Sức Mạnh Lòng Từ

Ngôi Chùa mang tên

Bồ Tát Quảng Đức trên đất Úc

Là người Phật tử Việt Nam không ai lại không nghe về vị Bồ Tát sống, thiêu thân vì đạo, vì quê hương, vì chân lý, đó là Bồ Tát Thích Quảng Đức (1897 – 1963). Sự kiện từ bi và trí tuệ của Ngài chỉ để đánh thức tánh linh con người quay về với chân thiện trong đức tính hiếu sinh hòa bình nhân ái, chứ không hạn cuộc bản ngã tầm thường vị kỷ giữa phân định đối kháng chánh tà. Chính thế hình ảnh ngồi kiết già nhập định hòa vào ngọn lửa thiêng trở nên bất tử, và tên Ngài đã đi vào lịch sử đến nay.

Kể từ đó, tên tuổi Bồ Tát, hình ảnh Bồ Tát được ca tụng tán dương qua bao thi văn nhạc đạo - và không những từ quốc nội, danh hiệu Bồ Tát đã vượt quá biên cương, theo người con Phật Việt Nam đến khắp cùng hải ngoại.

Nơi đây, Úc Đại Lợi, tiểu bang Victoria thành phố Melbourne thuộc vùng Fawkner, một ngôi chùa Việt xinh xắn trang nghiêm đầu tiên mang danh hiệu Ngài. Và giờ đây, ngày trọng đại đã đến; ngày khánh thành Tu Viện Quảng Đức chính thức giới thiệu đến mọi người con Phật trên đất Úc nói chung, và tiểu bang Victoria nói riêng.

Không những danh hiệu Bồ Tát làm ngôi chùa linh nhiệm, mà hình dáng kiến trúc đặc thù lại nổi bật tuyệt hảo của truyền thống Á Đông.

Tầm vóc ngôi Tu Viện Quảng Đức không phải lớn nhất ở Úc hay ở Melbourne, nhưng cũng không phải nhỏ so với nhiều ngôi chùa Việt đã có mặt tại đây từ hơn thập niên qua - lại cũng có thể gọi là lớn, vì có thể dung chứa khóa tu học từ 100 đến 200 Phật tử nghỉ lại qua đêm. Tuy nhiên đặc biệt hơn, Tu Viện Quảng Đức là nơi bắc một nhịp cầu nghiên tầm giáo lý khởi sắc quy mô, qua mạng lưới điện toán thông tin toàn cầu (Internet) www.quangduc.com, đây là một “tờ báo điện tử Phật pháp” thật lợi ích thiết thực cho hàng Phật tử mọi nơi trên toàn Úc châu, cả đến toàn cầu. Điều này thật tình mà nói, cho tới nay chưa có tu viện hay chùa nào trên đất Úc theo kịp. Tu Viện Quảng Đức còn là nơi trung tâm văn hóa duy nhất trong thành phố Moreland; tạo nhiều cơ hội cho mọi người không phân biệt sắc thái, tín ngưỡng lui tới viếng thăm chiêm bái, nghiên cứu, tu học. Thật ra tu viện từng được TT Thích Tâm Phương tạo lập từ năm 1990 tại vùng Broadmeadows nhưng đến năm 1996 mới tạo mãi cơ sở này và dời tu viện về nơi đây, vốn là một trường tiểu học Fawkner trong vùng

Tây Bắc Melbourne.

Hiện hữu của ngôi chùa là một duyên khởi biến động qua vô số nhân duyên chập chùng - ngần ấy nói lên người, vật liên hệ mật thiết và sự nhiệm mầu của lý duyên sanh - nhưng cụ thể phải được khởi lên từ một tâm thức thuần chân hướng thiện. Chúng tôi muốn nói đến vị trụ trì Thượng Tọa Thích Tâm Phương;

Người thao thức vì nhu cầu tâm linh của hàng Phật tử, nên đã kiên định nỗ lực vượt quá sức mình tạo mãi bằng tất cả tấm lòng, bằng mồ hôi và cũng có thể là nước mắt. Hình ảnh nầy chắc chắn hàng Phật tử thuần thành đã theo chân Thầy từ rất sớm của những thập niên 90, thấy được ưu tư tha thiết của Thầy là niềm ước vọng chung, nên từ đó trở thành nhân duyên thành tựu như ngày hôm nay. Vậy công đức đó là công đức tất cả, và Thầy trụ trì hoan hỷ tâm đắc hơn ai hết!

Chúng tôi khách quan nhìn ngôi già lam Quảng Đức trong niềm tán thán, nhưng chủ quan trong đạo tình chung tùy hỷ. Vì chánh pháp lại hiện khởi lên từ nơi đất lạ, khi lòng người con Phật chẳng thấy khác ở khắp nơi. Đây quả đúng như hai câu đối mà Hòa Thượng Huyền Tôn đã đề tặng trong ngày khánh thành tu viện sắp tới:

Quảng đại tâm pháp giới tùy duyên quy diệu dụng Đức lưu phương Tăng già nhập thể hiện chơn như

Vậy thì từ đây, nhân duyên nào ghé thăm tiểu bang Victoria, chắc chắn tôi phải dừng chân nơi tu viện, mang tên vị Bồ Tát thiêu thân vì đạo, để chia xẻ niềm vui với người con Phật nơi này. Tôi lại thấy hai câu đối nữa không quên về tu viện do cố Thượng Tọa Thích Quảng Hiện đề tặng trong dịp ngài đến thăm tu viện:

Quảng độ chúng sanh giữ trái tim son ngời Phật Pháp Đức trùm muôn loại đốt thân trí tuệ cứu quần sanh.

Đó, bấy nhiêu lời kính ghi, chia xẻ niềm vui cùng chư vị tôn đức ngôi già lam Quảng Đức, chia xẻ niềm an lạc với Phật tử Melbourne, từ đây có duyên tu học ấm cúng tiện nghi, để nung đúc bồ đề tâm ngày càng kiên cố.

Xin kính chúc Thầy Trụ trì luôn luôn an trụ an lạc để tiếp tục con đường hoằng hóa; lại kính chúc Thầy Nguyên Tạng người tạo dựng và phát huy trang nhà Quảng Đức văn hóa Phật Giáo ngày càng cập nhật đời sống hơn; cùng kính chúc Quý Thầy, Quý Sư Cô chúng già lam Quảng Đức thân tâm an lạc để đốt mãi ngọn đèn trí huệ ngày càng sáng rực hơn theo tinh thần truyền đăng tục diệm.

