Practice Aspiration

From this point onwards, this book is mainly concerned with practice, though theory and practice are so closely interwoven that no real division is possible, and there are several passages where I have felt it expedient to recall points already made under the general heading of “Background and Theory.” However, my main purpose is to trace the progress of a Vajrayāna initiate from the moment when he first sets foot upon the path to the time when, as an accomplished adept

with many years of progress behind him, he is well on the way to becoming a Lama qualified to take disciples of his own. Of yet higher reaches of the path, nothing will be said, for no one who has not scaled those high peaks can have any conception of the purity of their rarefied atmosphere. Men with the hardihood and strength of purpose to climb so high are beings to whom all the splendors of this world are dross. Who can imagine the majesty of their thought or the brilliance of the wonders they behold?

The earliest stages of progress are clearly defined and vary within fairly narrow limits. First comes the day when a young man decides to make a gesture of his dedication to the spiritual quest. If he has been a Buddhist since birth, he has doubtless performed the simple ceremony of taking refuge in the Triple Gem — the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha — many thousands of times, but, on this occasion, he goes to the temple and repeats the formula, not perfunctorily as in the past, but with a full heart. By doing so, he proclaims himself a Buddhist by conviction. Next comes the search for a Lama. If he

lives in a small community separated by lonely wastes from the nearest town or monastery, he will probably have no choice. Carrying a few small gifts, he will present himself to the local Lama (who is likely to have been his schoolmaster for several years already) and make a formal profession of becoming his disciple. The Lama will bestow upon him a religious name and thereafter give him and some of his fellows rudimentary spiritual instruction. Then, if the boy shows promise, the Lama (who may be someone of middling education, styled “Lama” only for courtesy’s sake) may arrange for him to go elsewhere and study under a more highly qualified teacher.

What happens next to the youth will to some extent depend upon the sect to which his community belongs. If they are Gelugpas, he will almost certainly be sent to a monastery and spend many years in religious studies of a scholastic kind before he is given instruction in any but the most elementary forms of meditation. If his people belong to one of the Red Hat sects, he may go either to a monastery or to live with a Lama who may be a monk or a layman. In any case, the youth will be able to embark on

Tantric studies early in his career. The ceremony of taking a teacher will be repeated, for the Lama who sent him away from home will have released him from his discipleship. When the time comes for the Tantric teaching to begin, an initiation ceremony will be held for a group of aspirants. The nature of the initiation will depend on circumstances; it may be at quite a low level, authorizing them to undertake a strictly limited form of Tantric practice, or it may be at a level far beyond their present status, bestowed with a view to allowing them to enter upon advanced practice when they are ready for it. Following his initiation, the young disciple will spend two years or more performing the preliminary meditational exercises by which the ability to develop higher states of consciousness is acquired. Once these have been completed, if his Lama is satisfied with his progress, he will receive whatever further initiations are necessary for the mode of practice he intends to pursue, but several years or a decade may pass before he is judged fit to be initiated into advanced yogic mysteries involving a knowledge of the secret places of the body — the psychic centers and psychic channels.

In describing the kinds of practice to which these initiations provide access, I have dealt at some length with what may be called their liturgical aspects because it is a peculiarity of Tantric Buddhism to interweave meditation and devotion. The rites accompanying mystical practice are elaborate and colorful, some of the details having been borrowed from Tibet’s ancient Bön religion, though most of them clearly had their origins at Nālandā and other places in India. The reasons for this unusual combination of mental practice and rites are manifold, but they can be summarized as falling into four categories: (1) the belief that meditation unsupported by devotion can lead to a kind of spiritual pride incompatible with the effort to negate the ego; (2) the Tantric insistence on involving body, speech, and mind so that the adept will ultimately develop into what is called an Adamantine Being through subtle changes in his physical and mental constituents; (3) the conviction that sensuous, aesthetic, and emotional impulses are a valuable source of spiritual energy; (4) and the discovery that some of the deeper levels of consciousness unapproachable through conceptual thought can be reached directly by means of appropriate symbols.

The result is that the spiritual exercises contain a good deal of substance that unsympathetic observers might be inclined to label hocus-pocus. The best answer to such criticism is that these colorful methods do, in fact, work; accomplished adepts do undoubtedly attain to states of consciousness and acquire curious psychic powers not easily attainable by other means. It should be emphasized that the rituals are never practiced — unless by insufficiently instructed persons — in the hope of winning divine favor; from first to last, they are subtle aids to apprehension, which derive their power from the mystical correspondence of the outer forms with hidden psychic forces and with the special states of mind that result.

