Chapter 7 - Tibetan Sacred Music

The soul-stirring quality of Tibetan ritual music which accompanies and often precedes the liturgy is not based on melody but on rhythm and pure sound-values: the latter in the sense that the different instruments do not try to imitate the variations and movements of a human song or its emotions, but each of them represents the tonal value of a fundamental quality of nature, in which the human voice is merely one of the many vibrations that make up the symphony of the universe. This symphony does not follow the laws of Western musical harmony, and yet it achieves an effect that is far from disharmonious, because each sound has its fixed place and corresponds to the others in a way that establishes an unmistakable parallelism on different levels.

I am not a musician, so as to be able to describe or to analyse Tibetan music in technical terms. But! am deeply moved by music, and therefore I can only describe my own reaction. Moreover, the few references I have read about Tibetan sacred music are so scanty and inadequate that I have come to the conclusion that either Western terminology is unsuitable to express the nature of Tibetan music or that those who have attempted to express an idea of it were not able to enter into its spirit.

To do this one has to experience the religious as well as the natural background from which this music grew, and this is only possible if one has lived in those surroundings and has taken part in the spiritual and emotional life of which this music is the most immediate expression. Tibetan Buddhism regards man not as a solitary figure but always in connection with and against a universal background. In the same way Tibetan ritual music is not concerned with the emotions of temporal individuality but with the ever-present, timeless qualities of universal life, in which our personal joys and sorrows do not exist, so that we feel in communion with the very sources of reality in the deepest core of our being. To bring us in touch with this realm is the very purpose of meditation as well as of Tibetan ritual music, which is built upon the deepest vibrations that an instrument or a human voice can produce: sounds that seem to come from the womb of the earth or from the depth of space like rolling thunder, the mantric sound of nature, which symbolise the creative vibrations of the universe, the origin of all things. They form the foundation as well as the background from which the modulations of the higher voices and the plaintive notes of the reed instruments rise like the forms of sentient life from the elementary forces of nature --- which are nowhere more apparent than in the gigantic mountain ranges and in the vast, lonely highlands of Tibet.

Just as the bass-voice of the presenter forms the basis of the choir, from which the liturgy starts and to which it sinks back in a peculiarly sliding way at the end of each part of the recitation, in the same way the huge twelve-foot radongs form the basis and the starting-point of the orchestral music. They are always in pairs and are alternately blown in such a way that the sounds of the one merge into the other without breaking its continuity and at the same time producing the effect of gradually filing and ebbing tides of an ocean of sound. And on the surface of this ocean, the breeze of individual life creates and plays with a multitude of waves and wavelets which, like the high-pitched tremolo of the oboes, add vivacity and melody to the vastness of the ocean, whose sound seems that of the all-embracing OM, the prototype of all mantric sounds.

It is in imitation of this sound that mantras are recited in that peculiar, deep bassvoice with which the Umdzé begins and conducts the liturgy. The liturgy, after all, is mainly mantric in character, especially the opening and closing passages of each section. Certain important mantras are accompanied by hand-bells and ḍamarus (small, hour-glass-shaped hand-drums, which can be played with one hand).

In contrast to the more or less static sound of the radongs, the bass-drums and the big cymbals introduce a dynamic element into the orchestra. Not only does the rhythm change according to the metre of the recitation, but --- what is more important from the musical and emotional point of view, as it creates a feeling of liberation and a release from a slowly mounting tension --- towards the end of each section the rhythm is accelerated until it merges into one great finale, in which the big cymbals by a peculiar rotating movement produce triumphantly upsurging sound, rising above the thundering rumble of the bass-drums, and ending in a mighty clash. After this a new slow rhythm marks the beginning of another section of the liturgy.

If the radong or the human bass-voice represent the primeval cosmic sound, in which we experience the infinity of space, the drum represents the infinity of life and movement, governed by the supreme law of its inherent rhythm, in which we experience the alternating cycles of creation and dissolution, culminating in manifestation and liberation.

While melody plays only the ephemeral part of the passing moods of individual life, the rhythm (of the bass-drum in particular) gives the real significance and structure to the music. With the drum, therefore, the Tibetan (and perhaps the East in general) associates quite different emotions than the west, where it is not regarded as a basic or independent musical instrument. The importance of the drum from the very beginnings of Indian civilisation may be seen from one of the most significant similes of the Buddha, in which he compared the eternal law or the universe (dharma) with the rhythm of the drum, when in his first utterance after the attainment of enlightenment' he spoke of `the drum of immortality (amata-dundubhin) which he wanted to make heard throughout the world.

Since I could not follow yet the details of the liturgy and the particular service which was conducted that morning in the presence and presence and guidance of Tomo Géshé Rimpoché, my whole attention was to the effects of the music and the meaning it conveyed to me. The inspiring atmosphere, which prevailed all through the service, put me into state of greater receptiveness than ever before. I had attended during the last weeks many liturgic services and ceremonies in the temple, but never had I witnessed them in such perfection and complete harmony. All who took part in it seemed to be moved by the same spirit --- united as I felt in the bigger consciousness of the great Guru, so that they acted and chanted in perfect unison, as if merged into one body.

All this moved me all the more as, during the last years in Ceylon, I had been starved of all musical inspiration, which is entirely absent in Southern Buddhism (Theravāda) on account of the mistaken view that music is merely a form of sense-pleasure. In consequence of this the religious life had taken on a dry, intellectual form of expression, in which together with the lower also the higher emotions were suppressed and all negative virtues were fostered to the extent that no great personality could arise --- i.e. rise above the level of the accepted norm. Book-knowledge had become more important than experience, the letter more important than the spirit.

No wonder, therefore, that it was believed that no Arahans (realised saints) could arise after the first millennium of the Buddhist era, in other words, that for the last 1,500 years the Buddhadharma in Ceylon had existed only in theory, or at the best as a belief, since (according to the Sinhalese themselves) Ceylon had not produced a single saint during this long period and it was no more possible to enter into the higher states of dhyana or direct spiritual insight. It was, therefore, impossible even to discuss deeper experiences of meditation, as it was regarded preposterous to assume that anybody could actually realise any of the states of higher consciousness of which the sacred texts speak so often. Thus, Buddhism had become a matter of the past, a creed or a distant ideal towards which one could strive by leading a moral life and committing to heart as many sacred texts as possible.