Tôi xin mạn phép trích hai câu đối của Hòa Thượng Bảo Lạc tặng Tu Viện Quảng Đức để thay lời kết, trong niềm kính chúc ý nghĩa nhất: Quảng nhiếp hàm linh chân thật ngữ, chân thật ý, chân thật hành nghi Đức khai phương tiện như thị văn, như thi tư, như thị tu trì

Thích Phổ Huân kính ghi

Translator’s note

From the 6th to 16th of June 2007, His Holiness the Dalai Lama will visit Australia. This is his fifth trip here to teach the Buddha-Dharma. Everyone here is anxiously waiting for His arrival. His first four visits occurred in 1982, 1992, 1996 and 2002. In 2002, there were approximately 110,000 people (from cities like Geelong, Melbourne, Sydney and Canberra) who came to listen to his preaching, in order to change and develop their spiritual lives. It can be said that His Holiness the Dalai Lama is the greatest Buddhist preacher in the modern age and has written many books on Buddhism, These have attracted many western readers to read about Buddhism.

This book, published in the year of Lord Buddha’s 2631st birthday, is a humble gift, offered to His Holiness the Dalai Lama on the occasion his Australian trip, and this Vietnamese translation also shares his message of compassion to all sentient beings in this suffering world.

May the Lord Buddha bless that Tibet regain their freedom and independence and may His Holiness the Dalai Lama return back to his homeland in the near future after many decades in exile.

Nam Mo Amitabha Buddha, Quang Duc Monastery, Melbourne, Australia Buddha’s 2631st Birthday, the year of fire Pig, 2007 Translator, Ven. Thich Nguyen Tang 41

TIBET’S LIVING BUDDHA

By Pico Iyer

Dogs bark in the Himalayan night. Lights flicker across the hillside. On a pitch-black path framed by pines and covered by a bowl of stars, dew ragged pilgrims shuffle along, muttering ritual chants. Just before dawn, as the snowcaps behind take on a deep pink glow, the crowd, that has formed outside the three storey Namgyal Temple, in northern India falls silent. A strong, slightly stooping figure strides in, bright eyes alertly scanning the crowd, smooth face breaking into a broad and irrepressible smile. Followed by a group of other shaven-headed monks, all of them in claret robes and crested yellow hats, the newcomer clambers up to the temple roof. There, as the sun begins to rise, his clerics seated before him and the solemn drawn-out summons of long horns echoing across the valley below, the Dalai Lama leads a private ceremony to welcome the Year of the Earth Dragon.

On the second day of Losar, the Tibetan New Year, the man who is a living Buddha, to roughly fourteen million people, gives a public audience. By eight A.M. the line of petitioners stretches for half a mile along the winding mountain road outside his airy bungalow. Leathery mountain men in gaucho hats, long haired westerners, little girls in their prettiest silks, all the six thousand residents of the village and the thousands more. Later, thirty dusty visitors, just out of Tibet, crowd inside and as they set eyes on their exiled leader for the first time in almost three decades, fill the small room with racking sobs and sniffles. Through it all, Tenzin Gyatso, the absolute spiritual and temporal ruler of Tibet, incarnation of the Tibetan god of compassion and fourteenth Dalai Lama in a line that stretches back 597 years, remains serene.

In Tibet, he explains later, Losar used to be conducted on the roof of the thirteen storey Potala Palace, with cookies laid out for the masses. “Every year I used to be really worried when the people rushed to grab the cookies. First, that the old building would collapse, and second, that someone would fall over the edge. “Now,” (the rich baritone breaks into a hearty chuckle) “now things are much calmer.”

It was twenty-nine years ago last week that the Tibetan uprising against China’s occupying forces propelled the Dalai Lama into Indian exile. Yet the spirit of his ancient, fairy-tale theocracy is still very much alive in Dharamsala, a former British hill station 250 miles north of New Delhi. Here, attended by a State Oracle, a rainmaking lama, various medicine men, astrologers and a four-man Cabinet, the Dalai Lama, at fifty-two, incarnates all he has done since first ascending the Lion Throne in Lhasa at age four.

Yet even as the “Protector of the Land of Snows” sustains all the secret exoticism of that otherworldly kingdom reimagined in the West as Shangri-La, he remains very much a leader in the real world. Since the age of fifteen, he has been forced to deal with his people’s needs against the competing interests of Beijing, Washington and New Delhi. That always inflammatory situation reached a kind of climax last autumn, when Tibetans rioted in Lhasa, their Chinese rulers killed as many as thirty-two people, the Dalai Lama held his first major press conference in Dharamsala, and the U.S Senate unanimously condemned the Chinese actions. Riots have erupted in recent weeks, but even before that, the modest man in monk’s raiment had found himself not only the spiritual symbol linking 100,000 Tibetans in exile to the six million still living under Chinese rule, but also, more than ever, a political rallying point. “The Fourteenth Dalai Lama may be the most popular Dalai Lama of all,” he says smiling merrily. “If the Chinese had treated the Tibetans like real brothers, then the Dalai Lama might not be so popular. So….,” (he twinkles impishly) “all the credit goes to the Chinese!”

On paper, then, the Dalai Lama is a living incarnation of a Buddha, the hierarch of a government-in-exile and a doctor of metaphysics. Yet the single most extraordinary thing about him may simply be his sturdy, unassuming humanity. The Living God is, in his way, as down to earth as the hardy brown oxfords he wears under his monastic robes, and in his eyes is still the mischief of the little boy who used to give his lamas fits with his invincible skills at hide-and-seek. He delights in tending his flower gardens, looking after wild birds, repairing watches and transistors and, mostly, just meditating. And even toward those who have killed up to 1.2 million of his people and destroyed 6,254 of his monasteries, he remains remarkably forbearing. “As people who practice the Mahayana Buddhist teaching, we pray every day to develop some kind of unlimited altruism,” he says. “So there is no point in developing hatred for the Chinese. Rather, we should develop respect for them and love and compassion.”