Non-Buddhists who are interested in the Vajrayāna as a science of mind control suitable for mystical realization and who believe that, shorn of their trappings, the methods could be used in a universal setting may not be much interested in the liturgical details; and those who find any form of liturgy distasteful may be even more impatient with them. However, the nature of the Vajrayāna is such that all parts are interconnected by innumerable strands. Besides, there are aesthetic reasons for including samples of the beautiful liturgy. In the Tibetan original, much of it is in the form of verses, often with trochaic lines of seven or nine syllables, which are recited to the accompaniment of cymbals and drums in tones deep as the resonant bass voices in a Russian choir. Rendered in English prose without the musical accompaniment, the passages lose force, but something of their beauty can be inferred.

In all that follows, the background of the spiritual practice is likely to be two scenes. The first is the hall of a temple where the Lamas have assembled — men with the calm, inward look of those long used to contemplative exercises. Clad in robes of maroon with touches of yellow ochre, they sit cross-legged on their prayer cushions surrounded by a profusion of brightly colored symbols of their faith, eyes half-closed in rapt contemplation of the sacred visions being conjured from their minds. Points of flame and clouds of incense rise from the altar, and the hall vibrates with their sonorous chanting, the clash of cymbals, and the throb of drums. The atmosphere is marvelously conducive to the reverential awe proper to the contemplation of a sacred mystery. The second

picture is that of an adept seated alone in a solitary cave bare of adornment or in a shrineroom that reproduces in miniature the temple scene. All around is silence, broken by the solemn murmur of his voice and punctuated at intervals by the thrilling tones of his vajra-bell and the rattle of the whirling pellets attached by thongs to a clapper drum fashioned from the craniums of two skulls placed back to back. These sounds and those of the belly deep chanting, cymbals, and giant drum used during gatherings are not easily described; their effect is not that of music but close to the elemental sounds of nature. Perhaps the only musical sounds at all analogous are those of the Kabuki and No plays of Japan; certainly, there is nothing of the cloying sweetness of church music, nor anything resembling such dirges as “Remember, O thou sinful man, how thou art dead and gone.”

Both these pictures would be misleading if their solemnity gave the impression that Vajrayāna followers are long-faced, humorless robots who suspect that joy is sinful. Tibetan humor is irrepressible. Even at the height of a moving ceremony attended by breathless awe, if something amusing occurs, the sacred surroundings will not constrain them to smother their laughter. Since their religion is interwoven with their lives, religious practice does not cease outside the temple, nor are normal reactions abandoned in the temple.

The Refuges

“I go to the Buddha for refuge; I go to the Dharma for refuge; I go to the Sangha for refuge.”

All Buddhist practice starts with “taking refuge.” First pronounced as an affirmation of intention to live as a Buddhist, it also forms the beginning of every temple ceremony and is repeated morning and evening in the household shrines. These words of homage are recited three times as a group with three or nine prostrations, ending with the forehead touching the ground. The Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha are collectively known as the Three Precious Ones, the Three Jewels, or the Triple Gem. In their most widely accepted sense, they stand for the Enlightened One, the Sacred Doctrine, and the Sacred Community (of monks and nuns); in their special Mahāyāna sense, they also mean the Principle of Enlightenment, Universal Law, and the Community of Those who Have Attained (known variously as Bodhisattvas, Pratyeka Buddhas, Arahants, etc.). To this exoteric definition, the Vajrayāna adds an esoteric one, thus:

Buddha:

The Enlightenment Principle as represented by the line of Gurus stretching back to Śākyamuni Buddha and by what is now present in the form of a statue or living Guru. Dharma:

The Enlightenment Principle as existing in the adept’s heart and as identical with the Yidam. Sangha: The Enlightenment Principle as identical with the Dākinī — the urge to seek Liberation for ourselves and all beings — and as the ultimate reality (i.e., void, undifferentiated nature) of all the myriad forms of life.

