The Path of Compassion: A Biography of Hor shul Khenpo Gelek Palsang Rinpoche — Practice — Chapter One: Meditation Guidance

Sit in the seven-point posture of Vairochana and relax. Let the wandering thoughts in your mind arise as they please. When a thought appears, look at that thought. This does not mean looking with your physical eyes; let the mind itself look and let the mind face itself. Generally, a subtle thought that is not very strong will remain as long as it goes unnoticed. Once it is noticed, it immediately disappears without a trace, like a dark cloud dissolving in the sky, coming from nowhere and leaving no trace.

For example, when we see a red flower, the thought “This is a red flower” immediately arises in the mind. If we can notice the arising of that thought at once, it will stop of its own accord. This is also called the self-liberation of thought, or the self-arising and self-ceasing of thought.

This, however, is not the self-liberation of Dzogchen. It is neither emptiness nor luminosity; the two are fundamentally different. This applies not only to the mind, but to everything. Consider, for example, a sound heard by the ear. When sound waves travel through the air into the ear and cause the eardrum to vibrate, the ear hears a sound, but the sound soon disappears. Such disappearance is entirely different from emptiness. It is like a meteor flashing across the sky and instantly vanishing without a trace, leaving nothing behind but open space.

Once you have found the feeling of a thought disappearing, rest immediately in that state. Remain in this pause for several seconds, or even one or two minutes. Then, before a second wandering thought arises, while the feeling is still relatively clear, deliberately interrupt the session and begin again from the start. When the second thought appears, you must clearly observe the process of its birth and recognize that it will disappear on its own. After it disappears, you must also know that it has disappeared, but you must not analyze at that point. Do not think, for example, “A moment ago, this thought arose. Then I looked at it, and after I looked at it, it disappeared…” You must not analyze or think in this way, because thinking itself is another thought. What we need is the state that remains after the thought has disappeared. Then use the same method to observe the third and fourth thoughts, practicing continuously in alternating rounds. This is a very useful practice, somewhat similar to one Mahāmudrā practice.

Of course, this method does not work with intense thoughts. When fierce anger arises, for example, even if we notice and focus on it, it will not stop because it has already grown very strong and powerful. This method can be used with thoughts of moderate or lesser intensity.

Before realization, some people may feel that they have already attained realization because this resembles the wording of Chan kōans, Mahāmudrā, and Dzogchen. In fact, however, this is not so; genuine realization is not like this. We can experience it for ourselves. It is merely a state without any thought, very calm and peaceful. Its nature is the ālaya consciousness; it is neither luminosity nor emptiness.

Although such a state is still some distance from realization, if one genuinely develops this śamatha, has brought the preceding preliminary practices to maturity, receives the pith instructions of a qualified guru, and has intense faith in Dzogchen, then awakening is quite certain.

If you practice four sessions a day and persist for about a week, there will be an effect and your thoughts will certainly decrease. But if you stop progressing once the effect appears and never practice again, it will be useless. After some time, everything will return to its original state.

Even ordinary beings like us can, through such Vajrayāna guidance, reach the state of emptiness and luminosity very smoothly and successfully.

What is genuine rest? It is to let the “mind” take a holiday. How can the “mind” take a holiday? Through “meditation.” Only “meditation” can allow body and mind to receive genuine rest.

Meditation with Sound and Music: The Nonduality of Sound and Emptiness

First, let your mind rest for a while in a relaxed state. Then gradually notice the sounds around you, such as your own heartbeat or breathing, or any sounds that naturally occur in your surroundings. Some people find recordings of nature or gentle music helpful. You do not need to identify these sounds or focus upon one particular sound. In fact, it is easier simply to be aware of everything you hear. The key is to cultivate simple, natural awareness of sound as it touches the ear.

You may find that you can focus on sound for only a few seconds before the mind wanders everywhere. That is no problem. Once you notice that the mind has become distracted, return to a relaxed state and then move your awareness back to sound. Alternate in this way between focusing on sound and letting the mind rest in an open, relaxed state.

One great benefit of using sound as a support for meditation is that it will gradually teach you to listen to all kinds of sound with detachment, without defining them. You begin to learn to hear sound without reacting emotionally to its content. As you gradually become accustomed to noticing that “sound is simply sound,” you will find that you can hear criticism without becoming angry or defensive and hear praise without becoming excessively proud or excited. In this way, you can listen to others with a more relaxed and neutral attitude instead of being led around by emotional reactions.