The Fourteenth God-King of Tibet was born in a cow shed in the tiny farming village of Takster in 1935. When he was two, a search party of monks, led to his small home by a corpse that seemed to move, a lakeside vision and the appearance of auspicious cloud formations, identified him as the new incarnation of Tibet’s patron god. Two years later, after passing an elaborate battery of tests, the little boy was taken amid a caravan of hundred into the capital of Lhasa, “Home of the Gods.” There he had to live alone with his immediate elder brother in the cavernous thousand-chamber Potala Palace and undertook an eighteen-year course in Metaphysics. By the age of seven, he was receiving envoys from the President Franklin Roosevelt and leading prayers before twenty thousand watchful monks; yet he remained a thoroughly normal little boy who loved to whiz around the hold compound in a pedal car and instigate fights with his siblings. “I recall one summer day, I must have been about seven, when my mother took me to the Norbulingka Summer Palace to see His Holiness,” recalls the Dalai Lama’s youngest brother Tenzin Choegyal. “When we got there, His Holiness was watering his plants. The next think I knew, he was turning the hose at me!”

It was at this time too, that the precocious boy first developed his prodigious gift for things scientific, teaching himself the principles of the combustion engine and fixing the palace’s generator whenever it went on the blink. To satisfy his insatiable curiosity about a world he was permitted to glimpse only through the silk-fringed curtains of his golden palanquin, the young ruler set up a projector by which he eagerly devoured Tarzan movies, Henry V and, best of all, home movies of his own capital.

Often, he recalls, he would take a telescope onto the palace roof and wistfully gaze at the boys and girls of Lhasa carelessly going about their lives. In 1950 the isolation of the “Wish-Fulfilling Gem” and his mountain kingdom was shattered as the Chinese attacked from eight different directions. Suddenly the teenage ruler was obliged to take a crash course in statesmanship, traveling to Beijing to negotiate with Zhou Enlai and Mao Zedong. Finally, in March 1959, when a bloody confrontation seemed imminent as thirty thousand steadfast Tibetans rose up against Chinese rule, the Dalai Lama slipped out of his summer palace, dressed as a humble soldier and set off across the highest mountains on earth. Two weeks later, suffering from dysentery and on the back of a dzo, (a hybrid yak) the “Holder of the White Lotus” rode into exile in India.

Since then, his has been a singularly delicate balancing act, the guest of a nation that would prefer him to remain silent and the enemy of a nation that much of the world is trying to court. Undeterred, the Dalai Lama has organized fifty-three Tibetan settlements in India and Nepal and set up institutes to preserve his country’s arts, its scriptures and its medical traditions. In recent years he has begun to race around the world like a Buddhist John Paul II; lecturing at Harvard, meeting the Pope and attending to his flock, be they unlettered peasants or the American actor Richard Gere (a student of Buddhism since 1982). Always inclined to see the good in everything, he feels that exile has in some respects been a blessing. “When we were in Tibet, there were certain ceremonial activities that took up a lot of time, but the substance was not much. All those exist no longer. That’s good, I think. Also, because we are refugees, we have become much more realistic. There’s no point now in pretending.”

Many young Tibetans would like their leader to be more militant. Angrily noting that there are more than three thousand political prisoners in central Tibet alone and the Beijing has at least three hundred thousand troops on the “Rooftop of the World,” they advocate violence. But the Dalai Lama refuses to be intemperate. “Once your mind is dominated by anger,” he notes thoughtfully, “it becomes almost mad. You cannot take right decisions, and you cannot see reality. But if your mind is calm and stable, you will see everything exactly as it is. I think all politicians need this kind of patience. Compared with the previous Soviet leaders I think for example, that Gorbachev is much calmer, therefore more effective.”

Pacifism however, does not mean passivity. “Ultimately …,” he continues, “… the Chinese have to realize that Tibet is a separate country. If Tibet was always truly a part of China then, whether Tibetans liked it or not, they would have to live with it. But that’s not the case. So we have every right to demand our rights.”

The Dalai Lama spends much of his time reflecting on how Tibetan Buddhism can teach and learn from other disciplines. He believes for example, that Buddhism can show Marxism how to develop a genuine socialist ideal “Not through force but through reason and through a gently training of the mind, through the development of altruism.” He sees many points of contact between his faith and psychology, cosmology, neurobiology, the social sciences and physics. “There are many things we Buddhists should learn from the latest scientific findings and that scientists can learn from Buddhist explanations. We must conduct research and then accept the results. If they don’t stand up to experimentation,” he says, beaming subversively, “Buddha’s own words must be rejected.”

Such quiet radicalism has at times unsettled followers so devout that they would readily give up their lives for their leader. In the draft constitution he drew up in 1963, the God-King included, against his people’s wishes, a clause that would allow for his impeachment. Now he is considering new methods for choosing the next Dalai Lama; adopting an electoral system similar to the Vatican’s perhaps, or selecting on the basis of seniority, or even dispensing with the entire institution. “I think the time has come, not necessarily to take a decision very soon, but to start a more formal discussion, so that people can prepare their minds for it.”

In the meantime, the exiled leader will continue to pursue a simple, selfless life that is close to the Buddhist ideal of the Middle Way. Neither hostile to the world, nor hostage to it. Buddhism’s supreme living deity still refuses to fly first class and thinks himself always, as he told the press last autumn, as a “simple Buddhist monk.” Though he is one of the most erudite scholars of one of the most cerebral of all the world’s philosophies, he has a gift for reducing his doctrine to a core of lucid practicality, crystallized in the title of his 1984 book, Kindness, Clarity and Insight (Snow Lion Publications). “My true religion,”

he has said, “is kindness.”

It is in fact, the peculiar misfortune of the Chinese to be up against one of those rare souls it is all but impossible to dislike. Beijing has felt it necessary to call him a “political corpse, bandit and traitor,” a “red-handed butcher who subsisted on people’s flesh.” Yet everyone who meets the Dalai Lama is thoroughly disarmed by his good-natured warmth and by a charisma all the stronger for being so gentle.

To an outsider, the life of a living Buddha can seem a profoundly lonely one. In recent years, moreover, nearly all the people closest to the Tibetan ruler; his senior tutor, his junior tutor, his mother and the elder brother, who in youth was his only playmate, have died. Yet this, like everything else, the Dalai Lama takes in the deepest sense, philosophically. “Old friends pass away, new friends appear,” he says with cheerful matter-of-factness. “It’s just like the days. An old day passes, a new day arrives. The important thing is to make it meaningful; a meaningful friend or a meaningful day.”

