Such secretly real incarnate persons have no problems at all. Their sanity cannot be undermined, because anything that happens in their life is a reminder of their intelligence or their enlightenment. Anything that happens reminds them that they are completely realized beings, so nothing can undermine them, nothing whatsoever. In the same way that the sun is never influenced by the clouds, anonymous tülkus are unconditioned in their basic being, so any condition that comes up is superfluous.
Direct Tülkus
In addition to blessed tülkus and anonymous tülkus, there are also what are called direct tülkus. With such tülkus, very little training is needed. A genius in the family could be that kind of direct incarnation.
There are extraordinary stories about such tülkus. When they are being brought up and they are still children, maybe only six years old, they are already very articulate. They seem to know everything, and they just continue to get better all the time. Their parents begin to feel very inferior to their own children, who seem to function much better in the world than they do. Such children may not yet have been taught reading or writing, or maybe they have gotten just a hint of it, but they pick these things up very fast, and they even correct their teachers as they go on. Similar stories are told about Mozart, who was supposedly composing music when he was only six years old.
Direct incarnations do exist, but they are rare. So the idea of direct incarnation is not often discussed. However, sometimes a teacher is known to be a direct incarnation. For instance, the great Khyentse Rinpoche, Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo, was actually a direct incarnation. But that does not seem to be the case with any of the present incarnate lamas.
Direct incarnations need a lot of special attention. It is interesting to see what happens when an incarnate lama who is recognized as a direct incarnation rejects his life completely. When I lived in Tibet, I met a local king in the neighborhood next to mine who had five sons, and one of them was a direct incarnate lama. The king did not want to let go of this son, because he did not want him to face hardships such as being mistreated by tutors. So his son was held back and kept home, and eventually he married. But then that son went completely insane. People had to restrain him to keep him from jumping out of windows and things like that. Somehow, when you do not meet that kind of karmic demand from higher authorities, you either explode or turn into a vegetable.
MEMORIES OF PREVIOUS LIFETIMES
As the eleventh Trungpa tülku, I am sometimes asked if I have acute memories of previous lifetimes. Being a blessed tülku, I am not the real tenth Trungpa, Chökyi Nyin-je. I am not him exactly, but I may be a part of his memory, part of his being. Goodness knows who I am! I could be a gentleman from Osaka, or one of the tenth Trungpa’s disciples, or whatever. Still, there are memories, which I was usually forbidden to talk about, for some reason. I suppose that is understandable, since people may begin to trip out on the whole thing. So I was only allowed to tell such memories to my tutor when I was young.
Those memories continued until I was about thirteen. Usually, at the level of puberty, such memories begin to disappear and you do not get flashbacks anymore. This point is very significant, because at the level of puberty you begin to relate with the world. You become a man or woman of the world. Before that, you are still a past-oriented infant, somehow. These kinds of memories seem to be based on something much purer than just the seventh consciousness.1 The seventh consciousness is impermanent and is liable to be forgetful. The process of going through your birth and your death shocks you so much that you forget your past, which is what usually happens to ordinary people.
I do not think there is any harm in telling you a few stories. For instance, I remember visiting the place where the tenth Trungpa died, a local lord’s house. There was a particular place for his bedroom, for the shrine, and for everything else. When I arrived, people were busy organizing my welcome party outside, and I was helped off my horse and I walked inside. Traditionally, there was somebody with incense to lead me in, but somehow they did not get their act together, so nobody was leading me. I had to walk in, because there were a lot of people waiting and it was getting rather late.
As soon as I walked through the door, I knew exactly where to go and which room to enter. My attendant, who had never been to the house before, followed me. All the doors were closed, so he said, “Maybe we should get somebody to help.”
And I said, “Well, let’s find out first. How about here?” We then walked into exactly the same room as the tenth Trungpa had when he arrived. It was arranged in exactly the same way, in exactly the same pattern.