There is a wonderful story about how a famous Indian sitar master learned to use music as a support for meditation. If you are unfamiliar with Indian instruments, let me first explain. The sitar is a long-necked instrument, usually with seventeen strings. Like a guitar, it produces many beautiful sounds. This sitar master was a superb musician and was constantly invited to perform throughout India. Like many modern rock bands, he was therefore always on tour and had almost no time at home.

After returning to his hometown at the end of one particularly long concert tour, he discovered that his wife was having an affair. Even so, the sitar master remained calm. Perhaps because the concentration developed through years of continual practice and performance, together with the sound of that moving instrument, his mind was settled and focused. In any case, he did not quarrel with his wife or fly into a rage. Instead, he sat down with her and spoke for a long time. During their conversation, he realized that his wife’s affair and the pride he felt because he was invited to tour throughout the country were both expressions of attachment. Attachment is one of the three poisons that immerse us in saṃsāra, and his attachment to fame was no different from his wife’s attachment to her lover.

This recognition awakened him like a thunderclap in a clear sky. He realized that if he wished to free himself from this clinging, he had to relinquish his attachment to fame. The only way was to find a meditation master and learn how to recognize attachment as merely one manifestation of the mind’s habitual tendencies.

After the two finished talking, he gave all his property to his wife and kept only the sitar. He still felt intensely attached to it, and no amount of rational analysis could remove that attachment. He then set out to find a teacher.

Eventually, he reached a charnel ground, an ancient cemetery. Most bodies in a charnel ground were simply abandoned on the earth, neither cremated nor buried. It was a horrifying place, strewn with human bones, broken skeletal remains, and half-decayed corpses. Yet this was also the place where one was most likely to find a meditation master who had overcome fear of death and impermanence. Without overcoming these two frightening conditions, one continually clings to everything present and resists the unknown future, and therefore cannot gain liberation from saṃsāra.

In this charnel ground, the sitar player finally found a great siddha, or mahāsiddha, a Sanskrit term meaning “a person who has undergone extraordinary trials and attained profound realization.” The great accomplished master lived in a dilapidated hut that barely kept out the wind and rain. Just as we sometimes meet someone in daily life and immediately feel a deep connection, the sitar player had this impression of the great accomplished master. He asked whether the master would accept him as a disciple, and the master agreed. The sitar player then used branches and mud to build his own hut near the master’s dwelling and began practicing the basic śamatha instructions the master gave him.

Like many beginners in meditation, the sitar player found it truly difficult to follow his teacher’s instructions. Even when he obediently did exactly as instructed, he felt after sitting only a few minutes as though he had been sitting for an entire lifetime. Every time he sat down to meditate, he found himself led about by the old habit of playing his instrument. He would set his meditation aside and begin to play. This made him feel exceedingly guilty because he was neglecting his meditation and preferred simply to play his sitar. Finally, he went to his teacher’s hut to confess that he simply could not settle down to meditate. “What is the problem?” the great accomplished master asked.

The sitar player replied, “I am far too attached to my sitar. I would rather play than meditate.”

The great accomplished master told him, “That is not a serious problem. I can teach you how to meditate with your sitar.”

The sitar player had expected his teacher to scold him—most of us are like this when facing our teachers—so these words astonished him. The great accomplished master continued, “Return to your hut and play your sitar. It does not matter whether you play well or poorly. Simply listen to its sound with natural awareness.”

The sitar player breathed a great sigh of relief, returned to his hut, and began to play. He listened to the sound without demanding that his performance be perfect and without expecting to obtain any result from playing or practicing. Because he learned simply to practice without expecting results, after several years he too became a great accomplished master.

The meaning of this story, then, is that we should learn to use our own experience skillfully as a support for practice without expecting any result from that practice. The sounds, sights, and smells of rush-hour traffic, in particular, can all become rich supports for meditation. Do not focus solely on getting through a street full of traffic. Carefully observe the various perceptions that arise in a traffic jam; this is an excellent opportunity for meditation. If you can shift your attention from rushing to get somewhere and instead rest in the sensations around you, you may very well become a “traffic-jam mahāsiddha.”