Source: Sidney Piburn (1993), The Dalai Lama, A Policy of Kindness, Snow Lion Publications, Ithaca, New York, USA 45

A life in the Day: The Dalai Lama

As told to Vanya Kewley

When I wake at four o’clock, I automatically start reciting the Ngagihinlab mantra. It’s a prayer that dedicates everything I do, my speech, my thoughts, my deeds, my whole day, as an offering, a positive way to help others. Like all monks, I obey a vow of poverty, so there are no personal possessions. My bedroom has just a bed and the first thing I see when I wake is the face of the Buddha on a holy seventeenth-century statue from Kyirong, one of the very few that escaped the Chinese desecration. It’s cold when I wake, as we are at 7,000 feet, so I do some exercises, wash and dress quickly. I wear the same maroon robe as do all the monks. It’s not of good quality and it’s patched. If it was of good material and in one piece, you could sell it and gain something. This way you can’t. This reinforces our philosophy of becoming detached from worldly goods. I meditate until five-thirty and make prostrations. We have a special practice to remind ourselves of our misdeeds and I make my confession and recite prayers for the well-being of all sentient beings. Then at daybreak, if the weather is fine, I go into the garden. This time of day is very special to me. I look at the sky. It’s very clear and I see the stars and have this special feeling of my insignificance in the cosmos. The realization of what we Buddhists call impermanence. It’s very relaxing. Sometimes I don’t think at all and just enjoy the dawn and listen to the birds. Then Penjor or Loga, monks from Namgyal monastery who have been with me for 28 years, bring my breakfast. It’s a half-Tibetan, half-Western mixture. Tsampa roasted barley flour and porridge. While I have breakfast, my ears are very busy listening to the news on the BBC World Service.

Then at about six, I move into another room and meditate until nine. Through meditation, all Buddhists try and develop the right kind of motivation, compassion, forgiveness and tolerance. I meditate six or seven times a day.

From nine until lunch I read and study our scriptures. Buddhism is a very profound religion and, although I have been studying all my life, there is still so much to learn.

Unfortunately nearly all our ancient books and manuscripts have been destroyed by the Chinese.

It’s as though all the Gutenberg bibles and Domesday books in the world had been destroyed. No record.

No memory. Before the Chinese invasion, we had over six thousand functioning monasteries and temples.

Now there are only thirty-seven.

I also try and read Western masters. I want to learn more about Western philosophy and science.

Especially nuclear physics, astronomy and neurobiology. Often Western scientists come and discuss the relationship between our philosophy and theirs, or compare their work on the brain function and Buddhist experience of different levels of consciousness. It is an absorbing exchange, for all of us!

I often get up and go and fiddle with things. Change batteries for the radio, repair something.

From childhood I have been fascinated with mechanical things; toys, small cars, aeroplanes. Things I could explore with my hands. We had an old movie projector in Lhasa that belonged to the Thirteenth Dalai Lama. It was looked after by an ancient Chinese monk. But when he died, no one else knew how to make it work. So I learnt how to make it go, but it was trial and error, as I couldn’t read the instructions. I only spoke Tibetan. So now sometimes I work in my workshop repairing things like watches or clocks or planting things in the greenhouse. I love plants, especially delphiniums and tulips, and love to see them grow.

At twelve-thirty I have lunch, usually non-vegetarian, though I prefer vegetarian. I eat what I’m given. Sometimes thupka soup with noodles, occasionally momo steamed dumplings with meat and skabakled deep fried bread with meat inside.

The afternoon is taken up with official meetings with the Bha’zhag (Tibetan cabinet in exile), or deputies from the Assembly of Tibetan People’s Deputies. But there are always people coming from Tibet, with or without the permission of the Chinese. Mostly brave people who escape over the 17,000ft Himalayan passes.

It is very painful for me. They all have sad stories and cry. Practically everyone tells me the names of relatives who have been killed by the Chinese, or died in Chinese prisons or labor camps. I try to give them encouragement and see how I can help them practically, as they arrive here destitute and in very bad health.

Very often they bring their children here. They tell me it is the only way they can learn our language, faith and culture. We put the younger ones in the Tibetan Children’s Village here or in Mussoorie. Older ones who want to be monks we send for training in our monasteries in South India.

Although Tibetans want me to return, I get a message from inside, not to return under the present circumstances. They don’t want me to be a Chinese puppet like the Panchen Lama. Here, in the free world, I am more useful to my people as a spokesman. I can serve them better from outside.

Sometimes Pema, my younger sister who runs the Tibetan Children’s Village for orphans here, comes and discusses problems. Like all monks, I don’t see much of my family; my parents are dead. My elder brother, Norbu, is Professor of Tibetan studies in Bloomington, Indiana. Thondup, a businessman, lives in Hong Kong.

Unfortunately my middle brother, Lobsang Samden, died two years ago. We were very close. He lived and studied with me in the Potala where we used to get up to all sorts of mischief. Before his death, he worked here at the medical center. I miss him very much.

At six I have tea. As a monk, I have no dinner. At seven it is television time, but unfortunately they transmit discussion programs. And as one is from Amritsar and the other from Pakistan, and I don’t know Punjabi or Urdu, it’s all talk to me. But occasionally there is a film in English. I liked the BBC series on western civilization, and those wonderful nature programs.

Then it’s time for bed and more meditation and prayers and by eight-thirty or nine I fall asleep.

But if there is a moon, I think that it is also looking down on my people imprisoned in Tibet. I give thanks that, even though I am a refugee, I am free here; free to speak for my people. I pray especially to the patron deity of Tibet, Avalokitesvara, for them. There is not one waking hour when I don’t think of the plight of my people, locked away in their mountain fastness.

Source: Sidney Piburn (1993), The Dalai Lama, A Policy of Kindness, Snow Lion Publications, Ithaca, New York, USA 47

HIS LIFE

An Interview by John Avedon

JA: What were your first feelings on being recognized as the Dalai Lama? What did you think had happened to you?

