Showing posts with label buddhism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label buddhism. Show all posts

Friday, August 01, 2025

Differences between Insight (Vipassana) and Calm Abiding (Sunyata) Meditation?

Insight meditation (Vipassana) and calm abiding meditation (Shamatha or Sunyata) are two distinct but complementary practices in Buddhist meditation traditions. Here are the key differences between them:


Insight Meditation (Vipassana)

Focus: Insight meditation focuses on developing a clear and penetrating understanding of the nature of reality, particularly the Three Marks of Existence: impermanence (anicca), suffering (dukkha), and non-self (anatta).

Technique: Practitioners observe the arising and passing away of sensations, thoughts, and emotions without attachment or aversion. This is often done by focusing on the breath or body sensations and then expanding awareness to all experiences.

Goal: The primary goal is to gain insight into the true nature of phenomena, leading to wisdom and liberation from suffering.

Approach: More analytical and investigative, encouraging the meditator to examine the nature of their experiences.


Calm Abiding Meditation (Shamatha/Sunyata)

Focus: Calm abiding meditation aims to cultivate a state of deep concentration, mental clarity, and inner peace. It emphasizes stabilizing the mind and reducing distractions.

Technique: Practitioners focus on a single object, such as the breath, a mantra, or an image, to develop one-pointedness of mind. The emphasis is on sustaining attention and calming the mind.

Goal: The primary goal is to achieve a state of profound mental tranquility and concentration, which can serve as a foundation for deeper insight practices.

Approach: More about settling and quieting the mind, fostering a sense of calm and presence.
Key Differences

Objective: Insight meditation seeks wisdom and understanding, while calm abiding seeks mental stability and tranquility.

Method: Insight meditation involves observing and analyzing experiences, whereas calm abiding involves focusing on a single point to achieve concentration.

Outcome: Insight meditation leads to profound realizations about the nature of reality, while calm abiding leads to a deeply peaceful and focused mind.

Both practices are often used together, with calm abiding providing the mental stability necessary for deep insight. Many meditation traditions recommend practicing both to achieve a balanced and comprehensive approach to spiritual development.



What is the difference of focus between both forms of meditation?


The primary difference in focus between insight meditation (Vipassana) and calm abiding meditation (Shamatha/Sunyata) lies in their objectives and the nature of attention they cultivate:


Insight Meditation (Vipassana)

Focus on Observation: The primary focus is on observing the ever-changing nature of reality, including thoughts, sensations, and emotions, without attachment or aversion.

Analytical Attention: Encourages a more analytical and investigative approach, examining the nature of experiences to gain insight into impermanence, suffering, and non-self.

Dynamic Awareness: Involves a dynamic awareness that shifts with the arising and passing of phenomena, aiming to see things as they truly are.


Calm Abiding Meditation (Shamatha/Sunyata)

Focus on Stability: The primary focus is on stabilizing the mind by concentrating on a single object, such as the breath, a mantra, or an image, to achieve a state of deep concentration.

Concentrated Attention: Cultivates a steady, one-pointed attention that minimizes distractions and fosters mental tranquility.

Static Awareness: Involves a more static awareness that remains fixed on the chosen object, aiming to cultivate a deeply peaceful and focused mind.

Summary


Insight Meditation: Focuses on dynamic observation and analysis to gain insight into the nature of reality.

Calm Abiding Meditation: Focuses on stable concentration to achieve mental tranquility and clarity.

Both forms of meditation are complementary and often practiced together to achieve a balanced approach to spiritual development.


