The Collected Works of Chogyam Trungpa: Volume One (62 page)

Even if I’m ignorant of the dharma.

Even if you’re ignorant of the dharma,

Chögyam, just you surrender everything.

My guide the hidden, joyful light of the teaching,

May the blank darkness round about me disappear.

Living the life of a young wandering mendicant,

May I guide the world to a world beyond itself.

The Valley of Mystery, Tibet, 1959

Song of the Golden Elephant

The eagle soars away into the sky

And yet he never plumbs the depths of space.

The four seasons give place to one another,

Yet never seem to have an end or a beginning.

When the one dry tree on the hill is blown down

By the timely wind, what can one do?

The whistling winter wind blows lightly

The white flowers of the snowflakes.

Remembering the mother herding yaks,

How can one ever forget the highland of Geje?

O pillar of the sky, high mountain peak,

Hills, where trees and grasses grow, surround you,

Yet you remain alone and still,

The cloud of peace wrapped round about your shoulders.

Remembering the fatherland

The white flag is fluttered by the song of sadness.

The beautiful form of Jomo Lhari mountain

Comes suddenly to mind

And only the liquid turquoise of the lake

Can comfort me.

The east side and the west side of the hill are seen together

And the white banner that is thereupon

Speaks of that thing far off yet close at hand.

A young and golden elephant I offer you.

Beware the baby elephant

Still in the jungle,

The lonely child who drinks the hot fresh milk.

When he presents you with a crystal mirror

Make out the golden syllables

Written on my heart.

Read this by the light of the torch that dispels darkness.

Two cuckoos yesterday, by destiny

Were met together on a bush in South Tibet.

They sang so beautifully the huntsmen there

Forgot their arrows, poisoned with black hatred.

The learned men, interpreting,

Pull out all the commentaries

And eat their own flesh in secret.

Stupid and ignorant then, he weeps.

Do you not see him also

Shouting at stones?

The cranes went winging their way homeward

When the life of the thin one, the diseased one,

The life of the one with no strength in his wings

Was cut short by the sharp winter.

Do not blame god for this,

Calling him heartless.

Some fly in the sky and some sleep,

But none can cross time’s circling street.

Horses gallop, have no destination.

An arrow also killed the cunning fox.

Fire engines guard the north, south, east, and west

But when the house of god itself begins to burn

The scorching of his hair ascends to heaven

And none can halt the raging wind of karma.

The rain clouds gather in the clear blue sky,

And suddenly I saw their glaring face

Red-eyed as a full moon in eclipse.

Who was it uttered these black incantations

And eighteen lightnings swarming, scorching hot

And all the valley a great wave of blood

And all the world’s cry one tongue?

Cool off these fires, Avalokiteshvara.

Your smiling face is all compassion,

Your long, white, smooth, thin arm is stretched to save

And light glows in a peaceful ring around you.

Freed from the mind’s habitual duplicity,

What need is there for wordless liberation?

Illumination breaks through everywhere,

The fires of suffering fade and disappear.

Come with me and wash off your leprosy,

Bathe in elixir from the crystal vase

And joining hands with me come on to liberation.

The Silent Song of Loneliness

The one to whom peace and solitude

Are known forever, perfectly,

You, Milarepa, Longchenpa,

The guru to whom all things are known,

The one who shows the single truth,

You I remember, I, your son.

Crying from an alien island.

The wild duck, companionless,

Cries out in desolate loneliness,

And flies alone, wings outspread,

Soaring in the boundless sky.

In the womb beyond the one and many

Yours is the inner loneliness,

And yours alone the emptiness

Within and everywhere around.

The mountainside alone creates

The clouds that change the rain, the two

That never go beyond the one,

So soar away, wild duck, alone.

Thunder resounding everywhere

Is only the elements at play,

The four expressing the sound of silence.

The hailstones triangular,

The black clouds and the storms blast,

Are earthbound only, wild duck,

So do not fall a prey to doubt

But get you gone upon your flight.

The waters of the sunset lie

Saffron-painted, beautiful,

And yet unchanging is the light

And dignity of the sun; so cut

The cord that joins the day and night,

And stretch your wings and fly, wild duck.

The moon’s rays spread over the ocean

And heaven and earth smile: the cool

And gentle breeze moves over them,

But you are young and far from home,

Wild duck. So stretch your wings alone

And travel on the path to nowhere.

A sharpness is on the summer’s tail;

The healing breeze of summer yields

To the bitter wind of wintertime.

If this was a signal to you, bird,

Then you would know the seasons not

Themselves, but as a turning wheel.

The young deer, wandering among

The summer green and pleasant ways,

Remembering his mother caught

And killed in a trap, can yet enjoy

The freedom of the empty valley

And find relief and rest of mind.

The lonely child who travels through

The fearful waste and desolate fields,

And listens to their barren tune,

Greets as an unknown and best friend

The terror in him, and he sings

In darkness all the sweetest songs.

The lonely bird lived all his days

In a place apart, yet did not know

Peace, or the dwelling place of peace.

But when the face of loneliness

Is known to you, then you will find

The Himalayan hermitage.

The jungle child sings his song

Sad and alone, yet weeps for nothing,

And joy is in him as he hears

The flute the peaceful wind is blowing.

And even so am I, in the sky

Dancing, riding the wild duck.

June 24, 1965

Song of the Dakini

I praise the Queen of Means who goes gathering riches,

The Queen of Wisdom who subdues the threefold world,

The dancer in the womb of all-pervading goodness,

I praise the one who overcomes and calms.

Peacemaker, who sends out the light of quietness,

Whose beaming smile lies behind the world,

Who gathers up the ocean of life’s bounty

Into the womb of gladness, you I praise.

Creator of the light of dignity

And opener of the door of happiness,

The door of wisdom and of quality

And those four doors which open ever inward,

Passionate, ruddy-faced, you calmly dance;

You are the great enchantress of true love.

O let me praise you as the dakini

Whose passions are unfettered, unperturbed.

Wrathful and cruel, with red eyes glaring

You shatter the rigid barriers of the dark.

O let me praise you, whose miraculous anger

Is for the sufferer the way to joy.

I honored you, the only mother, yet

Uncertain and confused, I failed to set

You in your place in the eternal mantra.

Forgive me, grant me your transcendant power.

Your face is brighter than the sun and moon,

Your looks are of peaceful or of wrathful love,

But I was blinded by duality.

You are the Queen of Heaven; think on me.

The gestures of your hands showed me their meanings

And as you danced the bells rang at your belt;

I could not then truly interpret them—

Now, dakinis, come under my control.

Ever apparent, you do not exist,

Only a word utters you here with us.

Waistless, formless, goddess of the real,

Now we may make known the secret prophecy.

Unseen, you are the mother of the buddhas;

Yet seen, creation’s power is your deceit.

As an arc of light in the middle path, conduct

The envoys of the body’s force to freedom.

The cruel devils and the harmless gods

And the gray folk that hustle in between

Make up the array of these impulses.

Command the onslaught and commence attack!

Keep the path clear of those too youthful

And, whether as human being or as goddess,

Devil or vampire, dance entrancingly;

For each of us disperse the darkness of this age.

Among the buddhas you are a Vajrayogini,

In the land of Karma you are the great hostess,

On earth you bear a hundred thousand names,

Formless, you yet sum up the universe.

As mother of us, or as daughter,

Take us to where we realize the truth.

In the sea of my mind the words as waves have risen

In recollection of the Great Queen.

May the Ocean benefit

Those who sail beyond the great sea.

Fall 1965

The Victoria Memorial