The Valley

This way is wide
This way is fair
A vast mud flat laid
Between earth and sky
You can lose your way here
But it doesn't matter
Wherever you wander
It's still the same ground
There's a profuse jungle before
To get here take the long, winding stair
Afterwards a steep dry scarp
Nobody climbs it
Except with bare hands
To keep a man he needs a big pasture
Lead him here where freedom is ample
The abandoned school still has a reunion
See them recall their days as students
The long hall is barren, no posted announcements
Teacher is here to sit in your lap
Playfully telling her unemployed freedom
The empty town was set up as a test
No nuke blast ever flattened it out
All around the dry flat stretches
Side to side thin forests encroach
One last delivery truck drives around
With one box addressed to unknown persons
The lunch picnic has few attendees
One by one the people go out
Two by two the hall bells are ringing
I'm ready to put down this dim  slide
A new suit awaits me
Already fitted
Already always along for the ride.

Iṣṭadevyavadānaṃ

༄༅། །ཡི་དམ་ལྷ་མོའི་རྟོགས་པ་བརྗོད་པ་བཞུགས།།

इष्टदेव्यवदानं ॥

§ Iṣṭadevyavadānaṃ ||

Legend of the Chosen (Yidam) Goddess

།ཨེ་མ་ཧོ། །མ་ཤེས་མི་ཤེས་ཤེས་པར་མི་འགྱུར་བའི། །དུས་གསུམ་སངས་རྒྱས་ཐུགས་སུ་ཀློང་གྱུར་བ། །འཇམ་དཔལ་གཞོན་ནུ་མཉམ་པ་ཉིད་ངང་ལས། །ཁོལ་བུ་བདག་འདྲའི་རྟོག་ཕྲེང་ཅིར་ཡང་བྱུང། 

EMAHO Not known then, not known now, not to be known ever, the mind of the Three Times' Buddhas, instantiates as the ever-youthful Manjushri; from within that equanimity state, a subservient fragment-person like myself, gives rise to garlands of thought-process.

།འདོད་མའི་མགོན་པོ་ཀུན་ཏུ་བཟང་པོའི་དཔྱིད། །རང་བྱུང་སྲས་མོར་ཤར་བའི་རྣམ་དག་དབྱིངས། །མ་སྐྱེས་ཤེར་ཡུམ་ཀུན་ཏུ་བཟང་མོ་ལ། །སྒྲ་ཡི་རང་ཤར་རྡོ་རྗེའི་ཕྱག་གིས་གདུད།

The springtime of the primordial Lord Samantabhadra, the utterly pure space that gives rise to self-originating daughters, to the unborn Mother of Wisdom Samantabhadri, I pay homage with vajra-hands of self-arising sound.

།སེམས་ཅན་ཉམས་ཐག་བདག་འདྲ་མ་ལུས་པ། །སྲིད་གསུམ་འཕོ་འགྱུར་གནས་ལ་སྐྱེ་ནས་སུ། །དུག་གསུམ་གྲོང་ཁྱེར་བདེ་བའི་སྐབས་མེད་པས། །ཟག་མེད་རྣམ་དག་མགོན་ལ་སྐྱབས་བརྩལ་ནས།

Weary sentient beings like me, without exception, being reborn in fluctuating circumstances of the triple samsara, have no opportunity for happiness in the cities of the triple poisons. So, having sought refuge in the undefiled, utterly pure protectors,

།ཡེ་གྲོལ་རང་གཤིས་རྫོགས་པ་ཆེན་པོ་ལ། །བཅིང་གྲོལ་ད་གཟོད་མེད་པའི་གདིངས་བརྙེད་དེས། །འཁོར་འདས་མཆིང་བུར་ཞེན་ལ་རང་གཞན་གྱི། །ཨ་ཐང་ཆད་པའི་ཚུལ་འདི་སྙིང་རེ་རྗེ།

In the timeless freedom of self-nature, the Great Perfection, one who finds confidence that even now, bondage and freedom do not exist, feels great compassion for the way oneself and others are exhausted by attaching to the trinkets of samsara and nirvana.

།ཡེ་ནས་རང་ངོ་ཤེས་པའི་མཁའ་འགྲོ་མའི། །ལམ་དུ་ཅིར་ཡང་མ་ངེས་འཕྲུལ་བྱེད་མ། །འདོད་པའི་ལྟས་བཟང་ཁྱེར་བའི་ཕོ་ཉ་ཁྱོད། །རང་གི་སྙིང་ལ་དགའ་བའི་འདོད་ཀུན་འཇོ།

Unpredictably displaying everywhere and anywhere on the path of the Khandromas of timeless self-recognition, you, the messenger who brings the good auspices of enjoyment, provide my heart with whatever is needed for happiness and joy.