Many people today enjoy listening to music, and it would be a pity not to use it well for practice. When meditating while listening to music, relax the mind and simply focus upon hearing. Do not distinguish or analyze whether the music sounds good or bad; do not conceptualize at all. The best practice is to begin with refuge and bodhicitta, then practice Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche’s Guru Yoga, listen to the music, and rest. Practice these in alternating rounds. It is best to practice every day without interruption. Mantra music recordings composed by Yangchen Lhamo should carry some blessing—at least the blessing and merit of the mantras. The prayer written by Lama Achuk Rinpoche on the recording carries the greatest blessing and should be a very good object for meditation.

This has three levels of meaning. First, through beautiful music, one makes offerings to the buddhas and bodhisattvas of the ten directions, and everyone gathers the accumulation of merit. Second, beautiful music gives people relative rest and happiness; music is also one expression of the beneficial activities of Manjushri Bodhisattva and Sarasvatī. Listening to music therefore also brings the refreshing blessing of the noble beings.

Third, beings continue to wander in saṃsāra to this day, principally because of “self-clinging.” We grasp at happiness and reject pain and displeasure. Yet because we do not recognize their ultimate nature, we cannot obtain lasting happiness as we wish, which causes us suffering; when pain and displeasure cannot be shaken off, they cause still more suffering. Through the guru’s compassionate and skillful instruction, however, we can genuinely enter their nature, eliminate the root of suffering, and attain true, ultimate great bliss.

The Music Meditation on the Nonduality of Sound and Emptiness takes music as its object and brings understanding of the true meaning that sound is empty in nature. Music appears in different styles, at times flowing like clouds and water and at times surging like stormy waves. Finally, this meditative experience is applied while walking, standing, sitting, and lying down. If everyone could practice in this way, they would gradually influence those around them. Society and the world would become more harmonious and peaceful, the power of goodness would increase, afflictions would gradually diminish, and the liberation of beings would not be far away. This embodies the fearless great bodhicitta of every practitioner and is the direction in which self-arising, all-pervasive awareness advances.

“Music Meditation on the Nonduality of Sound and Emptiness”: “Through different pieces of music and sound, learn to listen to all kinds of sound with detachment, without defining them and without reacting emotionally to their content. Gradually become able to hear criticism without anger or defensiveness and to hear praise without excessive pride or excitement. In this way, one develops a relaxed and neutral attitude, is no longer controlled by emotional reactions, and ultimately attains accomplishment.”

Meditation on the In-Breath and Out-Breath

There are many ways to use breathing—the in-breath and out-breath—as an object of meditation. Here, only the two simplest methods will be explained. These methods are not only the easiest to practice; they also will not cause everyone in a public place to stare at you. Simply rest your attention lightly on the basic movement of inhaling and exhaling. You may attend closely to air entering your body through the nostrils, or focus on the sensation of air moving into and out of the lungs. Attend only to the experience of inhalation and exhalation. Because there is a natural brief interval between them, you may also focus on all three parts: inhalation, exhalation, and the interval.

This method of focusing on the breath is particularly helpful when we are tense or distracted. The simple act of observing the breath can create an inner state of stability and awareness, enabling you to step back and see the problem before you more clearly, and to respond more calmly and objectively. When pressure becomes unbearable, simply place your attention on your breathing. No one will notice that you are meditating; they probably have not even noticed whether you are still breathing.

Formal meditation using the breath as a support is slightly different. Counting the breaths focuses attention more completely. Count the first inhalation and exhalation as “one,” the next inhalation and exhalation as “two,” and continue in this way until “seven,” then begin again from “one.” Later, you can increase the count. As mentioned earlier, however, it is best at first to keep the practice periods short so that you can repeat them many times.

Mantra Meditation

Meditating with mantra is an extremely powerful technique. It not only cultivates clear awareness, but through the power of mantras recited for thousands of years by realized masters, it can also help us purify layers of mental obscuration and increase our capacity to benefit ourselves and others. At first, such a connection may be difficult to accept because it seems too much like magic. Yet if we think of mantra as sound waves resonating through space for thousands or even millions of years, it becomes much easier to accept.

When meditating with mantra, your attention is focused on reciting a set of syllables that appears to have a direct calming and purifying effect upon the mind. For the exercise we will now do, we use a simple mantra composed of three syllables, the basis of all mantras: oṃ, āḥ, and hūṃ. “Oṃ” represents the clear, distinct, and aware aspect of experience. “Āḥ” represents emptiness, or its innate vast openness. “Hūṃ” represents the nondual union of the various appearances and their empty nature.