Friday, September 06, 2013

Confusion is the Mother of Wisdom

Confusion is the Mother of Wisdom

from a Dharma Assembly


by Ven. Anzan Hoshin roshi

So first of all, I would like to wish you all a Happy Prajnaparamita, Mother of Wisdom Day. What we are gathered here this morning to look into is this whole issue of confusion.
Moment after moment, thoughts and feeling arise, and they come and go. There are some thoughts that we feel pleased to welcome when they arrive. There are other thoughts that we simply do not want to have. And there is the fact that these thoughts are continually arising moment after moment after moment and filtering our view of our experience so that we continually fall into points of view that are very partial, very biased.
Some of the ways in which this bias arises we can describe as the three klesas: passion, aggression, and stupidity. So that there are things that we like and we tend to draw them towards us, thinking that somehow they will enrich us, somehow we can have something from them. Somehow, we have some kind of fundamental poverty, some fundamental lack that this thing, this object, this person, this event will fill. Finding that this isn't so, we continually grab. There are things that we feel threaten us, things that bother us, things that irritate us, that push at us, that impinge on us and so we have aggression. We set up a boundary, a territory, and then struggle to defend it continually. But the enemy is not only without, but within. And so the struggle goes on.
And then there is the klesa of stupidity. Finding that we can only maintain passion for so long, we can only maintain aggression for so long, for the most part we lapse into a kind of apathy in which we don't really see, we don't really hear. Most of the people that you meet you never look at in the eyes. Most of the people you listen to, you're spending most of that time waiting for them to shut up so that you can say something or just waiting for them to shut up and go away. So this is part of how our confusion manifests.
It also manifests much more deeply, much more subtly as "self and other", "this and that". It manifests even more subtly as what we believe to be a body, what we believe to be a mind, what we believe to be time and space. We have all kinds of beliefs, all kinds of conceptions, all kinds of points of view that we fall into that do not match our experience. And so we call this confusion, or we might call it dukkha; we might call it suffering.
Since there is so much attachment to our confusion, when we begin to practice and we begin to realize that there is a possibility of clarity, a possibility of wisdom, we want to release our attachment to confusion and we want to grab on to clarity. We want to hold on to clarity. But the whole source and root of confusion is attachment and to become attached to clarity, to become attached to wisdom, is simply confusion. It is in directly recognizing confusion as it arises that wisdom also arises. If we believe that wisdom or clarity is a state without confusion, at the moment that we are confused then wisdom is completely separate from us. At that moment being confused, wishing to be clear, wishing to have wisdom, we try to impose some state upon ourselves that is not present. And so we enter into conflict, we enter into struggle, because we are being far too simple-minded. We are being quite idiotic about the whole matter of practice. Or some moment of clarity arises and we congratulate ourselves. We start to compare it to our confusion and say "Oh this is so much better". But this state is not wisdom. This moment of clarity is perhaps a glimpse of what our experience is like when we are not hiding from it, when we are not falling into points of view. But as soon as there is the slightest measure of attachment, of identification with this state, then we have become confused, because this state will go, confusion will arise once more.
Now when you sit, you get lost in a thought and then you wake up and you come back and you might feel frustrated that you have continually become lost in thought or become localized or contracted around a sound or a pain in the knee, some sensation which is present. Or you are following the breath and there is this sense of being somebody who is following the breath which you sense as a kind of hesitation, which you sense as something that just is not necessary, some kind of holding and seeing this you become more and more frustrated because you want to let go of it, you want to do something that you might have heard of, like becoming one with the breath, and so the frustration builds. Perhaps at such a moment, what we can do is drop the image that we have at that moment of what we should be like and attend to how we are.
Instead of trying to "become one" with the breath, which is simply a conditional state of concentration in any case rather than a direct insight into the nature of our experience, and instead of berating ourselves for having been lost in a thought, perhaps we could recognize that at the moment that we notice that we are not mindful, mindfulness is present. Perhaps then we begin to allow ourselves some room, some space in which whatever is arising for us can arise. If there is enough space, then whatever arises will go. Quite simply, quite clearly it will self-liberate rather than our having to do something to liberate ourselves from it. The thought, the feeling, the conception will self-liberate.
Attention arises as what we are experiencing moment after moment, waking, sleeping, dreaming, the characteristic of all of our experiences is that they are annica, they are impermanent or even sunya - they are empty. This emptiness is like a blue sky. Whatever arises within the sky is part of the sky.
