The Collected Works of Chögyam Trungpa: Volume 6 (77 page)

In this particular seminar, we are going to view things from the
EVAM
principle’s point of view, which is exactly the same as what we have discussed before. I’m afraid we are not going to discuss anything particularly new or extraordinary. The magic has been told already in some sense: that we have to sit a lot, practice a lot, study a lot, develop devotion, develop a sense of humor, and all the rest of it. And over all, we have to overcome spiritual materialism! So that’s it! [
Laughter
] I’m sorry to disappoint you; however, it’s better to be good than worst. [
Laughter
] Better to be honest rather than hypocritical.

The hinayana level of the
EVAM
principle we could find in the hinayana sutras. There is a saying at the beginning of each of these sutras that is translated into the English language as, “Thus I have heard.” That saying creates five types of situation: (1) “Thus” is the teachings; (2) “I” represents the student; (3–4) “have heard” is the proclamation of the dharma in a particular space and time: spring, summer, winter, autumn, or whatever; and (5) “Thus I have heard” is heard from the teacher, of course, which is another element, the teacher. So there is the teacher, the teaching, the time and place the teachings are being taught, and the student. That makes five situations. Those five—the nature of the teachings, teacher, time, place, and situation where the teachings are provided, that is to say, the student—are in the Sanskrit beginning of all the sutras,
Evam maya shrutam
[lit. Thus-by me-was heard], “Thus have I heard.” The teachings cannot begin without mentioning the words
E
and
VAM.
E is the situation where teachings are being taught;
VAM
is the teaching actually taking effect on individuals, personally. So it becomes a real thing: personal and absolutely real at the same time.

In the hinayana level of teaching, there are two levels of discipline taking place: renunciation and discipline. Renunciation and discipline are the two basic hinayana principles, renunciation being
E
and discipline being
VAM,
at that point. When we talk about renunciation, we are not particularly mommy and daddy behind, and you should rush into India or Thailand or the North Pole. And it doesn’t necessarily mean that you should say, “Fuck America! I will find something better.” [
Laughs.
] Renunciation is very subtle. To begin with, a lot of uncertainty, of course, and a lot of pain and dissatisfaction of all kinds takes place. But within that dissatisfaction, which is usually based on anger and resentment of all kinds, you are pissed off at the world that you were trained and brought up in. That is precisely the basis for the propagation of hippiedom that developed lately.

Until a few years ago, hippiedom was a very popular movement, of course, as a reaction against any kind of setup, a reaction against any kind of personal, business, economic, or social interaction with the world. A reaction against that general world that has been trying so hard to relate with the public, how we could live together in housing developments, city developments, social welfare developments, and what have you, public broadcasting systems, pension systems, all kinds of situations. You begin to feel all those programs are somewhat claustrophobic, so claustrophobic. The more pleasure is presented to you, the more painful it is. You prefer to wear rags rather than silk, prefer to wear dry twigs rather than gold and diamonds; as opposed to having a nice hairdo, you prefer to have shaggy, lice-infested, matted long hair. That’s not particularly renunciation, that’s reaction, that’s aggression. That is protest rather than livelihood, actually. It is a temporary thing. I think so, actually, quite possibly. Of course, you have a better judgment of this, since you have had those reactions yourselves. I never grew matted hair myself; I’m just observing the whole thing, what’s been happening, as a commentator. If you could excuse my saying so, I could actually comment on what’s happened. I have great confidence! I think I’m right!—if I may say so. [
Laughter
]

From the hippie’s point of view, we don’t have to conform to anything. Hippies feel that if you join a particular tradition, they will tell you to work hard—so you should try to avoid that. That is, you could work spontaneously and get the same effect by doing something else. What is that? Doing something else, what is that? Of course, taking LSD, smoking pot, what have you. Sniffing cocaine is lower level somewhat, in terms of the drug world, but LSD is held in high esteem. There’s a book written about the
Tibetan Book of the Dead
and that whole thing, of course [
The Psychedelic Experience
, by Timothy Leary], that taking LSD is supreme, the buddha of drug power. It’s interesting how renunciation can be built at the beginning, from that level.

