The Bodhisattva Path of Wisdom and Compassion

by Chogyam Trungpa

  When we see a cup of tea or some food, emptiness does not mean that we do not see the cup, tea, table, or food. If it did, we would starve to death. Emptiness does not mean being above the whole thing so that we don’t need to eat. It refers purely to our perception of the phenomenal world. When we look at a cup of tea, we see the cup of tea as a cup of tea, but on top of that, there is tremendous seriousness. That seriousness is based on the absence of karuna and maitri, and it is stupefying. Some people take pleasure in a great cup of tea, regarding their cup of tea as real. But if we look closely and precisely, we realize that seeing our cup of tea from the samsaric point of view is stupid and aggressive. There are all sorts of levels of drinking one cup of tea. Some people like the idea of drinking a cup of tea as a social norm. For others, the appeal is in the smell or taste. Some people enjoy the sensation of drinking the tea for the aftereffect and satisfaction they get. They enjoy their preoccupation with tea. We may jumble all the levels together and say, “Let’s just have a cup of tea.”

  But somehow it is not that simple. If we examine the process of drinking a cup of tea precisely and thoroughly from prajna’s point of view, we see how our mind perceives the act of drinking a cup of tea from the very beginning. We see how we order it, how we first perceive it, how we go through the process of waiting for it, sipping it, and finishing it, whether it comes with milk or with lemon.

  APPLYING THE TEACHINGS OF SHUNYATA

  Shunyata is the perspective that arises when we relate to the phenomenal world purely on the level of perception—when we see table as table, vase as vase, book as book, without anything imposed on them other than what is absolutely the bare minimum necessary. Shunyata is not some great understanding or revelation; it is seeing things as they are, which also means seeing things as they are not. If we do not see things as they are, they become powerfully overwhelming. A vase has more implications than a vase actually has; a table has more implications than a table actually has. Because of that, we extend ourselves unnecessarily. We make a big deal out of our vase, our table, our television set, our tape recorder, our penknife, or our new gun. Everything becomes a big deal.

  That big-deal quality of our perception is considered to be a veil that prevents us from relating with reality properly, fully, and thoroughly. That big dealness makes us numb and unable to relate with the phenomenal world in its own right. Ordinarily, a word such as tableness has a quality of holding on or fixation, but if we take away that veil, we begin to see things truly and precisely as they are. We see them without their “-ness” quality—without their table-ness, vase-ness, all kinds of “-nesses.” The term for that is isness. It is also called tathata, or “truth.” It is “dharma-ness,” or dharmata.

  Isness in this sense is empty. We begin to see reality at a very direct and personal level. Table is table; therefore, there is no table. Table is table because it is table. It has four legs and a top, it is square, and it is made out of a certain kind of wood, plastic, or metal. Table is table, but there is nothing beyond that. Basically, table is empty. It is quite straightforward. Table is table—so what? It does not have much more to say than that. It might have its history, its value, its previous occupants and owners, but it is still just a simple table.

  Carrying that understanding to a larger cosmic level, every phenomenon that we experience has a quality of emptiness. With an understanding of emptiness, the absence of thingness, we begin to see things very clearly, precisely, and fantastically vividly, because we no longer lay conceptual interpretations on them. We begin to see people and things as they are, directly and simply. This is called the discovery of unconditional truth. Such truth is not a matter of beliefs or theories—it is self-existent truth.

  With an understanding of spaciousness and precision, developed through the realization of things as they are in their own way, we begin to develop real heart and a sense of appreciation. The experience of shunyata does not mean that we are completely disillusioned with this world and couldn’t care less—we are simply seeing that things have no substance. At the same time, we realize that the reason we can see this is because we seem to have some kind of strength continuing in our system all the time. That strength or inquisitiveness is known as tathagatagarbha, or buddha nature. We begin to appreciate things much more because we are not using concepts. Using concepts is like putting price tags on things as they are. When we look at things without such barriers and blockages, we begin to be more inquisitive and clear. More critical judgment begins to take place.

  In spite of having taken away our fixation on things, there is still a gut-level journey taking place at this point. We become more eager to realize things as they are. That eagerness brings us to a certain required or prescribed lifestyle. It brings the attitude that we need to relate with the phenomenal world simply and as no big deal, but with a sense of ongoing softness or warmth.

  Discipline is important on the bodhisattva path because we still have not quite seen the emptiness of the vase or the emptiness of the table properly and completely. In order to realize the phenomenal world in its fullest aspect, we have to see things as they are more clearly. We also begin to realize that the more aspiration there is, the more a feeling of inadequacy takes place. Our understanding of emptiness leads us to feel the need for some kind of direction or practice: we realize that it is necessary to begin to work.

