The Spontaneous Song of the White Banner
Last night I dreamt my only father guru, Padma Trime, was carrying a white banner, marked with a blue HŪṂ, that fluttered in the wind. He was mounted on an unbridled white horse, riding on the surface of the ocean. As I awoke, with bittersweet memory, I wrote this song of recollection:
Incomparable father, lord guru:
When you are riding the white horse of dharmatā
You are not daunted by the waves of relative truth;
With genuine penetrating insight,
You fly the banner of self-existing HŪṂ.
When you fly in the space of bliss and emptiness
Your bearing is that of a white garuḍa;
You are not daunted by extreme views;
As you soar, all appearances are the hundred dances of dharmakāya.
When you reside in the palace of the Practice Lineage
Your bearing is that of Vajradhara;
You sing the songs of mahāmudrā;
The three worlds are filled with holders of the ultimate lineage.
When you are in the highlands of fearlessness
Your bearing is that of a high glacier peak;
The snowstorm of wisdom is all-pervasive;
You court the white clouds of compassion.
When you roam in the jungle of saṃsāra
Your bearing is that of a tiger;
You bite off the head of the beast of ego-fixation;
You consume the innards of hope and fear.
Remembering your bearing, father,
I, your son, wake from a dream into bliss and emptiness.
This gaṇacakra of supreme mahāmudrā—
How delightful is this glorious perpetual enjoyment!
May this song of one taste, the music of realization,
Liberate the beings of the three worlds.
The Spontaneous Song of Entering into the Blessings and Profound Samaya of the Only Father Guru
Śrī Heruka, the unchanging vajra mind,
The primordial buddha, all-pervading, the protector of all,
Padma Trime, you are the lord, the embodiment of all the victorious ones.
You are always reflected in the clear mirror of my mind.
In the space of innate ground mahāmudrā,
The dance of the self-luminous vajra queen takes place,
And passion and aggression, the movements of the mind, become the wheel of wisdom;
What joy it is to see the great ultimate maṇḍala!
The confidence of the unflinching youthful warrior flourishes,
Cutting the aortas of the degraded three lords of materialism
And dancing the sword dance of penetrating insight;
This is the blessing of my only father guru.
Inviting the rays of the waxing moon, Vajra Avalokiteśvara,
The tide of the ocean of compassion swells,
Your only son, Chökyi Gyatso, blossoms as a white lotus;
This is due to the limitless buddha activity of my guru.
In the vast space of mahaśūnyatā, devoid of all expression,
The wings of simplicity and luminosity spread
As the snake-knot of conceptual mind uncoils in space;
Only father guru, I can never repay your kindness.
Alone, following the example of the youthful son of the victorious ones,
Riding the chariot of the limitless six pāramitās,
Inviting infinite sentient beings as passengers,
Raising the banner of the magnificent bodhisattvas,
I continue as your heir, my only father guru.
Like a mountain, without the complexities of movement,
I meditate in the nature of che seven vajras,
Subjugating Rudra with the hundred rays of deva, mantra, and mudrā,
Beating the victory drum of the great secret vajrayāna,
I fulfill the wishes of my only father, the authentic guru.
In the sky of dharmadhātu, which exhausts the conventions of the nine yānas,
Gathering rainclouds thick with the blessings of the ultimate lineage,
Roaring the thunder of relentless crazy wisdom,
Bringing down the rain that cools the hot anguish of the dark age,
As I transform existence into a heavenly wheel of dharma,
Please, my only father, authentic guru, come as my guest.
The Doha of Sadness
The rain of the jñāna-amṛta of the ultimate lineage,
Always uncorrupted, you skillfully bestow upon my heart.
The only father guru, remembering you constantly,
I, Chögyam, your little son, remain in sadness.
In devotion firm as an unchanging mountain,
Truly seeing you alone as the Buddha,
Free from conventions of young or old,
In foreign lands, in sadness, with reverence,
I survive by the amṛta of your blessings.
In the spotless mirror of mind,
Enjoying the dance of self-liberated yogic discipline,
Listening to the sad dohā,
I, Chögyam, the little child, am dying of sadness.
Tormented by the hot rays of the fire of passion,
Having completely burned up the fuel of ālaya,
I have exhausted grasping for sophistries of liberation and confusion.
Isn’t this the kindness of the only father guru.
By the sharp blade of the weapon of aggression,
Thoroughly piercing the fixation of mind,
I have discovered the nature of penetrating insight;
My only father, you are very kind.
In the dark narrow gorge of delusion,
Having aroused a hundred thousand turbulent waves of dharmatā,
Free from accepting and rejecting, thoughts of I and other,
Isn’t this the kindness of the only father guru.
You, my only father guru, have gone far away.
My vajra brothers and sisters have wandered to the ends of the earth.
Only I, Chögyam, the little child, am left.
Still, for the teachings of the profound and brilliant Practice Lineage,
I am willing to surrender my life in sadness.
The Doha of Confidence Sad Song of the Tour Remembrances
As I look constantly to the Great Eastern Sun,
Remembering the only father guru,
Overwhelming devotion blazes like a bonfire—
I, Chökyi Gyatso, remain alone.
Having been abandoned by my heart friends,
Though my feverish mind feels great longing,
It is joyful that I am sustained by this great confidence
Of the only father guru and the Great Eastern Sun.
Having seen the beauty of a mist covering the mountain,
The pines moving gently in the wind,
The firm power of rock-hard earth,
I am constantly reminded of the splendor and beauty
Of the only father guru and the Great Eastern Sun.
Wild flowers extend everywhere
On mountain meadows filled with the sweet smell of fragrant herbs.
Seeing the gentle deer frolicking from place to place,
I constantly remember the compassion and gentleness
Of the only father guru and the Great Eastern Sun.
Fighting enemies in the chasm of love and hate,
Having sharpened the weapon’s point of joy and sorrow, hope and fear,
Seeing again and again these cowardly hordes,
I take refuge in the sole confidence
Of the only father guru and the Great Eastern Sun.
Fatherless, always dwelling in foreign lands,
Motherless, not hearing the speech of my own country,
Friendless, tears not quenching my thirst,
Remembering the warriors of the father and mother lineages,
I live alone in the sole blessing
Of the only father guru and the Great Eastern Sun.