At first, you can recite aloud and then gradually shift to silent mental recitation. The key is to continue the mantra mentally for about three minutes and then let the mind rest. Alternate in this way between reciting the mantra and resting for as long as you can. Whether or not you can feel an immediate effect, the seed that will liberate your mind has already begun to sprout.

Liberation, however, seldom arrives in the form we expect. In fact, for most people, liberation is not only unfamiliar but an apparently unpleasant idea. This is because we have become far too accustomed to our chains. They may chafe our skin and even make us bleed, but at least they are familiar.

Yet familiarity is only a thought, and sometimes only a feeling. To help us pass through the difficult transformation from familiarity to liberation, the Buddha gave various teachings that work directly with thoughts and feelings. “Short periods, many times”: neuronal conversations create what appears to be a naturally existing or independent self, or what appears to be a naturally existing or independent other. The most effective way to sever these long-established neuronal conversations is to develop a habit of formal meditation. If you can set aside time for formal meditation, you will develop a constructive habit. This habit not only weakens old neuronal patterns but also effectively establishes new ones that enable you to recognize how your own mind participates in the process of perception.

Although formal meditation can be practiced at any time of day, the best time is early morning, after a good night’s sleep and before beginning any daily activity. At that time, the mind is freshest and most relaxed. Setting aside some time for meditation before leaving for work or attending to the details of life establishes the tone for your entire day and strengthens your resolve to continue practicing throughout it.

Some people, however, truly cannot rise early for formal meditation. Forcing morning meditation into your daily schedule will only make it feel like a routine chore. If you find this is the case, be sure to choose another, more convenient time—perhaps during lunch, after dinner, or before sleep. There are no “rules” governing formal meditation, but there is a very practical guideline: “Keep the periods short and repeat them many times.”

Many people who have only just begun meditation set themselves unrealistic goals. They think meditation requires sitting in a standard posture for as long as possible. They therefore sit and try to “subdue” themselves into a meditative state, attempting to force themselves into calm through willpower. For the first few seconds, this method seems effective, and they genuinely experience a certain peace. But the mind is constantly changing and continually processing new thoughts, new objects, and new sensory impressions. This is simply the mind’s work. Meditation means learning to face your mind as it truly is, not forcing it into some Buddhist straitjacket.

We think that sitting for several hours is “diligence,” but genuine “diligence” does not mean forcing ourselves beyond our natural limits. Genuine “diligence” means doing our best without focusing upon the result we wish to attain. In other words, we must find a suitable middle ground between being too loose and too tight.

The scriptures record another story of an exceptionally skilled sitar player. He was a close disciple of the Buddha, but the Buddha found him very difficult to guide because his mind was either too tight or too loose. When he became tense, he not only could not meditate but even forgot how to recite the simple aspiration prayers the Buddha had taught him. When his mind was too loose, he simply abandoned practice and slept.

The Buddha therefore eventually asked him, “What did you do at home? Did you play an instrument there?”

The disciple replied, “Yes.”

“Were you a highly skilled musician?” the Buddha asked. The sitar player replied, “Yes. I was the finest in the country.”

“Then how did you play?” the Buddha asked. “When making music, how did you tune the instrument? Did you make the strings very tight or very loose?”

“Neither,” the disciple replied. “If I tightened the strings too much, they made a sharp ‘zheng-zheng’ sound. If they were not tight enough, they made a dull ‘peng-peng’ sound. Only when I tuned them just right, neither tight nor loose, was the pitch accurate.”

The Buddha smiled and exchanged a deep glance with the sitar player. Finally, the Buddha said, “Meditation should be just like that.”

This story shows how important it is to avoid excessive tightness when beginning meditation. Because modern people live busy lives, even setting aside only fifteen minutes a day for formal meditation represents a major commitment. You may divide those fifteen minutes into three sessions of five minutes or five sessions of three minutes.

