The Way of the White Clouds

by Anāgarika Lāma Govinda | 123,888 words

The Way of the White Clouds as an eye-witness account and the description of a pilgrimage in Tibet during the last decenniums of its independence and unbroken cultural tradition, is the attempt to do justice to the above-mentioned task, as far as this is possible within the frame of personal experiences and impressions. This work is licensed under...

Chapter 1 - The Poet's Vision

Prologue in the red temple of Tsaparang

Clothed in facts
truth feels oppressed,
in the garb of poetry
it moves easy and free.

---Rabindranath Tagore

It was a stormy night over the rocks and ruins of Tsaparang, the abandoned capital of the once powerful kingdom of Western Tibet. Clouds were drifting across the sky, alternately hiding and revealing the full moon, throwing its ghostly spotlights upon the gigantic stage on which history played one of its immortal dramas. Immortal? Yes; because it was the same old theme of the impermanence of all things, the wondrous play of power and beauty, spiritual achievement and worldly splendour.

The power vanished, while beauty still hovered over the ruins and in the works of art, which had been created patiently and humbly under the shadow of power. The splendour crumbled while the spirit of culture and devotion retired into far-off hermitages and survived in the words and deeds of saints and scholars, poets and artists, illustrating the words of Lao-tse, that what is yielding and tender belongs to the realm of life, and what is hard and strong belongs to the realm of death.

The fate of Tsaparang is sealed. The work of man and the work of nature have become almost indistinguishable. The ruins have taken the form of rocks, and rocks stand out like Cyclopean buildings. The whole huge mountain looks like one huge block of marble, out of which a fairy city has been carved, with lofty castles, rowers, and turrets which seem to touch the clouds, with mighty walls and battlements on perpendicular rocks, which on their part are honeycombed with hundreds and hundreds of caves.

The changing light of the moon made all this still more unreal, like a vision that flared up and disappeared as unexpectedly as it came into existence.

The great Red Temple of Buddha Śākyamuni was filled with darkness and silence. Only from the golden face of the giant image of Buddha Śākyamuni a soft light seemed to radiate and to be reflected faintly on the golden images of the Dhyāni-Buddhas, seated on both sides below his throne.

Suddenly a tremor, accompanied by the rumbling sounds of falling masonry, shook the walls of the temple. The wooden shutters above the head of Buddha Śākyamuni sprang open, and the Buddha's face was lit up brightly by the rays of the Full moon flooding the whole temple with a pale light.

At the same time the air was filled with the moaning and groaning of innumerable voices. It was as if the whole building were groaning under the weight of the many centuries of its existence. A huge crack appeared by the side of the White Tārā, almost touching one of the flowers flanking her beautiful throne.

The spirit who inhabited this flower rushed out in fear and with clasped hands prayed to Tārā: 'Oh, Thou Saviouress of all who are in danger, save us, save this sacred place from destruction!'

Tārā looked with merciful eyes in the direction from where the voice came and asked:

'Who art thou, little spirit?'

'I am the Spirit of Beauty, living in this flower by your side.'

Tārā smiled her motherly smile and, pointing towards the other side of the temple, replied: `Among the priceless treasures of wisdom which are collected in those ancient half-destroyed manuscripts, heaped up in the corner, there is one called prajn̄āpāramitā. In it these words of the Tathāgata are recorded:

"Thus shall ye think of all this fleeting world:
A star at dawn, a bubble in a stream,
A flash of lightning in a summer cloud,
A flickering lamp, a phantom, and a dream."

The Spirit of Beauty had tears in his eyes: 'Oh, how true are these words, how true! And where there is beauty, even for a flashing moment, there some immortal chord is touched in us. Yes, we are all in a great dream, and we hope to awaken from it, as our Lord the Tathāgata, who in his mercy appears before us in his dream-form in order to guide us towards enlightenment.'

The Spirit of Beauty, while speaking thus, bowed down towards the gigantic statue of Buddha Śākyamuni, which had come to life like all the other images in this magic hour.