DL: I was very happy. I liked it a lot. Even before I was recognized, I often told my mother that I was going to go to Lhasa. I used to straddle a window sill in our house pretending that I was riding a horse to Lhasa. I was a very small child at the time, but I remember this clearly. I had a strong desire to go there. Another thing I didn’t mention in my autobiography is that after my birth, a pair of crows came to roost on the roof of our house. They would arrive each morning, stay for a while and then leave. This is of particular interest as similar incidents occurred at the birth of the First, Seventh, Eighth and Twelfth Dalai Lamas. After their births, a pair of crows came and remained. In my own case, in the beginning, nobody paid attention to this. Recently however, perhaps three years ago, I was talking with my mother, and she recalled it. She had noticed them come in the morning; depart after a time, and then the next morning come again. Now, the evening after the birth of the First Dalai Lama, bandits broke into the family’s house. The parents ran away and left the child. The next day when they returned and wondered what had happened to their son, they found the baby in a corner of the house. A crow stood before him, protecting him. Later on, when the First Dalai Lama grew up and developed in his spiritual practice, he made direct contact during meditation with the protective deity, Mahakala. At this time, Mahakala said to him, “Somebody like you who is upholding the Buddhist teaching needs a protector like me. Right on the day of your birth, I helped you.” So we can see, there is definitely a connection between Mahakala, the crows, and the Dalai Lamas.

Another thing that happened, which my mother remembers very clearly, is that soon after I arrived in Lhasa, I said that my teeth were in a box in a certain house in the Norbulinka. When they opened the box, they found a set of dentures which had belonged to the Thirteenth Dalai Lama. I pointed to the box, and said that my teeth were in there, but right now I don’t recall this at all. The new memories associated with this body are stronger. The past has become smaller, more vague. Unless I make a specific attempt to develop such a memory, I don’t recall it. JA: Do you remember your birth or the womb state before?

DL: At this moment, I don’t remember. Also, I can’t recall if at that time when I was a small child, I could remember it. However, there was one slight external sign perhaps. Children are usually born with their eyes closed. I was born with my eyes open. This may be some slight indication of a clear state of mind in the womb.

JA: When you were a little boy, how did you feel on being treated by adults as an important person? Were you apprehensive or even frightened at being so revered?

DL: Tibetans are very practical people. Older Tibetans would never treat me that way. Also, I was very self-confident. When I first approached Lhasa on the Debuthang plan, the Nechung Oracle came to further verify that I was the correct choice. With him came an old, much respected, and highly realized geshay from Loseling College of Drepung Monastery. He was deeply concerned whether or not I was the correct choice. To have made a mistake in the finding of the Dalai Lama would be very dangerous. Now he was a religious man, not someone in the government. He came into the tent, where I was in a group audience, and determined that I was unquestionably the right choice. So you see, though there were certain very proper old people who wanted to be sure, I apparently put on a good performance and convinced them (laughter). I was never uneasy in my position. Charles Bell has mentioned that I was taking it all quite casually. To go with fear, there’s one thing I remember clearly. One night I wanted to go visit my mother, who had come with the rest of my family to Lhasa. I was in the tent of the regent. A very large bodyguard was standing by the entrance. It was evening, sunset, and this man had a bad, damaged eye. I remember being scared, frightened then, to go out of the tent.

JA: Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, after you assumed temporal power, did you change? DL: Yes, I changed… a little bit. I underwent a lot of happiness and pain. Within that and from growing, gaining more experience, from the problems that arose and the suffering, I changed. The ultimate result is the man you see now (laughter).

JA: How about when you just entered adolescence? Many people have a difficult time defining themselves as an adult. Did this happen to you?

DL: No. My life was very much in a routine. Two times a day I studied. Each time I studied for an hour, and then spent the rest of the time playing (laughter). Then at the age of 13, I began studying philosophy, definitions, debate. My study increased and I also studied calligraphy. It was all in a routine though, and I got used to it. Sometimes, there were vacations. These were very comfortable; happy. Losang Samten, my immediate elder brother, was usually at school, but sometimes he would come to visit. Also, occasionally my mother would bring special bread from our province of Amdo. It was very thick and delicious. She made this herself.

JA: Did you have an opportunity to have a relationship with your father when you were growing up?

DL: My father died when I was 13.

JA: Are there any of your predecessors in whom you have a special interest or with whom you have a particular affinity?

DL: The Thirteenth Dalai Lama. He brought a lot of improvement to the standards of study in the monastic colleges. He gave great encouragement to the real scholars. He made it impossible for people to go up in the religious hierarchy, becoming an abbot and so forth, without being totally qualified. He was very strict in this respect. He also gave tens of thousands of monks ordinations. These were his two main religious achievements. He didn’t give many initiations, or many lectures. Not, with respect to the country, he had great thought and consideration for statecraft, the outlying districts in particular, how they should be governed and so forth. He cared very much about how to run the government more efficiently.

He had great concern about our borders and that type of thing.

JA: During the course of your own life, what have been your greatest personal lessons or internal challenges? Which realizations and experiences have had the most effect on your growth as an individual?

DL: Regarding religious experience, some understanding of shunya (emptiness: lack of independent self-nature) some feeling, some experience, and mostly bodhichitta, altruism. It has helped a lot. In some ways, you could say that it has made me into a new person, a new man. I’m still progressing.

Trying. It gives you inner strength, courage, and it is easier to accept situations. That’s one of the greatest experiences.

JA: On the bodhichitta side, are you speaking about a progressive deepening of realization or a certain moment associated with external experience? DL: Mainly internal practice. There could also be external causes or circumstances. External factors could have played a part in the development of some feeling for bodhichitta. But mainly, it has to come from internal practice.

JA: Can you cite a specific moment from your practice when you crossed a threshold?

DL: Regarding shunya theory, first shunya theory, then bodhichitta feeling… Around ’65, ’66, in that period. This is really a personal matter. For a true religious practitioner, these things must be kept private. 49 JA: OK. Not asking you about your own deepest experience, but in terms of the course of your life, the events of your life, how have these affected you as a man? How have you grown through experiencing them?

DL: Being a refugee has been very useful. You are much closer to reality. When I was born in Tibet as the Dalai Lama, I was trying to be realistic, but somehow because of circumstances, there was some distance, I think. I was a bit isolated from the reality. I became a refugee. Very good. So there was a good opportunity to gain experience and also determination or inner strength.

JA: When you became a refugee, what helped you gain this strength? Was it the loss of your position and country? The fact of everyone suffering around you? Were you called on to lead your people in a different way than you had been accustomed to?