There have been some strong winds gusting down the streets, over the buildings, messing up your hair, making you drop your bag of groceries, then there was blue sky and now there are clouds, a gray sky; but all of these are sky. The clouds that are arising within the sky are the sky. They are hot and cold fronts mixing and moisture, the very moisture that makes the sky blue, gathers together and forms clouds. Clouds are not separate from the sky. Clouds are what the sky is doing. Whatever arises within awareness cannot actually obstruct awareness. It is simply how awareness is presenting itself in that moment.
Our awareness is always a Great Space or Daiku. Whatever arises in your life arises as your life. The people that you meet, the things that you do, arise within your experience. They are not outside of you. You might believe that your skin forms a kind of boundary between you and the world, but the skin is in fact simply another way of knowing the world. Do you feel the clothes on your back and on your legs? Do you feel the temperature of the room? This is what the skin does. It knows. It is aware and alive.
The more closely that we look into our experience, the more that "inside" and "outside" make no sense whatsoever. If inside and outside really define nothing, then we have no territory to defend. There is nothing that we need to conquer. There is nothing that we need to avoid. There is nothing that we need to be attached to. Whatever is arising within our life is arising as our life and this, of course, includes confusion. This, of course, includes our tendency to distance ourselves. It includes the boundaries that we set up. All of these boundaries, these thoughts, these experiences, these colours, these forms are the Activity of this Space.
Sometimes we can become so overcome by the Activity that we have no recognition of Space. Sometimes we can try to hold on to Space and treat it as if it were separate from the Activity, in which case we are attached to emptiness. We have some conception, some idea that has festered in our mind concerning our practice. Or perhaps we simply space out, perhaps we simply want to avoid experiences. But whatever is presenting itself the Activity of this Great Space, and both this Activity and Space arise within our knowing of them, so Knowing, Activity and Space are inseparable and they are how our lives present themselves.
Confusion is when we hold on to space and avoid activity or hold onto activity and avoid space. But whatever arises presents itself within Awareness and points directly to the fact that one is aware. Whatever one is aware of is not what Awareness in itself is. This Awareness, this Knowing, this Space, this Activity, the essence, the Heart of our experience, presents itself as experiences and yet it itself is not an experience, not a state. It, itself, can never become bound or defined. It can never be lost. It can never be found. Because it presents itself everywhere and is always unconditionally free; because it is no time, no place. It has no body, it has no mind, because it arises as all bodies, as all minds, as all times, as all places and yet it never moves.
Just as reflections arise within a mirror, the mirror is always standing free of what it's reflecting and yet intimate with each reflection. Each reflection arises on its very face. "So Awareness always stands unconditionally free as the heart of all experiences, as the heart of all worlds."1 This Awareness itself can never truly become confused because confusion arises within it.
Mindfulness is beginning to attend to our experience as it is rather than as we believe it to be. It means taking our beliefs and asking ourselves if they are true or not. Finding out whether they are true or not by examining them in the bright light of our direct experience of this moment of seeing and hearing, of touching and tasting, smelling, thinking and feeling. It is seeing the arising, dwelling and decaying of all of our experiences, penetrating into the impermanence and emptiness and openness and transparency of this activity of experiencing. Mindfulness is zazen; it is kinhin; but it is also sleeping, dreaming. All of our experiences must be penetrated so that we can realize all of these experiences to be the activity of this great space and activity and space to be simply Knowing. We can only do such a thing when we are completely open to our experiences. If we wish to avoid confusion, then certainly there is no room for such a deep inquiry, for such a thorough and penetrating questioning.
When confusion arises, at some point you know that you are confused. You become angry and at some point - usually very, very soon as the shoulders rise, as the belly clenches, as the sphincter tightens, as the chin moves forward, as the thoughts begin to push and the vision narrows - there is some recognition that there is anger present, that you are angry. And if you look at this moment of recognition, you realize that it itself is not angry, but we have everything all geared up. We are all ready to be angry now. We are convinced of the anger and so we follow it through.
But what would happen if we followed that simple moment of recognition, the moment that arises - without any judgment, without any blame, without any identification - but simply see clearly. This recognition is present in each state. When you start to argue with somebody, very soon you wish to stop it. Why don't you? You are afraid and all of a sudden you look at the fear and then you fall back into it. What if we simply stayed with that moment of recognition? You wake up from a thought and there is a recognition of your present situation. What if we were to stay with that? What if we were to renew that rather than falling into thinking about thinking? What if we were to allow our confusion to trigger wisdom, to allow our confusion to be an invitation to wisdom, if we were to allow confusion to transform itself into wisdom?
