by Susan Szpakowski
In our study circle, we have been exploring the lives of women practitioners and teachers. We want to know about their experience, how they express their path and understanding. But when we read about the lives of Yeshe Tsogyal and Mandarava, two 8th-9th century consorts of Padmasambhava (centre), we realize it's difficult to separate fact from fiction. Their stories are fantastical, with versions that are sometimes contradictory. How can we peer through the overlays of cultural filters added in the retelling (usually by men) over centuries? What can we learn about their role as spiritual consorts and what does that role have to do with women practitioners now? This is a big topic, relevant on many levels, which I hope we can continue to explore. For now, here are a few thoughts that continued to percolate after our meeting. From Sera Khandro's autobiography, written early in the 20th century, we learn that traditionally consorts were accomplished women practitioners who were sought after by their male counterparts. Through sexual union, both partners generated "bliss" or inner heat that could be used for achieving realization. Having a consort was also one of the conditions for revealing "treasure teachings" (wisdom relevant for the time) by either partner. And the consort relationship had the power to heal and increase longevity. Consort practice wasn't about ordinary desire and attachment, but a vehicle for realization. It was an expression of devotion and surrender to "suchness itself" through devotion to one's partner. Consort practice is built into Tibetan Buddhism, but usually without the need for a literal partner. Through visualization and inner yoga, practitioners unite the feminine and masculine principles within themselves. In her book Passionate Enlightenment, Miranda Shaw argues that early Western historians often misinterpreted consort practice as essentially one-way—with the male practitioner using sexual partners to advance his realization, with the woman either then left behind or becoming a disciple. Shaw counters that, at least in early history, the woman was most often in charge, as she held the missing key to realization. Shaw traces the early roots of Tibetan Buddhist tantra back to a time when Mahayana Buddhist scholasticism encountered Hindu tantra with its many sects, some devoted to goddess worship. I am not sure about Miranda Shaw's scholarship, as her book was published more than 20 years ago. But then again, who is to say which story (or history) is more real than any other. We can pick up other clues from founding stories of the Tibetan Buddhist lineages. In 12th-century India the great monastic universities had become bastions of scholarship, prestige and wealth. Naropa was one of the most famed scholars at Nalanda University. One day, while he was studying outside, a shadow fell across his text and a dakini in the form of an old hag asked if he understood the words of the teachings he was studying. He said he did, and she responded with a happy dance. When he added that he also understood the meaning she burst into tears, calling him a liar and saying the only one who understood the meaning was her brother, the yogi Tilopa. Then she vanished. Naropa set out in search of Tilopa and went through a journey of many trials in which Tilopa kept appearing to him in the form of his own demons of fear and attachment, and then disappearing from sight when Naropa fell for the bait. Other stories from this era describe women-dakinis luring scholars and teachers out from behind a wall of monastic privilege, intellect, and security and into the earthy, messy, dreamlike realm of the dakinis. Those brave enough to follow ended up in the marketplace, brothels, cremation grounds. They were challenged, tested, and seduced into the forbidden zones and twilight edges of their own psyches. In the process they were invited—sometimes abruptly—to shed whatever was holding them back or keeping them separate from a direct and raw experience of reality. The motivation to set out on these journeys was always a passionate love for the truth and a wish to end suffering for all beings. The union of Mahayana motivation and insights into emptiness (the view) with the yogic tradition of Hindu tantra (as fast-tracking methods) seems to be what was imported into Tibet. Machik Labdron's lineage is a very literal expression of this union, with its emphasis on the (Mahayana) Prajnaparamita view and (tantric charnel ground) practice of chod. So what do these stories teach us about the role of dakini/consort practice today? One line of inquiry relates to our Buddhist practice. Another line is more broad, outside the walls of Buddhism. If we imagine a dakini force set loose in our world, alive in the twilight edges of conventional reality, what would that look like? What would she do? Some first thoughts:
Postscript: In June 2018 Holly Gayley published an excellent paper on this topic, "Revisiting the Secret Consort in Tibetan Buddhism."