།སྲིད་པའི་རྩེད་མོའི་ཚུལ་ལ་མི་མཁས་བདག །འཁོར་བའི་ཡང་ལེན་རོང་ལ་ལྷུང་དོགས་ནའང། །སྙིང་རྗེ་གཞུན་ནུ་མ་ཡིས་ལག་འཁྲིད་ནས། །གཞན་དོན་སྐྱོང་བའི་གྲོང་དུ་ཡང་ཡང་འཇུག།

I who am unskilled in game-plays of existence fear falling into the chasm of samsaric retribution, but being taking in hand by the young compassionate one, time and again one enters the house that protects the welfare of others.

།དོན་མེད་བྱིས་པའི་རྩེད་མོའི་ཚུལ་བསམ་ན། །རང་གིས་རང་ཕུངས་ཐབས་སུ་ཐལ་ན་ཡང། །གཞོན་ནུའི་དཔལ་དང་ལྡན་པའི་སྒྱུ་རྩལ་གྱིས། །རང་དོན་སྤངས་པའི་སྟོན་མོར་དགྱེས་ལ་སྤྲོ།

Thinking about the pointless games that childish people engage, they all amount to methods of self-destruction; but with the magical skill endowed with the splendor of (Manjushri's) youth (=prajna), I am delighted to serve a feast wherein self-benefit is abandoned.

།ཧ་ཅང་མཛེས་མ་ཁྱོད་ཀྱིས་རྗེས་འདྲེན་པའི། །ཆ་མེད་ངེས་མེད་འདོད་ཉུང་ཁྱེའུ་ཆུང། །འཇིག་རྟེན་མིག་དང་གྲོགས་པའི་སྒྲོན་མེ་དུ། །ཡིད་ཅན་དག་གི་དེད་དཔོན་སྐྱེ་བུར་བྱོན།

Being led by you, the ever so lovely, a clueless and indefinite child of few desires, like a beacon that accompanies the eyes of [those born in] the world, is reborn as a captain of sentient beings.

།ཚེ་འདིའི་བྱ་བའི་བློ་རྟོག་མ་མཆིས་ཀྱང། །ཕྲིན་ལས་རྩ་བ་ཁྱོད་དང་ཡུན་གྲོགས་བཞིན། །རང་གཞན་འཕྲལ་ཡུན་བདེ་བའི་ཐར་ལམ་ནས། །འབྲས་བཟང་རོ་མངར་མྱོང་བའི་ཐེ་ཚོམ་མེད།

Though it is not about expectations or doings in this life, whilst staying with you, the root of Buddha-activity, for a long time, the temporary and long-term happiness of oneself and other, and the path of liberation also, have the superb, sweet flavor of results. Of this there is no doubt!

།དེ་ཕྱིར་ཁྱེད་ཀྱི་སྐུ་གསུངས་ཐུགས་མཛོད་ལ། །སྒོ་ཕར་ཕྱེད་པའི་ལྡེ་མིག་གདུངས་པའི་ཡིད། །དག་པ་རབ་འབྱམས་སྣང་བའི་དམ་ཚིག་གནས། །ནམ་དང་འབྲལ་མེད་རྟེན་འབྲེལ་སྲུང་གྱུར་ཅིག

Therefore, with yearning which is key to opening your body, speech and mind-treasure door, abiding with infinite pure appearance that is the essence of samaya, and always inseparable, may interdependence be maintained!

ཞེས་རང་ཡིད་འཕྲོག་པའི་རྟེན་ཅིང་འབྲེལ་འབྱུང་གི་ཚུལ་ལ་དབང་མེད་འཇུག་པའི་གྱི་ན་པ་དཀོང་མཆོག་མིང་པའི་གང་ཤར་ཡི་གེར་ཐལ་བའི་མོས་པ་འདི་ལྟར་ཡིན་པས། རང་གཞན་བྱང་ཆུབ་བར་གྱི་ལམ་དུ་སྙིང་རྗེ་གཞོན་ནུ་མ་དང་རྟག་ཏུ་ལྷན་ཅིག་རོལ་པར་བྱ་བའརྒྱུར་འགྱུར་ཅིག ཤིན་ཏུ་བཟང་ཞིང་དགེ་བར་གྱུར་ཅིག ཨ་ཏི་པུཥྠི་པུཎྱེ་བྷཝེཏ།

Such is the straightford consignment to words of the wishes, just as they arose, of one named Konchok, an ordinary worldling helplessly engaged with the interdependence of being spirited away. May this be the cause of myself and others always playing with the compassionate beauty, until enlightenment is reached! May it be most excellent and virtuous. Atipushtipunyebhavet.