Perhaps we could have a discussion. Is there anything that anyone would like to ask or to say, any comments or questions? Have we all understood?
[Student]: No. How is it that we know things? We know lots of things. I know my phone number. I know it's sunny outside. I know how to move my fingers.
[Roshi]: Yes. Well, we know all kinds of things in many different ways. We have memory. We have thoughts. We have feelings. Everything that we experience is a kind of knowing. In practice we are not so much concerned with categorizing these different kinds of knowing as we are to recognize what the Knowing in Itself is. The Knowing is not knowledge - knowing your phone number, knowing your name. As I was mentioning in the beginning of my workshop yesterday, I have these here. This is... what is this?
[Student]: Beads.
[Roshi]: Right. So they are beads. The Japanese name for this is juzu. The Sanskrit is mala. We might think that it is a rosary or we might think that they are beads that are used in mindfulness practice. I might tell you that these are Tibetan beads. I might say that these are 150 years old. Some of that might be true. Some of it might not. You don't really know but that is information about this in any case.
Now the information of course is not what this is. This is this [clear sound as Roshi moves the beads across the lectern]. We are also seeing it. We can describe it. We can smell it and we can taste it. We can hear it. There are all kinds of things that we can know about this but what is it and what is it that knows it ? This is the concern within practice.
So. We do have such things as the Abhidhamma, which is a categorization of different states that arise, because in order for us to penetrate into what Knowing in Itself is, we have to know where we are going. You know, we have to know how to open the door, go down the hallway, so on and so forth. So, while we might have different names for different states and many subtle states that is not particularly what we are concerned with. We are concerned with recognizing first of all, all of our experience to be arising within Knowing, that the body itself is a way of knowing, that thinking is a way of knowing, seeing is a way of knowing. Our world is Knowing Itself, through this experiencing and so on, so that we start to realize that Knowing is not just one particular way of knowing about things.
Everything we experience is a way of knowing about things, even dreaming, even sleeping, and as we were mentioning, many other subtle states too. But in our practice of Zen, we really don't give a shit about any of those things. What we want to know is what is it that is experiencing it? What is it that is dreaming? We don't want to analyze dreams and interpret dreams and so on and so forth. There is room for that. That can be a worthwhile thing to do - scientific modes of knowing about things, questioning into things, finding out how things work. That is certainly worth doing but that is not what we do within practice. This is something else entirely.
What we want to know is what Knowing in Itself is, what knows what it is that we are experiencing moment after moment, after moment, after moment. We find that things like logic are not sufficient because it is always too partial. Like we can say, "Michael has red hair. Michael is a man. Anzan roshi is a man. Therefore Anzan roshi has red hair", and you know that is not true. The other thing is that we could say "Michael has red hair. Michael is a man". Define your terms. What is a man? Who is Michael? Really?
You know, logic tends to break down if we start to look at the whole context of what it is being referring to. Now logic is a very useful thing. It is a tool. But it is a very small way of knowing about anything. Poetry is a way of knowing about things and it is a very small way of knowing about things too.
In order to know what our experience is, we have to experience it. So first of all, we have to see how we become confused about our experience and clarify it, because that clarification of confusion is the deepening of wisdom and we use wisdom to penetrate into what it is that Knows.
So: we talk about mindfulness.
First of all, mindfulness is bringing ourselves back to this moment, finding out what our experience really is. So there is this sense of effort, bringing ourselves back. When that is more spontaneous - that is to say you don't have to bring yourself back, you are simply here - and when a thought arises you spontaneously recognize it as a thought, and we can call that just simply attention. It is not mere attention - that is to say the attention that gets lost in a thought or that identifies with this or that - it's just bare attention. When this is continuous, actually more radical ways of knowing things start to come into play more and more.