These interpretations, and a few more subtle ones disclosed only to initiates, are not mutually exclusive. They afford an example of the manner in which the Vajrayāna, without rejecting the more ancient Buddhist doctrines, reinterprets them at several levels of truth. In practice, Vajrayāna rites generally require the taking of four or even five refuges — refuge in the Triple Gem as described above, prefixed by refuge in the Guru (the source of our knowledge of those three), and sometimes followed by refuge in the Yidam or “Buddha in the heart.” In Sanskrit, the fivefold formula is:

“Namo, Guru-be, Namo Buddhāya, Namo Dharmāya, Namo Sanghāya, Namo …………”

in which the dots stand for the name of the adept’s Yidam.

The purpose of frequent repetition of the act of refuge is mantric (i.e., it is thought to induce a psychic response by deeply impressing on the mind the absolute need to seek Enlightenment through the Dharma). Though success in attaining Liberation must depend on their own efforts, it is the Enlightened One’s teaching which makes it possible. The Tantric manner of taking refuge is to repeat a longer formula than the one given above while visualizing an assembly blazing with light and emitting colored rays in all directions; some of the rays enter the crown of the adept’s head and fill his whole body with light. The Buddha and Sangha, together with the Guru and the Yidam, are seen as resplendent living beings; the Dharma is revealed as a pile of magnificently decorated

volumes emitting mantric sounds. Surrounding the adept, with heads bowed towards the objects of refuge, is a great concourse of sentient beings. The full manifestation of such a vision requires long preparation. There are detailed instructions for evoking a great gathering of Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, Gurus, Yidams, and Dākinīs, bearing witness to the act of taking refuge. To behold them all, perfect in every small detail, requires more than a feat of memory and concentration; indeed, it is scarcely possible without entry into a deeper-than-normal state of consciousness. When refuge has been taken, all these divinities and the whole concourse of sentient beings “rise up like a flock of birds disturbed by a sling-stone” and merge with the five objects of refuge; these, in turn, merge with one another until “all are absorbed in the primal condition of undifferentiated Dharmakāya.”

The Bodhisattva Vow

Very early in his practice, the adept-to-be takes the Bodhisattva Vow, which is thereafter renewed daily. He pledges himself to strive wholeheartedly to win Enlightenment but not to enter Nirvāza while other beings are left struggling in Sagsāra’s “bitter ocean.” Between the moment of Enlightenment and the time, perhaps millions of eons hence, at which he will enter Nirvāza in the wake of all beings, he intends to remain in Sagsāra, undergoing rebirth in forms conducive to his efforts to guide others to Liberation. This concept is pleasantly illustrated by statues of the much-venerated Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara (also called Chenresig in Tibetan) in the form of a horse. The thought of vowing oneself to millions or billions of eons in Sagsāra is appalling. The frightful fate of the Wandering Jew and of the captain of the Flying Dutchman pales beside it; however, space and time are dimensions whose effect is apparent only at the cruder levels of existence. It is possible that, to an Enlightened mind, the prospect of eons of labor is less forbidding.

Bodhisattvahood is not easily won. It requires unbounded compassion (Karuzā) for the beings in the six realms of existence. In particular, it is taught that, prior to taking the vow, the adept must resolve to acquire six virtues (Pāramitā). First comes Dāna (giving, or generosity), which, in this context, means the adept’s total self-surrender for the sake of his vow. The second is Śīla (morality), not merely in its conventional sense of restraint and harmlessness, but in the special Tantric sense that all thought of failure must be renounced as immoral because it implies a doubt of the adept’s own Buddha-nature (Tathāgatagarbha). The third is K[ānti (patience), which enables him to suffer any revilement or setback without diminution of compassion or assurance. Next comes Vīrya (zeal), which overcomes both obstacles and lethargy. The fifth is Dhyāna (meditation), which he must continue to perfect. Last, by cleansing himself of the dross of attachment and repulsion, he is to free his mind for the influx of Prajñā (wisdom). Having thus resolved, he prostrates himself before the sacred images of the Triple Gem and fervently vows to dedicate the whole of his present and future existences to liberating sentient beings. This done, he must acquire a Guru. On the face of it, the list of six virtues is that of Mahāyāna Buddhism as a whole, but the definitions of giving and morality have a special Tantric flavor, i.e., the two physical virtues are supplemented by virtues of mind.

