We began by viewing each other as enemies and ended up holding hands—a young college student and a broken soldier holding hands together in the brightness of early winter. I give his story to you now because it’s all I can do to relieve the heavy tenderness I still feel for him to this day.
Gesar is inspired by fearless compassion. Unafraid of chaos, he is able to uncover a path of wakefulness and harmony even in the most perilous and compromising situations. His unconditional commitment to others gives birth to the confidence that always uncovers spontaneous, precise and vital expressions of enlightened mind.
Here dwell the Earth Protectors and Rigdens, who rule over all Shambhala and radiate the heart of all true human law. Kalapa is a vast square with high bright ruby walls, surmounted by golden balustrades. Its four gates are made from sapphire, yellow diamond, ruby and emerald. Within the walls are the inner gates and courtyards paved with white opal. In the center, on a platform of pearl, is a great palace, the Kalapa Court.
The journey to enlightenment proceeds along a very slippery path. According to many unimpeachable sources, if you think too much about how to approach the destination then you’re sure to end up wide of the mark. Indirection may be all-important and yet too much stratagem may likewise lead you astray.
As the lord of heart and mind, He wears gold earrings shaped like sea-dragons. His dragon-patterned brocade robe is turquoise. His sash is pale red like an early winter moon. In his right hand he holds a white lotus on which stands a crystal Vajra; In his left a silver bell. He sits on a glowing golden throne. beneath the rainbow-colored parasol of complete fearlessness, which is vast as the sky.
I’d been dreaming. Something about that dream made me feel like I was soaked with joy. Not joy like kicking it at a party. Joy all through me. Every muscle loosened, like during the night I’d set something heavy down I’d been carrying my whole life. It felt important. But Buddha? Really? Who would ever have thought that this black girl from the East Bay would be meditating and dreaming about Buddha?
Among my favorite writers, especially during my younger years as a freelancer in Asia, was John Blofeld, whose books helped inspire my early interest in Buddhism and Taoism and fired my imagination with colorful visions of life in China before the communist revolution swept away traditional culture there.
Imagine my incoherent thoughts when in a small meeting of Buddhist-minded individuals on the second floor of a café in a small upstate NY town we hear a friend coming along, telling us that they in fact are ordained as Dudeist Priests.
The human world is cracking up. A century of warfare, genocide, destruction and want has severed men and women from their roots.
They have no forbears, no folkways or culture, no past. Money has shredded all other values. The young wander in a phantasmagoria of luxurious diversions, violence, intoxication, constant novelty and hopelessness.
The pure and free expanse of shunyata is not reached by the contrived path of rejecting the world. The changeless radiance of Great Compassion is not reached by the fabricated path of clinging to good qualities.