Another time, we were looking for a particular village, and we got lost in the rain and mist. We were traveling toward some nomads with their tents set up in various camps, and there was a certain fork in the road you were supposed to take. Everybody was completely bewildered, and cold and upset and hungry. The monk in charge of discipline with his loud voice was getting really hungry, and whenever he got hungry he got mad. Everybody was feeling completely down, and they began to curse the people who had invited us to this strange place.
I wasn’t quite sure, but I thought I knew the way. I thought everybody knew it—but then suddenly it clicked with me that nobody knew. Somehow I had some memory of having been there before. I did not even bother to ask the question, “Have I been here before in this life?” Maybe when I was an infant they took me there, but as far as I could remember, I had never been there in this body.
In a ceremonial procession, there was usually a guy who rode on a white horse to lead the procession, and then there was a guy with flags, and then a guy who carried the umbrella behind me. The rest of the people were supposed to follow after me. Everything was set as to who comes next. Although the whole atmosphere was very miserable, the ceremony still continued.
But then I said that I would like to break the rule; I said that I should go to the front, with the guy on the white horse. My attendant did not know what to do. He said, “Okay. Maybe we could do it, but we shouldn’t tell anybody.”
So I told my attendant not to tell anybody, and I broke the rule and rode with the guy on the white horse at the head of our procession. I told the guy, “Let’s go this way. If we go this way, there is going to be a pass. Then we are going to go by a village, which is not our place, and we are going to go by a second one, which is not our village either. There is a bridge on the other side, and beyond that, seemingly hidden in a sort of dimple in the meadow, you can see the village, the smoke going up and everything.” So we were able to get to the village. Actually, I expected that somebody would be surprised about that, but nobody said anything.
Those are a few stories from my days in Tibet.
1. In Buddhist psychology, consciousness can be described as having eight aspects. In this schema, the seventh consciousness represents the basic identity in the dualistic sense of self and other. It is referred to as the afflicted, or klesha, consciousness.
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The Early Trungpas
Trung Ma-se began to attract many prominent students. . . . Among these, there were eight very close students, who were known as the eight mystics. The Tibetan word for mystic is togden, which means “someone who is realized” or “endowed with realization.” Along with the eight mystics, there were the three idiots, who were the closest students of all, and the first Trungpa was one of these idiots.
THE LINE OF THE TRUNGPAS
In connection with the tülku principle, we could discuss a specific lineage of blessed incarnations: the line of the Trungpas.1 The word trungpa means “being nearby to the teacher,” which refers to an attendant: trung means “nearby,” and pa makes it the “one who is nearby.”
The lineage of the Trungpas began around the fifteenth century and continues to this day. Altogether, there have been eleven Trungpas; so the lineage is comprised of the first Trungpa, Künga Gyaltsen, and ten incarnations. As the eleventh Trungpa, I am the current holder of this particular lineage.2
THE LINE O
F THE TRUNGPAS
Trung Ma-se (15th century)
Teacher of the first Trungpa, who was one of the “three idiots”
1st Trungpa / Künga Gyaltsen (early 15th century)
Student of Trung Ma-se, Surmang encampments
2nd Trungpa / Künga Sangpo (b. 1464)
Student of Trung Ma-se
3rd Trungpa / Künga Öser (15th–16th centuries)
Incarnation of Dombipa, established Dütsi Tel
4th Trungpa / Künga Namgyal (1567–1629)
Chö practice, great mahamudra scholar
5th Trungpa / Tenpa Namgyal (1633–1712)
Political leader, teacher of Chinese emperor, said to have created rain
6th Trungpa / Tendzin Chökyi Gyatso (1715–1734 est.)
Died young
7th Trungpa / Jampal Chökyi Gyatso (1743–1768 est.)