Obtaining a Guru

If the purpose is merely to learn a little meditation, the choice of a Guru (in the few places where they are abundant) presents no problem. If, on the other hand, the intention is to learn some high yogic practices or to attempt the Short Path through a shattering revolution of the mind and dangerous maneuvering of the adept’s consciousness, then the matter becomes graver than the choice of a specialist to operate on someone hovering between life and death. The risk is so great that the Short Path and the more advanced yogic exercises should never be attempted without the guidance of a Lama in whom absolute faith can be reposed.

“When the pupil is ripe, a Master appears” is an old adage that may well have been true, but in the West, or in Communist China and Tibet for that matter, it must sound more like a pious hope than a statement of fact. In Europe and America, coming in contact with an accomplished Lama must often seem a sheer impossibility, short of emigrating to the Himalayan foothills where, to say nothing of having no means of livelihood and the difficulty of getting permission to stay, the language problem would take years to surmount. However, the dearth of teachers is gradually abating. Besides the trickle of Tibetan Lamas coming to settle in the West who will, in course of time, master the languages of their adopted countries, there is also a growing handful of Western practitioners who will presently be qualified to undertake at least some of the Guru’s responsibilities. The increase in the number of teachers will of course gather momentum, as each Lama will, no doubt, instruct numerous disciples, the best of whom are likely to become teachers themselves.

For those able to live in countries bordering the Himalayas, where the Tibetan refugee communities include many renowned teachers, there are no special procedures for choosing a Guru; a greater difficulty is to win his acceptance. However, it is not wise to choose in haste. Popular esteem is, in itself, no sure guide to excellence. The universal avidity for marvels is shared by ordinary Tibetans, and there may be some Lamas who, by successful practice while their aim was still high, have acquired extraordinary powers that have enhanced their reputation among the common people and tempted them to be satisfied with the progress achieved. I do not know if this is so, but experience with Indian swamis and Chinese monks has taught me to be wary of teachers who are not disturbed by fame. Minor miracles can be seen and appreciated by everybody, whereas the appreciation of good teaching is limited to those far enough advanced to know good from indifferent.

Into the hands of our Lama, we place our well-being and perhaps our sanity. This is not a step to be taken light-heartedly. Whether a Lama’s spiritual attainments are of high quality is, however, often discoverable in a simple way. All men of advanced mystical attainment, by their mere presence, communicate an inner stillness. It is this rather than reputation, bearing, and conduct that offers the surest guide. To judge conduct, we must know for sure the motives and surrounding circumstances. A man seen to leap from concealment and throw himself upon a passer-by will be taken for a thief or rapist, yet he may be someone with prior knowledge of an imminent explosion ready to offer his life to protect a stranger’s. If the explosion takes place, he will probably be killed. If something prevents it, who will credit the purity of his intention? There are many Tibetan stories of the unorthodox behavior of Lamas, including the great Guru Rinpoche himself, which point to this moral.

Intention is often hard to judge, and this applies no less to the selection or acceptance of disciples than to the choice of a Guru. That Tibetan Lamas are apt to put would-be disciples to severe tests is well known. There are many stories of ascetics in isolated hermitages who, foreseeing the approach through the mountains of young seekers after wisdom, conjure frightful blizzards and snowstorms to test their resolution. The most famous story of this kind concerns the poet-ascetic Milarepa in the early days when he longed to take Lama Marpa as his Guru. As the devout Milarepa had an unsavory past, Lama Marpa was, to

put it mildly, hesitant. Three times he ordered Milarepa to build a house single-handedly and three times, when it was not yet finished, commanded him not merely to tear it down but to restore all the stones and earth to their original places! Not content with that, though Milarepa’s back was now covered with sores from carrying baskets of stone, Guru Marpa administered some good beatings and ordered him to set to work upon a fourth house and then a fifth. Poor Milarepa often gave way to despair and ran off, but always returned because he believed that Lama Marpa had received from the Indian sage Nāropa knowledge of

the only sure way to attain Liberation in this life. The story ends happily with Milarepa becoming Marpa’s best-loved disciple and the inheritor of his precious knowledge. Perhaps there will be no Western Milarepas. The modern Tibetan Marpas make generous allowances for our lack of training. Even so, having found a suitable teacher, the disciple must, like Milarepa, be prepared for rebuffs. Some Lamas are so happy to welcome disciples who will one day spread the Dharma in foreign lands that they make everything as easy as possible.

