Chapter 6 - The Guru Appears

One or two weeks passed by and I did not know whether the abbot had succeeded in passing on my request, when one day, after returning from my meditation cave at the back of the hill, below the chortens, I found on my place in the temple a huge mango of the most costly and rare variety, growing only in the plains and not yet in season at that time of the year. I could hardly believe my eyes, nor could I understand how it got there, until Kachenla came, beaming with pleasure and pointing up in the direction of the meditation-cubicle (ts'hang-khang), and told me it was a gift from the Great Lama. I have never received a more precious gift, because it told me that my wish had been granted, that I had been accepted as a disciple.

Kachenla shared with me my happiness, and no matter how long would have to wait I knew it was worth waiting even for a lifetime to find a real Guru, i.e. one who not only imparted intellectual knowledge but who could awaken the inner forces of ones own mind by the power of his spiritual achievements and realisation.

The term `guru' is generally translated as `teacher' but actually it has no equivalent in any Western language, because a Guru is far more than teacher in the ordinary sense of the word. A teacher gives knowledge, but a Guru gives himself. The real teachings of a Guru are not his words but what remains unspoken, because it goes beyond the power of human speech. The Guru is an inspirer in the truest sense of this word, i.e. one who infuses us with his own living spirit.

And consequently the term `chela' means more than an ordinary pupil who goes through a course of instructions, but a disciple who has established a profound spiritual relationship with the Guru, a relationship that is founded on the act of initiation, during which a direct `transference of power' takes place and is embodied in the sacred formula (mantra) through which this power can be called up by the Chela at any time and through which a permanent contact with the Guru is maintained.

The `power' of which I speak here is not a force that overwhelms ones mind, but the power that makes one participate in an experience belonging to a higher state of consciousness and realisation, which gives one a foretaste or glimpse of the aim towards which we strive, so that it is no more a vague ideal but an experienced reality. Such power can only be created through a life of meditation and becomes intensified with each period of complete seclusion, like the cumulative force of the waters of a dammed-up river.

This became apparent to me on the day when the Great Lama --- whose name did not yet mean anything to me at that time, but who was none other than the famous Tomo Géshé Rimpoché --- emerged from the Ts'hang-khang after his many weeks of silent meditation.

From the early morning I noticed an uncommon stir in the monastery, whose population suddenly seemed to have doubled or tripled. I did not know from where all those monks, whom I did not remember to have seen before, suddenly had come, but apparently they belonged to the Monastery, though they did not live within its premises. Even those whom I knew seemed to look different, not only because all of them wore their best robes but also because they all looked exceptionally washed and clean.

The long rows of seats in the temple hall were filled to the last place, and some new rows had been added. The huge cauldrons in the adjacent kitchen building were filled with boiling tea and soup, to be served in the intervals during the service in the temple. The temple hall was lit up by more than a thousand butter-lamps, and bundles of incense-sticks wafted clouds of fragrant smoke into the air and wove bluish veils around the golden images high above the congregation.

Suddenly the deep, thundering sound of alp-horn-like tubas, punctuated by the slow rhythm of bass-drums and accompanied by the vibrating voices of oboes, was heard from outside, the doors of the temple swung wide open, and Tomo Géshé Rimpoché, flanked by two Lamas in full ornate and high ceremonial hats, entered the temple. A large orange-coloured silken shawl (representing the upper garment or civaram of an orthodox Buddhist monk) was draped around him and a prayer-carpet was spread before his feet. He raised his hands with joined palms above his head in salutation of the Buddhas, knelt down on the carpet, and prostrated himself with his forehead on the ground. This he repeated three times, while the choir of the assembled monks chanted the formulas of refuge in deep melodious voices which formed a rhythmically moving background to the continued blasts of the radongs (the twelve-foot-long basshorns) outside the temple.

After the Rimpoché had finished his devotions the tall pointed yellow cap, the symbol of his high office, was put upon his head, and then he slowly moved through the middle of the hall and ascended the high throne, opposite that of the Umdzé, the leader of the choir and the head of the monastery in his absence. While he moved through the hall a deep silence fell upon the congregation and all sat motionless as if spellbound by the magic presence of this one man, who seemed to fill the whole temple with the accumulated power gained through a long period of concentration and complete absorption, I now began to understand what Kachenla meant when he said that the Great Lama had become one with the Buddhas.

As soon as he was seated the Umdzé began to chant the liturgy in a voice so deep as to make one wonder whether it came from a human throat or from the very depths of the earth. After a few bars of solo chant the choir of monks and novices joined in, the higher voices of the younger harmoniously blending with the deeper ones of the older monks and the bass of the leader of the choir. Sometimes the chant would end abruptly and only the voice of Umdzé would be heard, and then again the entire congregation would fall in and continue until another climax had been reached with a clash of cymbals and an acceleration of drum-beats.