Hootananda

Hootin' 'n'  hollerin'
Slogans of support
#Me3 I say
Going along with yours and yours truly
I am such a big fan
Let's go rent a van
And take a ride to buy antiques
Do some wheelin' 'n' dealin'
Let the chips fall in our laps
Eat crackers in bed
Become old and stiff
Then young and aloof again
Playing the same old tune
 We played along the Indus
When Sarasvati still flowed on course
When previous Kanakamuni's
Law was still in season
We're old non-souls
Void and compassionate
Without reason
It's fairly choiceless
All this up and downing
In and outing
Point and pouting
To hold your hand again
I'd give up my station
Only knowing one thing
Only trusting this old house
Is full of patience

Why I'm Depressed, by Longchen Rabjam

Translator's note: It is well-known that in his early years, prior to becoming the chief disciple of Dzogchen master Kumaradza, the great scholar and poet, later known as the Omniscient Longchen Rabjam, became fed up with the behavior of his fellow students at Sang phu monastery, and issued several barbed compositions in verse, directed especially at hooligan monks from the Kham region. Thus the title, rgyu la khams 'dus, literally means "depression about causes" (or, by inference, "the causes of my depression"), but also puns on the real source of Longchenpa's gloomy mood, namely, the crude behavior of his peers.

A Garland of Verses:

Why I'm Depressed about Things

[rGyu la khams 'dus me tog phreng ba]

By Tsultrim Lodrö (Longchen Rabjam, 1308-1363)

OM SVASTI SIDDHAM
The one from Glorious Samye in the snowy fastness of Tibet --
Whose beautiful form, like a sunlit lotus grove,
Is revered by the all-seeing gods and men alike --
Offers these few words for inquiring minds!
These days some people tell me that
I'm out of touch with the world, aloof,
Unable to stay put, and very depressed.
Now, listen to what I have to say!
Holy beings despise them, these un-Dharmic and nefarious ways,
The sneaky and manipulative methods of deception,
Which cause regret at death's door, and low rebirths in the future:
To be out of touch with the world is, indeed, a good thing!
Luxury and pleasure, the noose of Samsara,
Are the basis of endless conflict and suffering --
Holy beings despise them.
Even if you have them, there is no satisfaction,
And attachment increases.
To stay away from these causes of lower realms is, indeed, a good thing!
If you don't renounce the ways of the world,
You will never be free of the ocean of suffering.
Not clinging to impermanent, meaningless things,
And remaining aloof is, indeed, a good thing!
Staying put, desire and anger increase automatically;
You get busy, and there's too much to do;
You get caught by the lasso of selfish desires.
Not staying put in a place like this is, indeed, a good thing!
So, this depression of mine is not without reason.
I've been thinking day and night about this:
We're adrift in this turbulent sea of Samsara,
The process of selfish delusion.
Having seen the depths of this ocean,
From which rescue is difficult,
I shed tears of despair, and feel depressed.
Closely observing the behavior of others
Is what made me depressed, so listen!
Externally refined, but most arrogant inwardly,
They loudly proclaim themselves venerable
Abbots, disciples and Lamas,
But don't practice Dharma, and chase after luxury.
Watching these clever charlatans, I feel depressed!
They are more interested in rich people,
Than in those who know the Dharma.
They are nicer to sinister types,
Than to honest persons.
Seeing these experts on the eight worldly Dharmas
Disguised as Lamas, I get depressed!
They don't know what really matters and
Split their friends apart with malicious gossip.
Dishonest and crafty, they pretend to be nice[1].
They are not happy if things go well, and
Foment disagreements between people.
Seeing friends like this, I am depresssed!
Impatient with work, they make others work for them;
Not there when you need them, they are fickle and disloyal;
They're hypersensitive and unpredictable.
With friends like these, who wouldn't be depressed?
They have no sense of decorum, and
Lash out if you tell them so.
They are faithless, disrespectful, uptight and opportunistic[2].
They love to eat but avoid anything that involves effort.
Seeing students like these, I feel depressed.
If you praise them directly, they criticize you behind your back.
They have no interest in Dharma and hanker for luxuries.
After caring for their needs, they still resent you.
With students like these, I am depressed.
They'll reject a wise man for eating and dressing simply, but
Show respect to a dimwit because he's rich;
They find con artists personable, and consider them clever.
Seeing people like these, I get depressed.
If you're honest, they think you're totally uptight.
If you're poor, they think you're utterly worthless.
If you know Dharma, they say you're useless and incompetent.
Around people like these, I feel depressed.
Someone who follows the ways of the world
They esteem as an excellent master;
An underhanded charlatan
They claim as a noble person.
Foul-mouthed morons and fakes
They consider good people --
These kinds of people make me depressed.
What they promise to give, they dedicate as merit.
The gift of harm they imagine is virtue.
The practice of non-Dharma will lead to happy rebirths --
Or so they think.
Such confused thinking makes me depressed.
If you commit pecadilloes, they think that's grand.
If a pure monk shows up, everyone hates him.
Now, when everyone loves a fool more than a saint,
A sensitive person might well feel depressed!
In our times, everyone is wrong-headed.
Virtues, which show up one's weakness,
Are judged to be faults.
Just as a one-legged Chuta[3] would laugh at humans,
Because they seem to have an extra leg,
Such now is the case with the man from Samye, a philosopher
Skilled in composition, teaching and debate,
Who practices Dharma, but is hated!
Having said this, the hordes of rowdy, ignorant dopes --
Who are completely misinformed about traditions
Of study and contemplation,
Who rashly pawn the jewels of the three trainings
For their personal benefit --
And those who admire them,
Will surely not be pleased.
However, I have written this for the delight
Of intelligent persons who spread the wings of three trainings
From the fine body of their ethical discipline
To fly in the sky of honest endeavor.
Look into the distinction of truth and falsity, gifted ones!
About this, the poet from the Land of Snows,
Tsultrim Lodrö Zangpo, has written.
By this merit, may I and all beings
Reach the foot of the glorious Bodhi Tree,
And having vanquished the armies of Mara and their unpleasant words,
Go to the regal state of spontaneous presence, the three Kayas!