On the other hand, if they greatly value a man and have high hopes of his success, they may be inclined to impose rigorous tests before opening their hearts to him. My own experience has been that some received me warmly from the first, whereas others subjected me to varying periods of polite but firm discouragement. Unhappily, this is nothing to go by, for I have never had the good fortune to be with one of my teachers long enough to discover if he was prepared to place his knowledge unreservedly at my disposal.

The Guru

Once accepted, the disciple’s obedience must be absolute; thenceforth, for as long as the spiritual compact remains in force, he must not presume to question his Lama’s actions or harbor doubts of their fitness, which is the very reason why the selection on both sides needs such care. Unless he asks permission to withdraw from his discipleship, he must honor the Lama as he would honor the Buddha himself. In the Tantric view, this is of prime importance; indeed, in any view, it is vital because, when advanced practice is going forward, to dispute with the Lama would be like failing in implicit obedience to a captain piloting his ship past jagged reefs in a storm-tossed sea. Those to whom absolute obedience is repugnant are not qualified for the attempt.

Another reason for the adept to honor his Lama above all other men is that the Lama has received his heritage of wisdom from a line of Gurus stretching back to Śākyamuni Buddha and proposes to make his disciples the heirs of this treasure. In his Lama, the adept reveres all the Gurus of that lineage. Furthermore, there is the empowerment received at the Lama’s hands. “Empowerment” is the literal meaning of the word elsewhere rendered “initiation.” Vajrayāna followers hold that the Guru transmits not only knowledge but also his acquired and inherited spiritual power. Occasionally, when the Lama touches his disciple’s head with his hands (or as a mark of great favor, with his own head), a sensation of mild electric shock races from the crown to the tip of the spine and to the extremities. Possibly, this is wholly imaginary and yet it seldom occurs when looked for.

The first instructions received from the Lama concern the preliminaries to the main practice — preliminaries so formidable as to frighten off the light-hearted, but never under any circumstances to be dispensed with. Though teaching about a Sādhana may be given before the preliminaries are begun, this is on the understanding that no use will be made of the knowledge until the course has been completed — a matter of two years or so for beginners. In any case, the explanation of the Sādhana’s inner meaning is generally reserved until the main practice is underway. Exceptions are sometimes made if the disciple is a foreigner unable to stay long in the vicinity. In that case, his Lama may be inclined to give explanations at several levels right away, but the true meaning may prove illusive until understanding has been developed by practice.

During the time, long or short, that the disciple remains near his Lama, he must be prepared to serve him to the utmost, whether or not any specific demands are made. On entering or leaving a room where the Lama is seated, unless this happens several times a day, disciples prostrate themselves three times, then kneel at his feet awaiting the touch of his hands upon their heads. While in his presence, they must behave with decorum, not smoking, sitting carelessly, raising their voices, or laughing too long and loud, although there is no call for long-faced solemnity — indeed, it is hard to imagine Tibetans remaining

solemn. On meeting the Lama in the street, his disciples run to him and press their heads against his robe. Though others criticize him, they must never doubt the fitness of his actions. “It is better for a man to cut out his tongue than to join in criticism of his Lama; for, by virtue of his teaching of the Dharma, he stands in the Buddha’s place; to slander him is like slandering the Buddha.” His faults, if any, must be of no concern to his disciples. If a disciple is seriously dissatisfied with his Lama’s conduct, he may prostrate himself and formally request leave to withdraw from the compact. By and large, however, a lively fear of the consequences would restrain Lamas from initiating people into advanced Tantric practice unless they felt qualified for the task, so occasions for such withdrawals are rare.

Westerners unused to oriental concepts of politeness sometimes find it embarrassing to prostrate themselves. Asians, however, honor elders and superiors in this way as a matter of course; there is no thought of degradation. The Lamas do not exact such homage and would not, I suppose, mind its omission; it is freely given because it is the custom and because it has value. Besides being a salutary check on pride and, therefore, egoism, it promotes the frame of mind needed for ensuring prompt assent to instructions profoundly affecting the disciple’s mental and spiritual welfare.

The returns made by the Lama are held to be out of all proportion to the value of the service and devotion received. To qualify as a teacher, he may well have spent some twenty years at a monastic university and worked indomitably to acquire his high knowledge. If he is from a poor family, which is more often the case than not (unless he was rescued from poverty as a child through being recognized as a Tulku ), he probably suffered severe hardships during his training.