DL: Being a refugee is a really desperate, dangerous situation. At the time, everyone deals with reality. It is not the time to pretend things are beautiful. That’s something. You feel involved with reality. In peace time, everything goes smoothly. Even if there is a problem, people pretend that things are good. During a dangerous period, where there’s a dramatic change then there’s no scope to pretend that everything is fine. You must accept that bad is bad. Now when I left the Norbulinka, there was danger. We were passing very near the Chinese military barracks. It was just on the other side of the river, the Chinese checkpost there. You see, we have definite information two or three weeks before I left, that the Chinese were fully prepared to attack us. It was only a question of the day and hour.

JA: At that moment, when you crossed the Kyichu River and met the party of Khamba guerillas waiting for you, did you assume a direct leadership capacity? Who, for instance, made the decisions on your flight?

DL: As soon as we left Lhasa, we set up an inner group, a committee to discuss each point. Myself and eight other people.

JA: Was it your idea to make it unanimous? DL: Yes. Those who were left behind in Lhasa also established a People’s Committee. Something like a revolutionary council. Of course, from the Chinese viewpoint, this was a counter revolutionary committee. Chosen by the people, you see, within a few days… they set up that committee and all major decisions were made by it. I also sent a letter to that committee, certifying it. In our small committee, those who were escaping with me, we discussed the practical points each night. Originally, our plan was to establish our headquarters in southern Tibet, as you now. Also, I mentioned to Pandit Nehru, I think on the 24th of April, 1959, that we had established a Tibetan temporary government, shifted from Lhasa to southern Tibet. I mentioned this casually to the Prime Minister. He was slightly agitated (laughter). “We are not going to recognize your government,” he said. Although this government had been formed while still inside Tibet, and I was already in India…

JA: I’d like to ask you about being the incarnation of the bodhisattva of infinite compassion, Avalokiteshvara [Tibetan: Chenrezi]. How do you personally feel about this? Is it something you have an unequivocal view of one way or another?

DL: It is difficult for me to say definitely. Unless I engaged in a meditative effort, such as following my life back breath by breath, I couldn’t say exactly. We believe that there are four types of rebirth. One is the common type, wherein a being is helpless to determine his or her rebirth, but only incarnates in dependence on the nature of past actions. The opposite is that of an entirely enlightened Buddha, who simply manifests a physical form to help others. In this case, it is clear that the person is a Buddha. A third is one who, due to past spiritual attainment, can choose, or at least influence, the place and situation of rebirth. The fourth is called a blessed manifestation. In this the person is blessed beyond his normal capacity to perform helpful functions, such as teaching religion. For this last type of birth, the person’s wishes in previous lives, to help others, must have been very strong. They then obtain such empowerment. Though some seem more likely than others, I cannot definitely say which I am. JA: From the viewpoint then of the realistic role you play as Chenrezi, how do you feel about it?

Only a few people have been considered, in one way or another, divine. Is the role a burden or a delight?

DL: It is very helpful. Through this role I can be great benefit to people. For this reason I like it: I’m at home with it. It’s clear that it is very helpful to people, and that I have the karmic relationship to be in this role. Also, it is clear that there is a karmic relationship with the Tibetan people in particular. Now you see, you may consider that under the circumstances, I am very lucky. However, behind the word luck there are actual causes or reasons. There is the karmic force of my ability to assume this role as well as the force of my wish to do so. In regard to this, there is a statement in the great Shantideva’s Engaging in the Bodhisattva Deeds which says, “As long as space exists, and as long as there are migrators in cyclic existence, may I remain, removing their suffering.” I have that wish in this lifetime, and I know I had that wish in past lifetimes.

JA: With such a vast goal as your motivation, how do you deal with your personal limitations, your limits as a man?

DL: Again, as it says in Shantideva, “If the blessed Buddha cannot please all sentient beings, then how could I?” Even an enlightened being, with limitless knowledge and power and the wish to save all others from suffering, cannot eliminate the individual karma of each being.

JA: Is this what keeps you from being overwhelmed when you see the suffering of the six million Tibetans, who on one level, you are responsible for?

DL: My motivation is directed towards all sentient beings. There is no question, though, that on a second level, I am directed towards helping Tibetans. If a problem is fixable, if a situation is such that you can do something about it, then there is no need to worry. It it’s not fixable, then there is no help in worrying. There is no benefit in worrying whatsoever.

JA: A lot of people say this, but few really live by it. Did you always feel this way, or did you have to learn it?

DL: It is developed from inner practice. From a broader perspective, there will always be suffering. On one level, you are bound to meet with the effects of the unfavorable actions you yourself have previously committed, in either body, speech or mind. Then also, your very own nature is that of suffering. There’s not just one factor figuring into my attitude, but many different ones. From the point of view of the actual entity producing the suffering, as I have said, if it is fixable, then there is no need to worry. It not, there is no benefit to worrying. From the point of view of the cause, suffering is based on past unfavorable actions accumulated by oneself and no other. These karmas are not wasted. They will bear their fruit. One will now meet with the effects of actions that one has not done oneself. Finally, from the viewpoint of the nature of suffering itself, the aggregates of the mind and body have as their actual nature, suffering. They serve as a basis for suffering. As long as you have them you are susceptible to suffering. From a deep point of view, while we don’t have our independence and are living in someone else’s country, we experienced a certain type of suffering, but when we return to Tibet and gain our independence, then there will be other types of suffering. So, this is just the way it is. You might think that I’m pessimistic, but I am not. This is the Buddhist realism. This is how, through Buddhist teaching and advice, we handle situations. When fifty thousand people in the Shakya clan were killed one day, Shakyamuni Buddha, their clansman, didn’t suffer at all. He was leaning against a tree, and he was saying, “I am a little sad today because fifty thousand of my clansmen were killed.” But he, himself, remained unaffected. Like that, you see (laughter). This was the cause and effect of their own karma. There was nothing he could do about it. These sorts of thoughts make me stronger; more active. It is not at all a case of losing one’s strength of mind or will, in the face of the pervasive nature of suffering. JA: I’m interested in what you do to relax: gardening and experimenting with electronics.