All of those things are not regarded as a waste of time, of course. If that particular culture were not here, you wouldn’t be here at all; otherwise, none of you would be here. I would be speaking to an empty hall at this very moment if none of those things had happened. I wouldn’t be here and you wouldn’t be here, for that matter. Nevertheless, the interesting point is that we begin to shed constantly, again and again, and again, and again. That shedding process takes place all the time. But we begin to realize that that occupation no longer has a sense of renunciation. Giving up your life is not renunciation; abandoning your wife or husband, your kids and your house, selling your things, giving up and running off to somewhere else is not particularly renunciation. Real renunciation is to regard all those things that you have been doing as really bleak. Nothing will actually give you up, unless you give up altogether.

In your real life, you might have the same situations happening again and again. Relatives hover around you; your friends hover around you and offer drugs and all kinds of entertainments, all kinds of things, this and that. You could fill your schedule completely. But underneath all that, you might feel the whole thing is completely bleak, absolutely bleak—very bleak. The only thing that is vivid is the possibility of death and the real possibility of going crazy, losing track of things. Whew! Real bleak situations, real bleak situations in the real, real, real sense! [
Laughter
] If you know what I mean. [
Laughter
] It’s not just that you are kidding with things—it is a really bleak situation. [
Vidyadhara smiles; laughter
] Nothing seems to work. All our gadgets, purchasing extraordinary motorcars, or trying to be rustic and rugged and buying a bicycle, beginning to wear overalls or dressing up in suits. You could try higher levels or lower levels of all kinds—nevertheless, the whole thing is completely bleak. The other day, when I spoke to quite a famous pop singer, she happened to say precisely that: she feels the whole thing is bleak, that she is kidding herself. That seems to be an interesting point, actually. Somehow, it tends to fit that particular pattern: that the more successful you become, the more bleak you feel—and also, the more unsuccessful you feel, that much further bleak! [
Laughter
]

It is interesting how bleak we feel, how we feel we are so minimum, absolute minimum. Nothing is happening, cosmic frigidity of some kind. We do not see the space that goes with that, actually. It seems that we are too concerned with bang-bang-bang, and this and that relationship alone, all the time. We forget the rest, beyond the eye level—the other hundred and fifty degrees, or whatever have you. We forget that. If we watched that general degree, we would see that there is immense vast space there, in spite of our little bleak pinhole. But that’s just symbolism: the rest, the whole thing, is empty. It is
E,
completely vast space. That’s the notion of renunciation.

Renunciation is not so much that you should give up smoking cigarettes, stop wearing shoes, or try not to wear earrings or lipstick, or not say hello to anybody you don’t know. Or, for that matter, not to put your finger in your nose. [
Laughter
] Renunciation is not so much just giving something up, like a New Year’s resolution. It has nothing to do with New Year’s resolutions. Renunciation is a total lack of possibilities, complete bleakness. We begin to feel that. If you were not a real believer in the buddhadharma, you would never feel that way. It’s real, the real personal experience of actual bleakness. There are no possibilities of improvising anything at all from your own resources, your own hypocrisy, anymore at all—other than the dharma.

The dharma comes like a second layer, beyond bleakness. It is somewhat rich; nevertheless, it is not going to save you particularly, at all. It is an interesting point: life is completely empty, whether you live in the Orient or the Occident. Whatever life you lead, it is always bleak, always meaningless. It is always changing—constantly! You’re about to get something together, or you are about to click into something—miss it! [
Laughter
] You missed the boat. All the time you missed the boat. All the time. Whew! Always miss the boat, always. Have you ever caught the boat? [
Laughter
] You might say, “I did for a moment, but then I missed it.” [
Laughter
] Missed the boat, constantly.