His gifts are beyond his disciples’ power to requite. Moreover, though he may permit some laxity in them, he will generally observe his own responsibilities meticulously. In becoming their Guru, he has taken upon himself more than a parent’s duty: if their misuse of Tantric methods should endanger their lives or sanity, to say nothing of prejudicing their chances of swift Enlightenment, he will hold himself to blame. In course of time, he often comes to feel a lively affection for them and may demonstrate it in touching ways. Homage to the Guru must form the starting-point of the sacred practice and continue until the summit is attained.

The Adept as the Buddha

Next to Śākyamuni Buddha, “the original teacher,” the disciple respects his Guru as the living embodiment of the principle of Enlightenment. That is easy to understand. What is less to be expected is the injunction that the adept must also recognize the Buddha as himself! The reflection “I am the Buddha” is significant at several levels: (1) the Buddha and all sentient beings share the same nature of undifferentiated void; (2) as certain seeds are potentially mighty trees, so are all beings potential Buddhas and, beyond the realm of time, potentiality achieved does not differ from potentiality to be unfolded; (3) the Buddha as the principle of, and urge to, Enlightenment penetrates the universe and is present in each sentient being. In the text called Tak-nyi, this reflection is expressed: “I am the expounder and the truth expounded. I am the hearer. I am the Teacher of the World. I am the worshipper. I am he who has passed beyond the six states of existence. I am the Blissful One.”

It is a reflection essential to the adept’s progress. It obliterates fear of failure and banishes the kind of remorse that is not permitted to Tantric adepts — remorse in the sense of being dismayed by the weight of Karma resulting from past errors. It rescues him from idolatry — the Theist dualism of worshipper and worshipped. It resolves the contradiction within the Mahāyāna between belief in self-power and other-power as a means to Liberation. It encourages him to try to behave in a manner worthy of his Buddha-status. It helps to negate ego consciousness and promotes compassion and forbearance, for, if “I am the Buddha,” the same is true of every being, who, therefore, should be offered unlimited love, patience, and assistance. For these and other reasons, it must be meditated upon daily and is symbolized by two rows of offerings placed upon the altar in reverse order so that they are offered simultaneously to the worshipped and the worshipper.

Nevertheless, “I am the Buddha” can be an exceedingly dangerous reflection. If improperly understood, it can lead to overweening egoism and to libertinism worthy of a power-crazed bandit who cynically believes himself to be above the law. Therefore, it must be meditated upon with the greatest circumspection, and false pride counteracted by daily acts of reverence before the Guru and the Triple Gem.

Initiation

The term “initiation” (Sanskrit, “Abhi[eka”; Tibetan, “wong”) embraces the idea of “besprinkling” and also of “empowerment.” The besprinkling with holy water is reminiscent of Christian baptism and also of the Hindu rite for crowning monarchs, but a Tantric initiation is not bestowed once and for all. On the contrary, there are Tibetan laymen who eagerly collect initiations for reasons varying from serious intent to receive the instruction that follows to something quite different — namely, a wish to secure a share of the power transmitted from generation to generation by the initiation rite. For, just as Hindus once held that the Abhi[eka conferred divinity upon a prince, so do Vajrayāna followers hold that a sacred power enters their bodies and remains there. In the Vajrayāna, an initiation is invariably required before a Lama communicates a new level of knowledge or new practice to his disciples. There are, therefore, many different initiations, most of which are given either separately or together at four different levels of understanding and practice. The levels are:

1. The Vase Empowerment, which cleanses the body-faculty of karmic hindrances and obscurations of the psychic channels, authorizes the visualization of deities, and, like the other three levels, has certain results that cannot be revealed.

2. The Mystical Empowerment, which cleanses the speech faculty, permits the flow of vital breath (cf. the Chinese Qi [Ch’i] or Ki [K’i]), enhances the powers of speech so that the Mantras can be used effectively, and has certain other results.

3. The Divine Knowledge Empowerment, which cleanses the mind-faculty, permits special practices (including those of Hathayogic type), and has certain other results.

4. The Absolute Empowerment, which leads to recognition of the true essence of mind — symbols can henceforth be transcended, and the identity of subject and object directly experienced. It authorizes the practice of Atiyoga and has profound mystical results.