This "discourse garland of refutation", written sincerely as an authentic response [to criticisms] by the learned poet, the one from glorious Samye, Tsultrim Lodrö, is hereby complete.

[This preliminary translation was created on Thursday, November 25, 1999 by Konchog Tashi. Sarva Mangalam!]

Addendum, 1/1/2019: Regarding the circumstances of Longchenpa's composition of this and similar poems, see A Marvelous Garland of Rare Gems: Biographies of Masters of Awareness in the Dzogchen Lineage, by Nyoshul Khenpo Jamyang Dorje, p. 102]

[1]kha gsags. For kha gsag TDC has, (1) kha gcang ngam tshig 'jam. (2) log 'tsho lnga'i nang gses shig ste/ rnyed bkur gyi ched du gzhan 'drid cing/ gzhan ngo dang mthun pa'i tshig smra ba'o.
[2] ma dad ma gus gyong po shing glag can
[3] Chuta is amythical place whose inhabitants have only one leg.

༄། །རང་སེམས་གནས་ལུགས་སྟེར་སྟོན་འདི་།     
།ཀུན་གཞི་ལས་འབྱུང་བྱང་ཆུབ་སེམས།      
།ཀུན་སློང་སྤྱོད་གཤིས་བག་ལས་སྟོན། 
།གཞན་དོན་རང་ལས་གཅེས་འཛིན་བསྒོམ།   
།མཉམ་བརྗེ་གནས་ལུགས་ཐབས་ཀྱི་མཆོག     
།ཤེར་ཕྱིན་མི་བྲལ་དམ་བཅས་བདེ།   
།བདེ་འགྱུར་བསྔོ་སྨོན་སྙིང་ལ་ཞོག   
 ཞེས་སྟེར་སྟོན་ཟེར་རྒྱུའི་རྩ་བའི་ལྡུམ་བུ་ཁོལ་ཕྱུང་ངོ་།       བླ་མ་ལ་དད་མོས་ཤུགས་དྲག་གི་ངང་ནས་དཀོན་བཀྲིས་དེཚོ་མྱོན་སྟབསུ་རང་སྨྱུག་གིས་རྒྱབ་པས་དགེ

This “treasure-revealer” of one's own nature of mind/ [is] bodhichitta, sprung from the ālaya/
Manifest according to the nature of habits of motivation and conduct /
For the benefit of others cherish them more than oneself /
Abiding in the state of exchanging self and other is best method /
Never being separate from Perfect Wisdom, as [one's] samaya,
it's easy /
[Make] dedications and aspirations for happiness [of beings] and place this inyour heart./

This is the extracted root textal fragment of [a longer composition with the words] 'gTer-ston' [in the first line]. Konchok Tashi banged that out with a pen, like a madman, in a state of fierce devotion to the Lama. Virtue

                                                  c. 6/2016

Don't Just Do Something...Sit There!

Don't just do something
Sit there
FInd a bed, or a chair
Or pull up a floor
And set a while
Hand over hand
Do nothing, in style
Turn your head
Side to side
Stare there now
Don't despair
Space and awareness
Will now repair
No need to cry
If you do, it's alright
There's nothing to it
Just sit there, don't do it
Mind is fluid
Pain is the engine
Breath is the key
To unlock tension
We've always been here
No need to remember
Whatever comes up
Return to sender
Stare at your plight
Without hindsight
Release thoughts
Into the flow
Just sit there
Do aught
No scheme or dream
Be right, on the dot.