort of contemplative practice up in the mountains or at the seashore. But escaping the mundanity of our lives is to neglect the food, the actual nourishment which exists between two layers of bread. When you order a sandwich, you do not order two layers of bread. You have something in the middle which is chunky, eatable, delicious, and the bread comes along with it.

Then becoming more clearly aware of emotions and life situations and the space in which they occur might open us to a still more panoramic awareness. A compassionate attitude, a warmth, develops at this point. It is an attitude of fundamental acceptance of oneself while still retaining critical intelligence. We appreciate the joyful aspect of life along with the painful aspect. Relating to emotions ceases to be a big deal. Emotions are as they are, neither suppressed nor indulged but simply acknowledged. So the precise awareness of details leads into an openness to the complex totality of situations. Like a great river that runs down toward the ocean, the narrowness of discipline leads into the openness of panoramic awareness. Meditation is not purely sitting alone in a particular posture attending to simple processes, but is also an openness to the environment in which these processes take place. The environment becomes a reminder to us, continually giving us messages, teachings, insights.