That particular principle of
E
is very bleak—needless to say again and again. It’s very personal, absolutely personal, very seriously personal. That personal bleakness brings individuals into buddhadharma. The basic point seems to be that there is nothing you can actually hang on to personally at all. Because of that, there is a problem usually created by the theistic Judeo-Christian tradition, of course, saying that if you are in bad shape somebody will come along to you and say, “Hello, how are you?” Somebody will come along, an agent of God, who will save you from that. The vicar’s wife or the vicar himself or Christ himself or messengers of God, archangels of all kinds will come along to you and save you and encourage you, keep you company. They will keep you company, and they will be proud of being bedfellows. If you don’t mind, they would like to sleep next to you, next to your bed, and they are willing to feed you with bottles and give you candies. They would be willing to turn on the television if necessary—the good channel with the good message, of course. Whew! That is an interesting point. I’m sure to a lot of people this is a sore point, of course, but I personally take delight in that particular sore point. I feel that we have nothing to lose and nothing to gain here, particularly. My concern is just purely to tell the truth. [
Laughter
]

The notion of loneliness, therefore, could not come from being babysat by different spiritual levels: the vicar’s wife or the vicar himself, Christ himself, or God himself coming along to you and making you bedfellows. You still find the whole thing to be purely mind’s duplication, nevertheless. So the Buddhist approach to loneliness and the
E
principle at this point is definitely the idea of the nonexistence of God. A lot of my Tibetan friends warned me, telling me I shouldn’t say the whole thing: “You shouldn’t talk about the whole thing. Why don’t you just be nice to them and tell them half of the truth?” But I personally feel that that’s not the way I should approach it, and now here we go. It is a very natural and ordinary situation, where you can tell the truth. And the truth only comes from the experience of reality, the absence of God, from personal experience, how we relate with reality. [
Siren blares.
] That’s a good one! [
Laughter
] It’s made by man. Personal experience makes it more bleak, more lonely.

Human beings usually feel much better if there is a conceptual, philosophical figurehead of some kind. With some kind of ghost worship, you feel much better. If I drop dead, my ghost will tell me what to do about it. If I’m about to drop dead, my ghost will tell me how to not drop dead. If I’m about to drop dead, my ghost will warn me so I can avoid the whole thing and lead my life. Believing in mysterious forces does not bring real bleakness at the hinayana level—that you have no place, no room, that you are in the vast charnel ground completely, altogether, and there’s no place for a savior or the notion of being saved at all, absolutely not at all. [
Laughs.
] You feel delighted, because you don’t have to relate with relatives anymore. [
Laughter
] There’s a real sense of genuine freedom—and at the same time, genuine paranoia, of course. There is nobody to help you, which is terrible, absolutely ghastly, petrifying; nevertheless, it’s delightful. For the first time, you realize nobody will mind your business. You can conduct your own business, whether it is ill or well, whatever. Hinayana’s approach to
E
is that.

If you have any questions, you are welcome. Thank you.

Student:
You were talking about bleakness and aloneness, and in one sentence you mentioned that we forget the space. Does that come later in the talks?

Vidyadhara:
You forget the space?

S:
You said that we forget the space. We look through a pinhole, rather than see all the degrees.

V:
Well, usually we start by looking at a pinhole, then you come to it much later. So we can’t switch those roles at all, at this point.

S:
I don’t understand what effect seeing the space has on the bleakness.

V:
Emptiness?

S:
On the bleakness.

V:
Seeing the whole thing is very bleak. [
Laughter
] Yeah.

S:
It’s even worse than just seeing it through a pinhole?

V:
Yes. [
Laughter
] You got it! . . . Anybody else?

S:
Today was the first day you talked about time, that time had an essential part in learning the dharma. And you also said that
E
was related to renunciation and
VAM
to discipline. How does time fit into that situation?