For example, when you get lost in a thought, you wake up and you come back to the breath... And then there is a sound. Attention moves to the sound, so you are attending to one thing and then to another thing and then to another thing. There is a succession of things that you are attending to and it is shifting. What is in these shifts? What are you aware of in between those things? When that begins to become clear to you, then this is attentiveness. When you can use that kind of mind to penetrate more thoroughly into your experience and that is more continuous, then we can call this "prajna", or "radical insight" or "wisdom". None of these things are states, trying to produce a particular state or trying to gather information about anything. It is simply attending more and more fully to our experience so that through this attention, though this attending, we can actually inquire into what attention in itself is, what Awareness in Itself is.
So is there anything else that anyone would like to talk about this morning? (By the way this juzu isn't 150 years old either. I just thought I would mention that.)
[Student]: Perhaps, Roshi, you can define for us what wisdom is. I think a lot of people have a lot of different ideas what wisdom is.
[Roshi]: Yes.
Well, usually we do think that wisdom means knowing something about something. This is knowledge, this is not wisdom.
We say the whole point of practice is Waking Up, it is wisdom. So if we believe that wisdom is a kind of knowledge, then we think that through penetrating some deep structure of mind, getting to some underlying strata of mind, you get fundamental information about the universe, you get the "Master Plan", you know, you get the little moral at the end of the story before you get to the end of the story so you have it all figured out, you know.
But information is only a description. Wisdom is not gathering information as we are mentioning. It is mindfulness developing into attention and then attentiveness and then radical insight. This term "radical insight" is a way of translating the term prajna. "Pra" means higher; "Jna" means "knowing". So it is a higher knowing, a knowing which has a very open vantage which can see everything clearly. It can see all of the details but fixates on none of them because it sees the details arising in their context. This is what we mean by wisdom. It is knowing what the body is, what the mind is, what experience is, where dreams come from, where they go, how it is that we see a wall, and what the wall is.
[Student]: At certain moments in my life I have had an intense intuitive feeling about something and at that point I have rejected it, subconsciously, I guess, denied it. Do you have any advice on how to detect when that happens and not allow it to happen?
[Roshi]: Well, again I think that is a matter of paying attention to what is going on.
First of all, we have attachments to certain ways of knowing about things because they usually work out for us - you know - that if we can name things and so on and so forth, keep them orderly and managed in a certain way, then that usually means that because we have managed things in a certain way, things are manageable for us. We can get up, we can go to work, and so on and so forth. But most of what we are knowing is in fact happening in what we could call an intuitive manner.
You walk into a restaurant and you pretty well know whether or not you are going to like it or not just at the moment of walking in. You know you don't really have to think about it or even look at the menu really. You sort of walk in, you get some sort of taste, some sort of flavour of what is going on. So the thing is that our first impression is often correct unless it is partial.
Now what can happen is, you see somebody and your first impression is based on some conditioning, some past pattern. They move in a particular way. They have a certain kind of voice, certain kind of smell and it reminds you of something in your past that you really liked. You had a lot of comfort from this particular kind of person or you loathed this kind of person because of something that they did to you. So that kind of first impression is always a narrowing. We always notice that our attention contracts when something of that nature happens. When we fall into that kind of first impression, everything narrows, becomes locked and frozen for a moment and then we start to think and figure it all out and we go "Well I don't like this person". The words actually come up.
In terms of that, what we are looking at is what we call the five skandhas - form, feeling, perception, formation, consciousness2 - which can be a way of talking about bodymind. Or it can be a way of talking about how our experience presents itself in that there is usually a first contact with something, it's "THAT" (subject/object/form). There is something there. Feeling, you start to try to figure it out and this is where we can have a moment of intuition and then perception: something starts to become clearer to us, the details start to become clear. Formation: this is where the patterning and conditioning is going to come in and then consciousness, where we think about it.
Now to use a kind of example of how this functions - and this is an example I often use because almost everyone has had something of this nature happen to them - you go upstairs, you walk into a room, you look and "Aghh", there is somebody there! You freeze and then you realize that it is a mirror. So what happens is you go into the room and there is freezing. Space itself freezes because there was something you didn't expect to be there and it is literally as if space crystallizes and freezes.
The space around the body becomes very hard and the body tenses and there is a moment of just almost blankness, which is sort of like taking a photograph of something. Click. Trying to hold on to it so that then you can figure what is in the photograph. There is this form. And then feeling. What is it? There is something there. You don't quite know what it is yet. there's just "Aghh"! There is something there.