  MINGLING YOUR WHOLE BEING WITH DHARMA

  The point of applying the teachings of emptiness and compassion to your everyday life is to make the dharma real, as opposed to fantasy. It is to make the dharma as individual and personal as possible. You might feel that it is becoming too personal and begin to panic, but I am afraid that this is necessary in order to experience who you are and what you are. It is like letting a doctor draw blood from your body in order to study it and tell you what kind of sickness you have. It is very personal for somebody to take blood from your body, even insulting, if you look at it that way—but you still let them do it. You could do the same thing at the dharmic or psychological level. You could let yourself go a little. You could open a bit more so that you could understand who and what you are.

  You need to give in to the teachings. If you don’t understand a topic, you should not regard yourself as stupid, but rather see that you are not letting go or giving up enough. If you begin to give in and let the dharma understand you, you in turn begin to understand the dharma. That seems to be the secret trick. There has to be a mingling of your whole being with the dharma, otherwise the dharma becomes an alien entity. Gampopa’s instructions that your mind should be one with the dharma and that dharma should progress along the path would be lost to you.1

  The difficulty is not that the dharma is too technical; it is that you are being too technical. If you stop being technical, you can still sharpen the sword of prajna. If you give an inch to the dharma, you gain a mile of enlightenment. That has been done in the past, and it has worked. So the vision of dharma is very generous, and we can actually do something about it.

  We can do something about shunyata as well. Shunyata is not just theorizing about how real or unreal your eye or your nose may be. It is not theorizing at all. Shunyata is based on personal experience, on how we experience things. When you have run out of all your tricks, all possibilities of deviousness, you are actually affected by the shunyata principle, and you realize that you cannot con anything, including your own world. You realize that it is useless, so you begin to relax. At that point, you become extremely open and raw. At the same time, you have no desire to do anything. You may have some kind of nostalgia for the early days, when you used to cover things up and thought you were on top of the world, when you used to do your little tricks and get away with all sorts of things. And now you feel nostalgia, which is painful. You realize that you can no longer do that, that it doesn’t even excite you anymore. So there you are: you have become a one-hundred-percent genuine person.

  Living in this way is very simple. You feel that your stronghold
is useless and futile, that there is no reason to hold on to it anymore, so you begin to give in to yourself. It is a less mercenary approach than just thinking that the dharma is worthwhile. You begin to realize the shakiness and the unreasonability of your existence, and you give in to the dharma. When you do so, you begin to go much faster along the path. It is a question of personal surrendering rather than aspiring to the dharma in a theistic way, or thinking how great the whole thing is. It is not like saying that “God is great” or “Allah is great”—or whoever or whatever is great—and knowing that you will be saved if you give in. In this case, you just realize that you are wasting your time by not giving in to the simple truth.

  You might have nostalgia for more romantic days, but this could be romantic as well. Usually our romanticism or nostalgia is for the past. But you can conjure up nostalgia for the present and rejoice in the realization of shunyata. Nostalgia can become not a memory of the past but a way of being where you are right now. There is a twist between now and what was, which turns your mind around. If you feel that you are in the past, the present begins to beckon to you on the spot. This is an interesting twist that could develop.

  If we can actually exert ourselves and discipline ourselves, we will begin to see shunyata. Shunyata is extremely personal. We might feel that our territory, our privacy, is being invaded. When we begin to feel that way, that’s great. It means we are getting somewhere. We should go beyond that and let our privacy be further invaded. We should let our personality be condemned so that we could dissolve into the sea of shunyata. It is quite delightful and peaceful, quite natural and ordinary. It is much more ordinary than being operated on under general or local anesthetic. Sooner or later we have to experience, or at least learn to experience, our stomach being opened without any anesthesia. The first slit is painful, but the rest is quite simple.

  The experience of shunyata is very natural. It is like the personal experience I had after my car crash in England.2 My lips were completely cut through, and the doctors refused to give me local anesthesia because it would slow down the healing process. When the doctor came with needle and thread, the nurse was very kind and said, “Everything’s okay. Just look at me.” Then the doctor made stitch after stitch, saying, “It’s fine. It’s no problem.” So my lips were sewn up. That is a celebration of life—to be in a car crash and have your lips sewn up. There are lots of people around you and you are unable to move. You can’t do much of anything, but you still could feel great; you still could make some kind of breakthrough. This is the idea of the shunyata principle. We could carry out our whole life in that way.

  Shunyata means that you do not need the reference point of some solid entity in relating with your friends, your food, your clothing, your world, or your accommodations. You can actually open yourself up. You have no personal territory, no personal game, no actual personal entity that provokes your existence or the notion of your existence. You still are what you are, but “you” is not what you are. “You” is not. That is the shunyata approach: “you” is not. You are not even a grain of sand, not even dust. You don’t exist. Therefore, you exist so much. You are brilliant, luminous, skillful, and at peace. Because you have given so much territory away, you actually can work with others. You have not vanished into thin air.

  SEVEN RICHES OF SUPREME BEINGS

  The practice of shunyata meditation is accompanied by what are known as the seven riches of supreme beings, or the seven noble riches: not being distracted by the sense experiences, diligent practice, joy, generosity, composure, reasonableness, and knowledge or prajna. These riches are related with the postmeditation experience.

  Number one is not being distracted by the sense experiences.