DL: Oh, my hobbies. Passing time (laughter). When I can repair something, it gives me real satisfaction. I began dismantling things when I was young because I was curious about how certain machines functioned. I wanted to know what was inside the motor, but these days I only try to fix something when it breaks. JA: And gardening? DL: Gardening in Dharamsala is almost a hopeless thing. No matter how hard you work, the monsoon comes and destroys everything. You know, a monk’s life is very gratifying; very happy. You can see this from those who have given up the robes. They definitely know the value of monkhood. Many have told me how complicated and difficult life is without it. With a pretty wife and children you might be happy for some time. In the long run, though, many problems naturally come about. Half of your independence, your freedom, is lost. If there is some benefit or meaning to experience the trouble which arises on giving up your independence, then it is worthwhile. If it is an effective situation which helps people, then it is good - The trouble becomes worthwhile. But if it isn’t, it is not worthwhile. JA: But none of us would even be here talking about this unless we have mothers and fathers! DL: I’m not saying that having children is bad, or that everyone should be a monk. Impossible!

(laughter).

I think that if one’s life is simple, contentment has to come. Simplicity is extremely important for happiness. Having few desires, feeling satisfied with what you have is very vital. There are four causes which help produce a superior being. Satisfaction with whatever food you get. Satisfaction with rags for clothing, or acceptance of any covering, not wishing for fancy or colorful attire. Satisfaction with just enough shelter to protect yourself from the elements. And finally, an intense delight in abandoning faulty states of mind and in cultivating helpful ones in meditation.

Source: Sidney Piburn (1993), The Dalai Lama, A policy of Kindness, Snow Lion Publications, Ithaca, New York, USA 52

THE POWER OF COMPASSION

The Dalai Lama and Michael Toms

PROLOGUE

His Holiness Tenzin Gyasto, 14th Dalai Lama in a line of incarnate Buddhist monarchs dating back to the 14th century, is a modern spiritual leader who manifests an acute awareness and concern for contemporary social issues. Born to a peasant family, his Holiness was recognized at the age of two, in accordance with Tibetan tradition, as the reincarnation of his predecessor, the 13th Dalai Lama. The Dalai Lama is the political, religious, and spiritual leader of the Tibetan people.

Unlike his predecessors, his Holiness has traveled extensively in the Western world, meeting with major religious and secular leaders in Western Europe, North America, the Soviet Union, and Asia. During his travel abroad, his Holiness has spoken strongly for better understanding and respect among different faiths. He has made numerous appearances at interfaith services, imparting the message of universal responsibility, love, compassion, and kindness. Since his first visit to the West, his Holiness’ reputation as a scholar and a man of peace has grown steadily. Western universities and institutions have conferred peace awards and honorary doctoral degrees upon him in recognition of his distinguished writing and Buddhist philosophy, and for his leadership in the service of freedom and peace.

On October 5, 1989, his Holiness was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. The Nobel committee states that “the Dalai Lama…consistently has opposed the use of violence. He has instead advocated peaceful solutions based upon tolerance and mutual respect.” To Tibetans, the Dalai Lama is the embodiment of their faith, the symbol of their national identity, and their hope for freedom. To the rest of the world, his Holiness is a devoted and highly respected advocate of universal compassion, justice, and peace.

Shortly before receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, his Holiness visited Central America and Costa Rica for the first time and participated in the first major interfaith gathering ever to be held in Central America. He was a keynote speaker along with President Oscar Arias of Costa Rica, also a Nobel Peace Prize laureate, at the “Seeking the True Meaning of Peace” conference. It was during this conference that I had the rare opportunity to have a private interview with his Holiness, at a convent of Catholic nuns where he was staying outside of San Jose, Costa Rica.

MICHAEL TOMS: What are your impressions of Costa Rica?

THE DALAI LAMA: What I have seen of the country itself is very beautiful. Its people, it seems, are not rushing as in New York and other places. This country has no military forces, no production of military equipment. These things, I think, are very important, as everyone talks about peace and disarmament, trying to reduce arms production, and arms competition. I really was impressed when they instituted this practice in the ‘40s. At that time, I saw no one else practicing this kind of idea. And also, you see, things were very complicated at that time, in the 1940s and 1950s, during World War II. So I am very impressed. And I feel that we could learn many things from this country’s experience.

What do you think Buddhism offers people that live in these times? What do you think that Buddhism brings to us today? I believe that Buddhism, as with any other religion, has some potential to contribute, mainly through mental peace and by changing our outlook on life in terms of our neighbors and our environment. So that, I think, is what Buddhism can contribute. One special significance of Buddhism is the theoretical explanation of existence. Things are relative. Things are interdependent. That is a very helpful way to look at the world. For example, the modern economic structure itself is a very good example of interdependency, isn’t it? It is heavily interdependent. I was at lunch the other day with the Archbishop of this country, and he mentioned that they produce bananas here and sell them to the United States. And this country buys U.S wheat. It is an exchange; things are dependent on one another.

Another aspect of Buddhist philosophy that I think has some special significance is the idea of things being relative. God is always found somewhere between black and white or between negative and positive. You cannot say, “This is my enemy,” and see that enemy as 100 percent negative. Nor can you say, “This is my friend,” and see the friend as 100 percent positive. That is impossible. Basically, this is the same situation. It is that kind of attitude that is very helpful in reducing hatred. I always say, “Talk to people.” Religious people should not think only of how to propagate their religion, but also of how much they can contribute to humanity.

How do you see the connection and the relationship between Buddhism and Christianity here and in the rest of the Western world?

Generally, the relationship among various religions during the last few years is much improved-particularly between Tibetan Buddhism and Christianity. They have a much closer relationship: a much deep understanding has developed. The present Pope and I have had several occasions to discuss this. And I’ve also discussed this with many other important figures in the Catholic and Protestant communities. I think we’ve developed very positive, close relationships. And that is very helpful to mutual learning. We have learned many things from Christian brothers and sisters and they have also learned some new techniques from us. For example, there is the practice of love and compassion and forgiveness. There is also a certain Buddhist technique adopted or utilized that involves concentration, or discipline. It is the Shamata, the one-pointedness of mind. That practice in Buddhism, in Eastern philosophy, is still a living tradition. It is something that I think is useful for some of our Christian practitioners.

In 1968, Thomas Merton came to Asia on his first visit out of the States. You had a chance to meet with him. He was a Catholic Trappist monk who was very interested in Tibetan Buddhism. What do you remember of your meeting with Thomas Merton?

That was a very pleasant meeting. And also, due to meeting with him, my understanding of Christianity was expanded, adding to my genuine respect for Christian practitioners and their contribution to humanity. I consider Thomas Merton a very strong, solid bridge between East and West. Since his sudden death, I’ve felt a great loss. I think he made one big contribution regarding a closer understanding and relation between Christians in general, and Catholics in particular, and Tibetan Buddhists.