Especially at the beginning, it is absolutely important to invest as much time as possible in meditation without becoming overly tense. The best advice I can offer is to regard meditation like going to a gym. Actually exercising for fifteen minutes is much better than doing nothing. Thus, even if you can devote only fifteen minutes to meditation, that is far better than making no effort to practice. Some people can lift only ten pounds, while others can easily lift fifty. If you can lift only ten pounds, do not force yourself to lift fifty; otherwise, you will not only exhaust yourself but may abandon the effort altogether. Treat meditation like exercise at the gym: do your best without exceeding your limits.

Meditation is not a competition. Fifteen relaxed minutes of meditation may ultimately be more beneficial than several hours of strained, prolonged meditation by someone else. The best principle is to meditate for slightly less time than you think you can. If you think you can meditate for four minutes, meditate for three. If you think you can meditate for five minutes, stop after four.

Practicing this way, you will find yourself eagerly anticipating the next meditation session. It is better to leave yourself wanting more than to feel that you have reached some goal.

Another, faster form of short meditation is to spend a little time arousing bodhicitta. Bodhicitta is the state of mind that longs to attain a degree of realization for the benefit of others. Do not be overly concerned about whether this longing is particularly intense; the intention itself is enough. After practicing for some time, you may find that this intention begins to take on profound and far-reaching personal meaning.

After spending some time arousing this vast, inclusive state of mind, let your mind rest for a while in objectless meditation. Whatever method you choose and whenever you meditate, it is very important afterward to alternate it with objectless meditation.

At least one minute has now passed between resting the mind and arousing bodhicitta.

You now have one and a half minutes to practice your chosen method well. You may focus on a visual object, a scent, or a sound; observe thoughts or feelings; or practice a form of compassion meditation. Afterward, rest for about half a minute in objectless śamatha.

(The stages of meditation are: 1. Arouse bodhicitta. 2. Rest the mind in objectless meditation.

These two are the preliminaries and take about one minute. 3. The main practice: object-based meditation. Choose your own object and practice for about one and a half minutes. After the main practice, rest the mind in objectless meditation for about half a minute. 4. The conclusion: dedicate the merit for about half a minute. Thus, in this example, the entire meditation session takes three and a half minutes.)

As the practice draws to an end, you can spend about thirty seconds “dedicating the merit.” In public teachings and private conversations alike, I am often asked: “Why must we always dedicate the merit at the end?”

Offering the merit before the end of each practice session can also be described as an aspiration: an aspiration to give others whatever mental or emotional strength has been gained through the practice. This is not only an exceptional and brief exercise in compassion; it is also an extremely subtle method for dissolving the distinction between self and other.

The dedication of merit takes only thirty seconds and may be recited in Tibetan or Chinese. The Chinese verse is:

Through this merit, may beings

Perfect the accumulations of merit and wisdom.

Through this merit and wisdom,

May they attain the two sublime kāyas.

Furthermore, although I cannot say that there is any scientific basis for it, some schools believe that reciting aspiration prayers in the original Tibetan enhances their power. They believe that the sounds of these Tibetan prayers have been recited and echoed for many centuries. Repeating the Tibetan sounds can therefore connect and resonate with those ancient sound waves, thereby strengthening the power of dedication. Whether you choose a formal Tibetan verse or a Chinese verse outside the Tibetan tradition, there is a practical reason for ending practice with the dedication of merit.

The Tibetan word for “merit” is “sönam,” meaning “mental strength” or “the capacity to develop mental strength.” When we perform a virtuous action, our habitual thought naturally says: “I am such a good person! I have just meditated and prayed for all beings, praying that they may be free from suffering and attain happiness. What can I gain from this? Will my life improve as a result? What benefit do these practices bring me?”

These words may not be exactly the same as the thoughts in your mind, but they are probably quite close. You have indeed done something good. The only problem is that congratulating yourself in this way generally reinforces a sense of difference between oneself and others. Thoughts such as “I performed a virtuous deed,” “I am a truly good person,” and “My life will now be different” subtly strengthen the perception that the self is separate from other beings. They gradually damage the compassion, faith, and sense of security that arose after your practice.

By dedicating the merit of your practice—in other words, by deliberately thinking, “Everyone truly longs for peace and contentment among all sentient beings”—you will skillfully and gradually dissolve the habitual neuronal perception that “self and others are separate individuals.”