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by Rikke Braren Lauritzen from LEVEKUNST art of life This excerpt offers a glimpse into everyday life within a contemporary Tibetan nunnery, as experienced by a Western woman. Here the nuns are satisfied and happy with the conditions and they smile and spread their love everywhere they come and go. In Denmark I sometimes have the craving of isolating myself from others, going to remote places and meditating and in daily life appreciating just doing my own things in my own way. I normally call for people’s company and have my social rendez-vous scheduled a long time ahead. There can be days when you really need a smile and a happy encouragement from another fellow human, and when you may feel as the most lonely person in the world. In the West we are becoming more and more isolated and many people are suffering from lack of contact. According to new scientific studies the root of many physiological, psychological and mental diseases is actually loneliness and isolation. We are simply not born to be alone and it is our basic human right to share our lives with others. Somehow the feeling of living together with the nuns here in this big four floor building where they are sitting outside my door chanting from early morning to evening, is really nourishing for my soul. I have come to really value other people’s presence in a new way and I know that I am not really happy alone. Here in the nunnery we live with open doors side by side and a nun always has her sisters. In fact she belongs to a sangha, a community which functions as a support for everyone’s practice and well-being. I have come to love these nuns, and I have come to admire them so much. Their strength, their discipline, their dignified aura and still their sweetness and warm hearts. They represent to me the best qualities of a woman’s nature. I can see myself in them, like ”if they can do it, so can I”, and it’s so motivating to have role models both for my own practice and my whole perspective on life, when I get sucked too much into the samsaric wheel of everyday’s attachment or self-centredness. Read the full article by Nora Bateson (daughter of Gregory) From her Facebook post, shared here in the aftermath of our group's questioning about the kind of spirituality (and enlightenment) that is being called for in these times. I keep hearing people say we have a crisis of leadership. I agree. But the leadership required now is not old-school leadership. Whatever leadership used to be—it used to be. Now, it has to be something different. Now, we all have to be more than we were. Leadership models come in many flavors. Strategic leadership, leadership from behind, organizational, innovative, creative leadership, collective leadership, transformational leadership, cross cultural leadership, team leadership—the list goes on. But the kind of leadership that I want to explore may not be identifiable as leadership at all. I am interested in a kind of mutually alert care and attention to the well-being of all people and ecological systems. This kind of leadership cannot be found in individuals, but rather between them. It cannot be found in organizations, nations, religions or institutions, but rather between them. I have called it Liminal Leadership to highlight the relational characteristics. Inter-systemic change is at hand. More than change, and more than system change, the interdependency between systems of economy, health, politics, ecology and communication is where the change lies. This is a murky territory of alive in-betweeness. The interdependency we are discussing should not be thought of as a part that can be replaced in an engine. It is elusively not in the economy or the education system, it is not in politics or the health system, it is not in the media, or even the culture—it is in the way in which these aspects of our world are steeped together in a slow-cooked stew. The ingredients of the socio-economic stew cannot now be pulled out, but the chemistry can be tended. We, as citizens, as human beings, cannot point to these institutions as “them”— there is no them. All of these contexts of society (and more) are in a kind of ecology of interdependency, pattern and relationship. You and me, we are simultaneously in the systems, and occupying the position of observer, or change-maker. We cannot get out. But, we are also within another ecology; the ecology of the biosphere. —N. Bateson 2017 The story of Mayum Kunsang Dechen, consort of Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche by Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche This is what I know about my mother, and what has been told to me by the people who knew her. When she was young, she had a very loving heart and really cared about the welfare of others. She liked to help poor people and animals. This was one of her main qualities as a child. She especially cared about the Law of Karma and was very careful about even her small deeds. While still very young, 13 or 14 years old, she took teachings in Tibet from different teachers and started the ngondro preliminary practice. She continued to do ngondro even while staying in Sikkim and when she came to Nepal. If we count them all, she completed the 500,000 aspects of ngondro practice thirteen times. In addition to that, she engaged in many sadhanas and recited many mantras. In short, my father told me he never saw her waste a single day; she