'It is not for myself', the Spirit continued, 'that I pray for help. I know that all the forms which we inhabit have to perish, as even the priceless words of the Tathāgata, stored up in those dust-covered manuscripts. But what I pray for is: let them not perish before they have fulfilled the purpose for which they were created; let them not perish before we have delivered the great message which is embodied in them'.

'I therefore, pray to thee, O mother of all suffering beings, and to all the Buddhas here present, to have mercy upon those among humans whose eyes are covered with only a little dust, and who would see and understand if only we would linger a little in these our dream-forms until our message has reached them or has been handed on to those who are able to spread it for the benefit of all living beings'.

'Our Lord Śākyamuni himself was deterred thus by the gods from entering Parinirvāṇa after the attainment of Perfect Enlightenment. May I appeal to him again with the same motive and take my refuge in him and in all his innumerable forms of appearance.'

Again he bowed with clasped hands before his forehead towards the mighty, radiating figure of Śākyamuni and to all the assembled Buddhas and Bodhisattvas.

Tārā raised her hands in a tender attitude of blessing and wish-granting, and Śākyamuni's radiant features smiled in approval.

The Spirit of Beauty has spoken the truth and his heart is sincere. And how could it be otherwise? Is not beauty the greatest messenger and servant of truth? Beauty is the revelation of harmony through forms, whether visible or audible, material or immaterial. However transient the forms may be, the harmony they express and embody belongs to the eternal realm of the spirit, the innermost law of truth, which we call Dharma.

'Had I not expressed this eternal Dharma through perfect harmony of word and thought, had I not appealed to humanity through the spirit of beauty, my teaching would never have moved the hearts of men, it would never have survived even one generation'.

This temple is doomed to destruction like those precious manuscripts, in which ardent disciples have recorded my words with infinite pain and devotion. But others have copied them and carried on my teachings both in word and deed. In a similar way the work of those devoted artists and saints who created this sanctuary may be saved for future generations.

"Thy wish shall be granted, Spirit of Beauty! Thy form, as well as that of the others inhabiting this temple, shall not perish until their message has been delivered to the world, their sacred purpose fulfilled"

A stir went through the rows of Dhyani-Buddhas inhabiting the temple.

Akṣohbhya, whose nature is as vast and immutable as space, said: 'I will give stability to this sanctuary until it has fulfilled its purpose'.

Ratnasambhava, whose nature is gift-bestowing, said: 'I will bestow the gift of the Dharma on those who are ready to receive it. I will inspire the generosity of those who are able to contribute to the preservation of the Dharma'.

Amitābha, whose nature is infinite light, said: 'Those who have eyes to see, I shall make them see the beauty of the Dharma. And those who have minds to understand, I shall make them discern the profound truth of the Dharma.'

Amoghasiddhi, whose nature is to accomplish the works of the Dharma by the magic power of compassion, penetrating the four quarters, the ten directions, of the universe, said: 'Those who are fit to do the work of the Dharma, I will inspire them with energy and compassion'.

Vairocana, who is the embodiment of the all-comprising reality of the Dharma, said:

'I will combine all your efforts and direct them towards the individuals ready for this task'. And with his heavenly eye penetrating the four directions of the universe he said: `Even in this age of strife and spiritual decay there are some saintly men, and among them in this very country of Tibet there lives a great hermit, whose abode is in the Southern Wheat Valley. His name is Lama Ngawang Kalzang. I shall request him to go forth from his retreat into the world and kindle the flame of the Dharma in the hearts of men'.

'I shall call him through the mouth of the Great Oracle to the sacred spot, where heaven and earth meet, and where Padmasambhava, the great apostle of the BuddhaDharma, left the traces of his magic power in the miraculous spring of Chorten Nyima. In the utter solitude and purity of this place I shall allow the radiance of our transcendent forms to appear before him. Having acquired during long years of meditation the power to communicate his visions to others, he will open their eyes to the eternal beauty of Buddha-hood and guide those who will be able to save these our perishing forms from oblivion, so that all who understand the language of beauty will be inspired and uplifted and be put upon the path of deliverance'.

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