Poet, also died young
8th Trungpa / Gyurme Thenphel (b. 1771)
Incorporated Nyingma teachings, propogated The Tibetan Book of the Dead, adopted protector Ekajati
9th Trungpa / Tenpa Rabgye (19th century)
Known for being ordinary
10th Trungpa / Chökyi Nyin-je (1879–1939)
Student of Jamgön Kongtrül the Great, rebuilt Surmang
11th Trungpa / Chökyi Gyatso (1940–1987)
Vidyadhara Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche
12th Trungpa / Chökyi Senge (b. 1989)
Current lineage holder
Dates for the Trungpa Tülku lineage are based on information provided by Dr. Michael R. Sheehy, Head of Research for the Department of Literary Research, Tibetan Buddhist Resource Center, Cambridge, Massachusetts, in consultation with Derek Kolleeny.
TRUNG MA-SE AND THE ORIGINS OF THE TRUNGPA LINEAGE
The Trungpa lineage traces its origins back to the fifteenth-century siddha, Trung Ma-se, who was the teacher of the first Trungpa.
Birth and Training
It is said that Trung Ma-se was born at the time when the king of Minyak was making a pilgrimage to Lhasa, and that Trung Ma-se’s mother was part of the traveling party. His birthplace was in what would become the region of Surmang, which is where the Trungpa lineage was later based, and in the same area where the Surmang monasteries would be established in the future. So Trung Ma-se was born in the far east of Tibet, as a prince. When I was at Surmang, there was a certain field, which we referred to as the place where the king of Minyak had set up his encampment. It was there that this child was born.
Trung Ma-se happened to be illegitimate, and he was the youngest child in the family. There was some resentment of him because he was illegitimate, but the family still paid him a certain amount of respect, honoring him simply because he was born into their family. The area of Tibet where he grew up was predominantly Nyingma, the earliest school of Tibetan Buddhism, so in that area the students were taught the culture and the meditative traditions of the Nyingma school. When this child grew to be about fifteen, he became a very learned and powerful person of that particular principality.
Trung Ma-se was raised in both the spiritual and secular disciplines that had evolved at that time. When he was older, he wanted to leave his homeland, and with the permission of his parents, he journeyed to Central Tibet. He had already received the atiyoga teachings of the Nyingma school as part of his upbringing. Then, in Central Tibet, he visited the fifth Karmapa, Teshin Shekpa (1384–1415), and received instruction in the Kagyü tradition from him. Trung Ma-se remained there practicing for something like seven years.
Trung Ma-se’s Reed Hut and Teaching Activity
After that, the fifth Karmapa sent Trung Ma-se back to his home ground where he had been born, and told him to settle anywhere he could find a place suitable for practicing and teaching. So Trung Ma-se came back to eastern Tibet and settled down. He practiced meditation there in a hut made out of reeds. He spent a long time doing sitting meditation practice, something like six years, and he had very little to eat, but nobody discovered who he was.
Eventually Trung Ma-se began to feel that he was able to relate with students and that he was in a situation to do so. So he decided to go back and ask his guru’s permission to teach. He set out to see the Karmapa, but on the journey he somehow got a message before he had a chance to ask his teacher for permission. Some merchants brought mail for him that said, “Don’t come back; go ahead,” or something like that. He understood this to mean that he did not have to ask if it was okay for him to teach or not, and having realized the meaning of the message, he went back to eastern Tibet. He had already built his reed hut there, so he began to teach in that hut. In particular, he began to teach the six yogas of Naropa and the anuttarayoga teachings connected with that.3
Trung Ma-se was also well-known as a holder of an important “ear-whispered” or hearing lineage within the Kagyü tradition. He received the complete teachings on Vajrayogini, Chakrasamvara, and Four-Armed Mahakala, and these became the special transmissions that he was to hold. It is said that when Naropa transmitted the teachings of Vajrayogini to Marpa, Naropa told Marpa that these teachings should be kept as a transmission from one teacher to one student for thirteen generations, and then they could be propagated to others. This kind of transmission is called chiggyü, which means a “single lineage” or “single thread” transmission. Since Trung Ma-se belonged to the thirteenth generation, he became the first guru to transmit this particular lineage of mahamudra teachings to more than a single dharma successor, and in fact he taught it widely.4
Trung Ma-se was an expert on those teachings, and he gathered a large number of disciples. People in the local principalities also began to take an interest in his teachings and in his being. As Trung Ma-se’s teaching situation became stronger and clearer, his students requested that he give a name to his establishment. Trung Ma-se suggested that they could name the establishment after his reed hut. It had a lot of corners, because a reed hut needs a lot of support, which is provided by the corners. Therefore, they called the place “Surmang.” Sur means “corner,” and mang means “many”; so Surmang means “many cornered.” It was quite arbitrary; Trung Ma-se was not particularly concerned with creating a glorious name.