You have spoken about compassion and love producing an inner courage and inner peace. Could you explain?

Compassion is a concern for people, for other sentient beings. And it is not merely a feeling of sympathy and pity, but a desire to do something to help. That is the kind of compassion that opens one’s mind and one’s self to others. It automatically develops a feeling that the other is part of you. And I think that helps. You see, there is no barrier; fear and suspicion are reduced. That in turn, gives you courage and will. 54 Many people feel overwhelmed and oppressed when they look at the external world and its many problems. They feel unable to do anything. How can one small individual make a difference in a world with so many problems? What do you have to say to that?

Today’s problems did not spring up overnight. It could be anywhere from two years to two centuries that brought these problems where they are today. So now, the issue is to reduce or eliminate our problems, which may also take 100 years. It takes time; that’s the nature of change. Basically, many of these negative things are essentially man-made. If we do not want these things to exist, we have to make an effort to change them. No one else is here to take care of them. We have to face them ourselves. There is no other choice. But the initiative must come from the individual. First there is one individual, then another joins, then a third person joins, until there are 100, then 1,000. After all, human society, human community, means a group of individuals. A big change will not take place because of one individual effort, but by the combined efforts of individuals.

How do you see what went on in China in June 1989 in relation to what has been going on in Tibet? How do you see the future of Tibet relative to that unrest? For the time being, because the Chinese government practices hard-line policy, it is Tibetan policy, too. But there is something else going on in China. Something really great, I think, of historical importance. One thing that impresses me is that although the Chinese people, particularly the students, are brought up and educated in the communist society, which is of a violent nature, the people sincerely and strictly follow Mahatma Gandhi’s teachings of non-violence. That is something really remarkable. This is a kind of confirmation for me, that non-violence is much closer to basic human nature, or human spirit, than is generally credited.

They were completely nonviolent in their demands for more freedom, more democracy, and less corruption. That, also, I think, is very beautiful. And although for the time being they lost, I think they made a great impact in the Chinese people’s mind and on the world outside, too. Because of their strong human spirit and sincere motivation, it is only a question of time, I think, until their wish will be fulfilled. And I pray for their goal. China is the most populated nation in the world. As a Buddhist monk, when I pray for all sentient beings, that means a greater part of my prayer includes China because it has the largest population. Even small things can have a big effect in that country, because it affects so many people- more than a billion human souls.

MICHAEL TOMS: That interview took place with the Dalai Lama in Costa Rica in June 1989.

In October 1989, his Holiness led the chanting during the performance of a traditional Tibetan Lhasang ceremony designed to heal the environment. This ceremony was performed atop Mt. Tamalpais in Marin County just north of San Francisco. There are those who claim that the earthquake damage to the Bay area was considerably less that it might have been because of his Holiness’ visit just prior to its occurrence.

I had the opportunity to ask his Holiness a question at a press conference held immediately following the Lhasang ceremony. I asked him about the coming together of East and West and what that really means.

THE DALAI LAMA: As I mentioned earlier, these things are a very positive change, a positive development. At a certain stage in a society’s development, an authoritarian, very rigid system may work.

An example of that might be when the Russian Revolution took place and the Chinese Communist Revolution took place. For a certain period of time, it worked. But I believe that even though this system or ideology had the potential to break through the existing system, it has very little to offer as a new, meaningful way of life. The reason, to me, is quite clear. These revolutionary movements mainly come from hatred, not from love. Of course, there are advances and a certain kind of love and concern involved. As far as working-class people and less-privileged people are concerned, the advances can seem very good. But compare the hate and energy of power with the energy of love. Compare the force of hatred with the force of compassion. I think the hatred force may be 60, 70, or perhaps 80 percent and only 20 to 30 percent compassion. Therefore, things cannot work properly and now we are seeing people who are realizing this situation. People are either compelled to change or compelled to accept things as they are. That’s human history, right?

I consider the 20th century one of the most important in human history. Within this century, we’ve gained many experiences, positive as well as negative. As a result, I think humanity has become more discerning. When things become so dangerous and delicate and fearful, that helps develop human awareness. It took the nuclear attack, so awful, so powerful, to wake up the desire for world peace. After World War II, many people thought a third world war would inevitably. But because of the nuclear threat, people developed their awareness. So that is hopeful.

The same is true with the environment. We see that it is damaged. The signs of damage are already there. Again, that helped develop human awareness. In the religious field also, I feel that human awareness is being developed. In the name of different religions, human have suffered and inflicted great misery. By developing an awareness of other religions, we can open our eyes, our minds, and look with tolerance at the message of different religions.

EPILOGUE The Dalai Lama serves as a model of kindness and compassion for each of us. Here is a man who has lost friends, family and his nation (more than one million Tibetans have lost their lives since the Chinese takeover in 1959, and this from a nation with less than a population of five million), yet he still exemplifies the ideals he speaks about. In an emerging global society, the Dalai Lama also addresses the importance of recognizing the sameness inherent in all human beings, whatever their religion, race, or status in society. It’s clear that this realization begins at home for each of us. As we are able to practice more kindness and compassion in our daily life, so too will the world change.

Source: Michael Toms (1998) Buddhism in the West, New Dimensions, Hay House, California, USA 56

Dimensions of Spirituality

The Dalai Lama

TWO LEVELS OF SPIRITUALITY

BROTHERS AND SISTERS, I would like to address the topic of spiritual values by defining two levels of spirituality.

To begin, let me say that as human beings our basic aim is to have a happy life; we all want to experience happiness. It is natural for us to seek happiness. This is our life’s purpose. The reason is quite clear: when we lose hope, the result is that we become depressed and perhaps even suicidal. Therefore, our very existence is strongly rooted in hope. Although there is no guarantee of what the future will bring, it is because we have hope that we are able to continue living. Therefore, we can say that the purpose of our life, our life’s goal, is happiness.

Human brings are not produced by machines. We are more than just matter; we have feeling and experience. For that reason, material comfort alone is not enough. We need something deeper, what I usually refer to as human affection, or compassion. With human affection, or compassion, all the material advantages that we have at our disposal can be very constructive and can produce good results. Without human affection, however, material advantages alone will not satisfy us, nor will they produce in us any measure of mental peace or happiness. In fact, material advantages without human affection may even create additional problems. Therefore, human affection, or compassion, is the key to human happiness.