was always doing some kind of practice. My mother was very lucky to take teachings from my father, Tulku Urgyen, and especially from His Holiness, the 16th Karmapa. From the Second Jamgon Kongtrul, named Palden Khyentse Oser, she received many different kinds of teachings, oral transmissions, and initiations and, in particular, mind teachings. At that time, she gained complete confidence in her practice and since then has had no doubts about her understanding of buddha nature, so her trust, devotion, and compassion was always increasing. Read more.... by Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo Quoted in Cave in the Snow by Vick Mackenzie (pp. 133-36) To me the special female quality (which of course many men have as well) is first of all a sharpness, a clarity. It cuts through—especially intellectual ossification. It's very sharp and gets to the point. To me the Dakini principle stands for the intuitive force. Women get it in a flash—they're not interested in intellectual discussion which they normally find dry and cold with minimum appeal. To women that's the long way of going about it. They go through the back door! This reveals itself as women being more practical in their approach, less abstract and idealistic than men. They want to know, "What can we do?" They're not entranced by theories and ideas—they want to be able to crunch it between their teeth. Of course, Prajnaparamita [personification of unconditional space, often referred to as the Mother of all the Buddhas] is female. She's the Perfection of Wisdom which cuts away all our concepts and desires to make something very stable and settled. We build up our ideas. We try to make them concrete. She cuts away, cutting, cutting, cutting. She cuts things back to the bare essential. At the same time women have a nurturing, a softness, a gentleness. Women tend to be more into feeling than men, which makes it easier to develop Bodhicitta. Loving-kindness is innate in women, because of the mothering factor. A mother is prepared to die for her child. That impulse can be developed towards all beings. Again it's a matter of feeling, not intellect. These are not just useful qualities—they're essential. [to continue, click "read more," below right] An interview with Vicki Mackenzie from Mandala Magazine Mandala: What inspired you to write this book? Vicki Mackenzie: I never met Freda Bedi. It was such a shame. But from my earliest days in the Dharma, I heard about her. I went to Kopan in November 1976 for my first course there, and she had just visited. There was a buzz because Lama Yeshe had brought her into the gompa, into “the Tent” as it was then called, and put her on the throne. He made three full-length prostrations to her. Unfortunately, she died shortly afterwards, in 1977. Then when I was writing the book Cave in the Snow, I heard about her from Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo, who had helped her at her Young Lamas Home School. Tenzin Palmo said she was such an extraordinary woman, a powerhouse. She had an incredible life, a big life, many lives in one lifetime. So my ears pricked up. And after Cave in the Snow, Tenzin Palmo kept saying, you really must write a book about Freda Bedi, women need inspirational role models. But I wasn’t interested then because I didn’t want to write a book on another British woman who had become a Tibetan nun! She kept pushing though. And then I got a letter from Ranga Bedi, Freda Bedi’s eldest son, saying we’re looking for someone to write a book about our mother. He said the Dalai Lama thought a book should be written. His Holiness didn’t specify me, but I thought, “Well, if His Holiness thinks a book should be written … I’ll take it on.” Read more... The black queer Buddhist teacher who is smashing stereotypes and leading an awakening on the left8/31/2017 by Jack Jenkins
In Think Progress Rev. angel Kyodo williams doesn’t like stereotypes. That’s not entirely surprising, since she also seems to enjoy shattering them. She’s a black queer woman in an American Buddhist tradition often steered by white men; a Buddhist operating in activist circles of mostly Christians and Jews; a leader of the Religious Left who doesn’t use the word “God.” And while williams — whose first and last name aren’t capitalized — is known as a hard-charging activist for racial justice, she also has a knack for mixing difficult conversation with easy laughter. Read more... by Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo In Tibetan Buddhism in the West ••• “Sometimes, even if the lama is sitting in front of you, you can feel there’s a thousand miles between you; likewise, you can be a thousand miles away and feel that the guru is right there, sitting in your heart.” Q: If one has taken a teacher and then sees them behaving badly or in seemingly inappropriate ways, what advice do you give students who are interpreting this? Is it even acceptable to leave a teacher once you have made a commitment to him? Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo: Personally, I think that we should never completely surrender our own integrity. I think that it’s a big mistake to think that once you have taken on the teacher that’s it, and whatever he does you have to see it with pure perception. Of course, you know, one can point to Naropa and Tilopa and Marpa and Milarepa, but nonetheless I think that’s quite dangerous. Read more... |
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