The Eight Mystics and the Three Idiots
Over time, Trung Ma-se began to attract many prominent students. Eventually, he was teaching a public audience of several thousand students. Many hundreds of his devotees, something like 360 of them, were considered close students. Among these, there were eight very close students, who were known as the eight mystics. The Tibetan word for mystic is togden, which means “someone who is realized” or “endowed with realization.”
Along with the eight mystics, there were the three idiots, who were the closest students of all, and the first Trungpa was one of these idiots. The Tibetan word for “idiot” is ja. Ja is actually a local idiom that means “moron,” or someone “lower, flat, and very naive,” like a sitting duck.
So there were three idiots or morons. The reason they were known as idiots was because they were so stubborn and so earthy that they did not flinch at anything at all. They simply set their minds to one thing at a time. When the teacher told them to do something, they just did it. They became known as the idiots for their stubbornness. The eight mystics were quite good in their idiotness, but they did not quite qualify to be known as idiots. They were somewhat good students and nice people.
THE FIRST TRUNGPA: KÜNGA GYALTSEN
The first Trungpa, Künga Gyaltsen, lived during the early fifteenth century, and was born into the family of one of the local lords.
The Meaning of Trungpa
Künga Gyaltsen means “All-Joyful Victory Banner,” and the word trungpa is an honorific term, which means “attendant.” Ideally, when somebody serves their guru twenty-four hours a day, they begin to get some glimpse of the workings of the teacher’s mind. They begin to get messages and reminders of awareness and things like that. So the best way to develop is to be the guru’s servant. That is the traditio
n.
The Training of the First Trungpa
Künga Gyaltsen was raised as an educated person. In his youth, he worked with his father ruling the country, collecting taxes, and fighting with hostile neighbors. But when he heard the name of Trung Ma-se, he left his kingdom and abandoned his home to find this teacher. He settled in with him and spent almost twenty years practicing meditation.
Künga Gyaltsen received a lot of teachings at the beginning. He was taught the various levels of Chakrasamvara tantra—the external, the internal, the secret practices, and so forth—and he studied and practiced the six yogas of Naropa. Then his teacher sent him away, saying, “You have received enough of what I have, so now you should find your own monastery and teach other people.”
The First Trungpa and Adro Shelu-bum
When Künga Gyaltsen left Trung Ma-se, he visited various places. As he traveled around eastern Tibet, he came to the fort of Adro Shelu-bum, who was the local landowner and local lord. When Künga Gyaltsen arrived, he was repeating a line from a very famous Manjushri text, the Manjushri-nama-sangiti (Chanting the Names of Manjushri). In the text there is a phrase, chökyi gyaltsen lekpar dzuk, which means “Firmly plant the victorious banner of dharma.” So he arrived at the door of Adro Shelu-bum’s castle with that particular verse on his lips, and he repeated that line three times. For that reason, at my principal monastery in Tibet, Surmang Dütsi Tel, we always repeated that same line twice when we chanted the text. And here in the West, that line has been made into one of the main slogans of Naropa University. We have translated it in that context as “We firmly plant the victory banner of dharma.”
The Tantric Path of Indestructible Wakefulness Page 18