  Number two is diligent practice. You keep up with your regularly scheduled meditation practice. A proper approach to food is an aspect of diligent practice because food is often used as a break from discipline. For example, when you are doing hard work, you take a coffee break or a tea break, which you could build up with embellishments such as biscuits, sandwiches, and oysters. You need to eat, but food can become an obstacle to diligence. Since food is good for you, you think that what you are doing is okay, but you are beginning to use eating as an excuse to be other than diligent. It is more than simply entertainment; it is an excuse, which is worse. So you need to keep up your meditation schedule as well as your awareness of food and eating.

  Number three is joy, or faith. You know what should be done and what should not be done. In terms of neurosis, you know what lead you should follow and what lead you should not follow. You are not intimidated by acts of virtue and you do not review your actions, thinking, “Am I in the right?” but you just do the right thing very simply and directly. Virtue, in this case, is healthiness. It is psychological and physical wholesomeness. There is a feeling of joy that what you are doing is a worthy cause. You are remaining in the faith, and your discipline is clean, because neurotic interruptions do not take too much control over you.

  Number four is generosity. It is your habit to be generous. You also have an appreciation of the learning process, and you have gathered a lot of both intellectual and experiential knowledge.

  Number five is composure, or modesty. Instead of constantly being bold, there is a quality of shyness or restraint. Here, shyness does not mean that you are intimidated, but that you keep your composure.

  Number six is reasonableness. You do not upset other people because of your outrageous behavior, but you are friendly and reasonable. If you are a guest, quite possibly you offer to wash up the family’s dishes, not purely as a dutiful thing, but as an expression of your generosity and helpfulness.3

  Number seven is knowledge, or prajna. It includes both intellectual and experiential knowledge.

  Those categories may seem extremely mundane and ordinary, like the dietary laws of the Jewish, Christian, or Muslim schools. But a student of the mahayana has to be reasonable. You need dedication, openness, and kindness. The point is not to be “good” in the popular sense of doing everything right, and saying “Please” first and “Thank you” afterward. But you also do not upset people. The point is to be reasonable.

  You might ask how these mundane details are connected with such high principles as shunyata, nonduality, and so forth. There seems to be a big hiatus, but that is absolutely not so. In fact, there is an enormous link between the two, because the more you begin to see nonexistence, the more chance you have to relate with existence. For instance, Zen practitioners who actually see the nonexistence of the self, who see that everything is empty, tend to wash their cups and their bowls well and to make a neat room. So in practice, working with both high principles and mundane details is not at all contradictory.

  Shunyata has a haunting quality, which comes from a sense that nothing is outside, nothing is inside, and profoundly there is nothing. The most haunting of all is that there is no one to haunt you. The seven riches are the binding factor that connects the haunted world of shunyata with our own highly claustrophobic world. In other words, the seven riches of supreme beings are about how to bring a gem into a nonexistent population.

  The basic principle of mahayana is that bodhisattvas are supposed to save sentient beings from samsara rather than making a nuisance of themselves. The seven riches are jewels of conduct, showing you how to handle yourself in whatever activity you do. They show you how to deal with the world in general. As an elaborated form of compassion, they are very important, very personal and powerful.

  The seven riches of supreme beings are based on awareness and the nonexistence of awareness at the same time. Nothing is particularly calculated, like trying to be a good housekeeper or a good sociable person. There is room for everything in the mahayana approach. The bodhisattva path not only tells you how to meditate, but also how to handle society, because the biggest work of the bodhisattva is dealing with society. Whether that society is an enlightened society or an unenlightened one doesn’t make much difference.


  The seven treasures are applicable right now. They are things we could do ourselves, right away. At this point, we are talking about the lay bodhisattva approach, the beginner’s level. Before we discuss the various levels of the bodhisattva path, we need to make a very concrete connection with how all this could be done. Otherwise, you probably would be dreaming up all kinds of things. It would be a kind of sales pitch to hear about the various achievements and experiences of the bodhisattvas, and how beautifully and smoothly they can be done. You would want very much to buy, but you would not have enough money to do so, which would be frustrating. But with shunyata, there is a connection, and the experience of shunyata matures as you go along. Everything matures on the path, because you are moving forward. There is no stepping back and there is no reverse.

  1. A reference to the Four Dharmas of Gampopa, a four-line chant composed by the great Kagyü master Gampopa (1079–1153). See volume 1 of the Profound Treasury, chapter 6, “Achieving Sanity Here on Earth.”

  2. This accident took place in 1968, shortly after Trungpa Rinpoche returned from a pivotal retreat in Bhutan. For an account of this period and of Trungpa Rinpoche’s early life in Tibet, see Chögyam Trungpa, Born in Tibet (Boston: Shambhala Publications, 1977).

  3. The categories here translated as composure and reasonableness are often translated as “shame” and “embarrassment.” The idea is that one refrains from negative actions either due to one’s internal conscience (shame) or to avoid the disapproval of others (embarrassment).

  Part Six

  BODHISATTVA ACTIVITY

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