The first three empowerments belong to the sphere of relativity and authorize various means for dealing with the Kleśas (karmic obstructions, mental afflictions), while the fourth empowerment belongs to the realm of the absolute and cleanses not merely the faculties of body, speech, and mind, but also “the basis of personality” cognition.

Each initiation may be regarded as conferring four types of benefit: (1) cleansing obscurations; (2) conferring power; (3) permitting access to a body of teaching and practice; (4) authorizing the adept to address himself in particular ways to certain of the MazTala deities. There are some minor differences in the initiation rites of different sects; the deities personifying universal forces may have different names and forms, but all initiates are aware of their real identity. The first and second of the benefits derived make some people keen to receive as many initiations as possible, even if they lack the time,

inclination, or ability to make use of the more important benefits. There is indeed a special category of initiation that does nothing but cleanse obscurations and confer power. A good example is the Longevity Empowerment (Tse-Wong), which, if taken frequently, is thought to prolong life. It calls to mind a rite of the Russian Orthodox Church performed by chapters of seven priests who anoint the sick with holy oil to help them recover. Generally, the selection of an initiation is made by the Lama to suit his disciple’s aptitude, but there is nothing to hinder people asking for one of their

own choice. Whether such requests are granted depends upon the degree of secrecy involved and, if follow-up instruction is required, upon the Lama’s having time to spend perhaps weeks or months on the task. I have once or twice been allowed to take part in initiations mainly intended for others, merely in the hope that one day I shall have the time and opportunity to receive the special instruction to which they provide access. Probably, in the days before Tibet’s ancient pattern of life was disrupted, things were not made so easy. In any case, however many initiations one can boast, spiritual progress cannot be counterfeited; others can be taken in, but not a man’s own Lama or anyone else who is qualified to judge.

A major initiation may involve some other matters that should be briefly mentioned. Perhaps the Guardians of the sect will be invoked, and the disciple will undertake to make them certain offerings at appropriate times. Thereafter, out of a healthy respect for the Guardians, he will be careful not to contravene the terms of the Samaya-pledge, which binds the initiates to their Lama and to one another as Vajra-brothers-and-sisters. The Samaya-pledge covers three spheres of action — body, speech, and mind; it has different meanings according to the level of the initiation, but always includes an undertaking to keep silent about certain matters for fear the uninstructed misconstrue them and suffer harm or misrepresent their inner truth. The

division into Mūlakleśas and Upakleśas is also found. Mūlakleśas include desire, hate, delusion, pride, doubt, and false views (such as belief in an ego, eternalism, nihilism, denial of the law of Karma, persistence in these false views, and the belief that false views can lead to Liberation). Upakleśas are the passions that are bound up with the Mūlakleśas. Sometimes, the five hindrances (desire for gratification of the senses; anger, hatred, aversion, or ill will; sloth and torpor; restlessness, agitation, and worry; and skeptical doubt) are also included with them. False views can be eliminated through insight; the other passions, which are based on desire, hate, and similar emotional factors and are not, like the false views, intellectual in nature, take longer and are more difficult to eliminate. They can be eliminated through regular meditation practice.

need for this can be judged from the hair-raising nonsense written about Tantric Buddhism by writers like Waddell, without access to the oral instruction that reveals the true significance of what is set forth in the Tantric texts. The Samaya-pledge cannot be lightly broken, but means are taught for repairing infractions within a maximum limit of three years.

Precisely what occurs at an initiation cannot of course be revealed in detail. The rite is likely to last about three hours, and the atmosphere to be quietly awe-inspiring. The low-voiced intoning of the Lama, punctured by the rattle of his clapper drum and the high note of his vajra-bell, alternates with the clash of great cymbals and the thunder of a giant drum that make the walls of the building tremble. Meanwhile, the initiates earnestly try to enter the state of consciousness required for clear visualization of what is being revealed. They are besides taught the Mantras, Mudrās, and visualizations required for

practicing the Sādhana(s) appropriate to the initiation. The rite is moving enough to cause some tension, and, by the end, everyone, especially the Lama, is fairly exhausted. Yet, with all this solemnity, there is no false sanctimony. I remember how the laughter rang out when some initiates made ludicrously unsuccessful attempts to emulate lions and elephants!

Following the initiation comes the “Lung,” or ceremonial reading of the texts, that the initiates are thereafter authorized to study. This may last some eight hours a day for a week or so. The vital oral teaching, which begins with the Lung, may continue for several years.