Meditation in Daily Life

I will now explain a very simple meditation method suitable for extremely busy lay practitioners who have no time to practice. Every day, spend ten minutes simply sitting, allowing the mind to become quiet and relaxed, and then observe it. At this time, do not follow any thought, emotion, or bodily sensation that arises in the mind, such as an itch or a yawn. Whatever enters your mind—even a buddha or bodhisattva—simply watch it like an outsider. Likewise, do not follow anything happening outside or any sound. If the telephone rings, do not answer it or even turn it off. As your practice becomes familiar, gradually extend the period and apply it at any time in daily life. The key is not to interrupt the practice; you must persist every day. This is a very brief and profound meditation method. If you continue for one to three years, great results will appear.

Faith

Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche and Khenpo Qiaq Rinpoche were genuine buddhas. When they passed away, both left vajra relics after cremation. For ordinary people, a buddha’s state is inconceivable. The compassion and wisdom of Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche that we could perceive were only a drop in the ocean of the Buddha’s inexhaustible treasury of qualities. Many people went to Larung Gar Five Sciences Buddhist Institute for Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche’s cremation and directly saw that although the blazing fire was hot enough to melt iron into liquid, it did not burn the mass of flesh that was his heart; after the flames subsided, vajra relics appeared. If ordinary practitioners keep pure discipline, practice diligently, and attain the fruition of an arhat or bodhisattva, relics may appear at cremation, but they are certainly not vajra relics. In Buddhism, vajra relics appear only when a practitioner has attained buddhahood. Therefore, Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche and the buddhas are inseparable. This is neither exaggeration nor a provisional assumption. If we pray sincerely to Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche during practice, do not doubt that we will certainly receive the Buddha’s blessing.

Some lay practitioners had never met Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche but had immense faith in him and very much wished to take him as their guru. Later, when they met a tulku, they asked whether they could visualize Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche as their guru. The tulku replied, “You never received teachings or empowerments from Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche and never heard the Dharma in his presence, so he is not your guru. You can now request an empowerment from me, and then we can establish the relationship of guru and disciple.” When I heard this, I was deeply saddened. It clearly makes no sense to say that someone cannot be one’s guru unless one has met him. Throughout Buddhist history, many practitioners have realized their nature by relying on the spiritual guidance and blessing of great masters who passed away long before. The Dzogchen master Jigme Lingpa and the omniscient Longchenpa lived several centuries apart. Yet through uncommon faith in Longchenpa, Jigme Lingpa continually prayed to him during practice. Ultimately, through the guru’s blessing, he attained buddhahood inseparable from the guru and was revered by Nyingmapa disciples as another great Dzogchen master after Longchenpa. Another example is Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche and the omniscient Mipham Rinpoche. Mipham Rinpoche had already manifested passing away before Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche was born, yet Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche had unwavering faith in this predecessor. In his teens, after completing ten thousand recitations of Mipham Rinpoche’s Directly Pointing Out the Nature of Mind and one million recitations of the prayer to Mipham Rinpoche, he realized unsurpassed Dzogchen. Thus, what is crucial between guru and disciple is the meeting of their minds. Uncontrived faith can cross time and space, while the blessing of accomplished masters is naturally omnipresent.

Probably no Buddhist alive today personally met Shakyamuni Buddha. If someone cannot be our guru unless we have met him, Shakyamuni Buddha is not our guru and we cannot call ourselves disciples of the Buddha. Is this not contradictory?

Anyone who possesses genuine faith in Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche may visualize him as their own guru and practice his guru yoga.

Have faith in the guru, compassion for beings, and confidence in cause and effect. If you cannot do these three things, even if Shakyamuni Buddha personally appeared before you and taught Dzogchen, awakening would be impossible. If you do them, even the appearance of Māra could not lead you away from the true path of liberation.

Someone who does not genuinely regard the guru as inseparable from the Buddha but thinks that still greater buddhas or bodhisattvas exist apart from the guru cannot awaken.

Before Shakyamuni Buddha entered nirvāṇa, Ānanda was overwhelmed with grief and implored the Buddha to remain. The Buddha said, “Disciple, do not grieve. I will return in the form of gurus to liberate beings.” In harmony with beings’ karma and conditions, the Buddha rescues beings from the ocean of suffering in saṃsāra through many forms. Sometimes he appears as a buddha, as when the Buddha lived and turned the wheel of Dharma. Sometimes he appears as a bodhisattva, such as Manjushri or Avalokiteshvara. Sometimes he appears before us as an ordinary person, like the gurus we meet. Sometimes he even manifests as a bird, cow, or other animal to liberate karmically connected beings. Thus, the guru is the buddha you can see directly, the concrete outer form of your inner buddha nature.

Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche said: “Our karmic connection with Mipham Rinpoche is extremely close. When visualizing, regard the guru, Mipham Rinpoche, and Manjushri Bodhisattva as one. You will certainly receive blessing and certainly awaken. When I was just over one year old and had only learned to call for my mother, I already possessed an uncontrived, naturally flowing great compassion. At seven or eight, I had some understanding of the state of Dzogchen. I realized unsurpassed Dzogchen at fifteen. Through immense faith in Mipham Rinpoche, I prayed to him and focused upon reciting Directly Pointing Out the Nature of Mind, thereby accomplishing realization. The Dharma methods transmitted by Mipham Rinpoche must be read and practiced often. Every master in the Dzogchen lineage I hold, from Samantabhadra to Toga Rinpoche, was without exception a genuine buddha. Although I myself am only an ordinary person, my lineage remains perfectly pure and exceptional, because I never regarded my closest root gurus, Mipham Rinpoche and Toga Rinpoche, as different from the Buddha, nor did I cause any other guru who taught me Dharma to become displeased. I loved and respected them sincerely. Seeker of Dharma, when you request a Dzogchen lineage, be sure to examine the transmitting guru carefully. If he has ever displeased or even slandered his own guru, his lineage has been stained. The precious and pure golden thread of the lineage has broken at that point, and through him you will receive none of its blessing.”

In fact, learning and realization are two different things. Mastery of scriptures and treatises can certainly aid awakening, but it does not guarantee it. Realization can also be described simply. Manjushri’s Peaceful Practice of Dzogchen—Bestowing Buddhahood in the Palm of the Hand encompasses every practice from the state of an ordinary being to complete realization and buddhahood, yet when written down it occupies only five thin pages. In our teaching tradition, as long as one relies on a genuine great accomplished master and possesses complete faith in the guru, awakening may occur at any time and in any place.

Patrul Rinpoche and his disciple Nyoshul Lungtok once practiced in Sershul. They lived in poverty and could eat only a little tsampa each day. One day, a patron offered a large cake made from potentilla-root flour and dried cheese. Patrul Rinpoche said, “Let us divide it, half for each of us.” Nyoshul Lungtok demurred, “Guru, you eat it. I do not want any.” Patrul Rinpoche said, “Bring me a knife and I will divide it. Where is the head of this cake and where is its tail?” When Nyoshul Lungtok heard these words, his mind suddenly opened, and in that instant he reached a level of realization he had never experienced before.

Another story concerns Mipham Rinpoche. He went to meet Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo but was stopped outside the gate by an arrogant attendant. Mipham Rinpoche forcefully pushed the gatekeeper aside and stormed into the courtyard. Upon entering, he saw Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo seated with his cloak covering his face. Terrified, Mipham Rinpoche did not dare breathe aloud, lowered his head, and obediently knelt before the guru. Suddenly, Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo thrust his head out from beneath the cloak, struck Mipham Rinpoche hard on the head, and shouted, “Who are you?” Mipham Rinpoche outwardly displayed awakening on the spot.

Chinese Chan also has many such kōans. Do not treat them as entertaining anecdotes or think, “Awakening is that simple; perhaps one day I too will awaken for no reason.” Without sufficient faith in the guru, awakening is impossible even if a heavy staff splits your head. Ordinary people like us should not continually imagine that realization will suddenly fall upon us like a pie from the sky. Dzogchen has already shown us the stages of practice and realization with perfect clarity. If we practice diligently according to those stages, there will be results. Every small improvement we gain in practice comes from the guru’s compassionate blessing.

Jigme Phuntsok Rinpoche said: “Those who have received Dzogchen teachings may gain liberation in this life if they possess complete faith in the guru, do not break the Vajrayāna samayas, do not slander the Dharma, and practice diligently in the proper sequence. Those who do not attain liberation in this very body can still be liberated when the intermediate state of dharmatā or the intermediate state of becoming appears at death. This applies not only to humans. Even beings in the animal realm and other realms who merely hear the Dzogchen teachings will certainly encounter Dzogchen again between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five in their next life. If the conditions are complete, they will certainly be liberated.”