And then perception - you start to go, "Oh it's about this tall, it's this, that, it has certain colours".
Then the fourth skandha begins to come in and you go "Oh, those details add up to something that looks like a human being" and then you start to check it out. "Is this person going to threaten me? Is it a friend? Is it a stranger? What is this person doing here?" And then you start to realize that it's your reflection and then consciousness: "Oh, it's a mirror. Oh." You know. So that moment of conditioning, which can often make us distrustful of intuition is recognizable because it happens as a contraction. Intuition, what we can call intuition, has a very open quality.
Now, one problem with an open quality is that we usually don't know what to do with it because we are used to having certain boundaries present. So when that open quality happens we try to fill it in some kind of way; we try to put in some kind of boundaries to it. And so while we have some first impression, which is very open, very clear, we put it to the side and then try to start figuring things out.
If we are paying attention to what our experience is like - and this is the thing, there is no simple trick that we can do - but if we allow ourselves to attend to what happens when we have a first impression or we have an intuition and we attend to what happens, not just in terms of what the thoughts are like but what our experience is like, what our seeing is like, what our hearing is like, what our posture is like, then we begin to recognize when certain patterns are being played out.
We start to recognize that say, when anger happens, as I was mentioning, there are a certain set of factors that gather. When sadness happens, there are other factors that happen: the posture becomes a certain way, the breath becomes a certain way.
Something happens to our vision and our eye gaze tends to be placed in a certain way. On and on and on and we begin to be able to recognize it in a very immediate manner which will then give us time to allow that open recognition to be present without covering it over. First of all we have to have time to do so, which means we have to be there when it actually happens.
When we sit, moment after moment, we are experiencing what our experience is and what it's like. We have no opportunity really to play it out, to sort of get up and act out our various states. Instead we begin to see how these states act themselves out subtly, perhaps in the set of the shoulders, perhaps in the lower back starting to cave in, perhaps in the vision starting to narrow. Perhaps we are watching the breath but watching it from a kind of a distance, you know, On and on and on and we begin to see these various states so thoroughly, so intimately, in such exquisite detail, that we have a lot of time then to begin to see what it is like when anger comes up, when fear comes up, when hope comes up, when confusion manifests in any of its myriad forms, we can be there when it happens and attend to it closely, clearly.
Is that any help at all?
Okay, is there anything anyone else would like to bring up?
[Student]: Can you talk about the Precepts?
[Roshi]: I can, but it is a rather vast topic. In fact, we are in process of preparing transcripts of some Talks that have been done on the Precepts. I believe when it is all complete, because there is also the Kyojukaimon and so on, it will probably be about 300 pages.
So briefly, the Precepts are not any set of moral codes or ethics. Precepts are "kai", which means something like "aspects" or "facets". They are aspects or facets of the mind of practice and of wisdom. They are something that formal students might commit themselves to at certain points as a way of deepening their practice, of committing themselves to their practice. And of allowing themselves the opportunity to see just how wisdom happens and how confusion happens, by consciously intending the Precepts moment after moment and exposing yourself to them so you can see that, say, slander is something that you are almost always doing; you know, you are slandering by not recognizing the truth of something, by saying only part of something, by being partial about something, on and on and on. So you begin to use that Precept as a way of understanding the various motivations and activities of self-image and attending to them because our experience itself is very vast and very open.
Any harmful state, any way in which we harm ourselves or others is based on a contraction. When we become angry, we narrow and we exclude most of our experience. When we are fearful we do the same kind of thing. All harmful states are contracted states. In order, as I mentioned, for there to be a contraction there has to be openness first. I can't make a fist without having had an open hand. So, while these harmful states, these ways in which we cause suffering for ourselves and others, tend to be almost second nature to us. They are not first nature. Our first nature is wisdom, is clarity, is compassion.
So the precepts are a statement of this. They say: "This is Buddha, this is Dharma, this is Sangha." They say: "Wrong action does not arise." It does not say: "Don't do bad things." It says "Wrong action does not arise. There is only the arising of benefit." In the recognition that there is Buddha, Dharma and Sangha, wrong action does not arise. There is no motivation for it. It simply doesn't come up.
[Student]: But it's there?
[Roshi]: What do you mean? What we mean is you are not producing wrong action
Student: [Inaudible]
[Roshi]: That's right. There is no killing first of all means that life does not kill. Life never kills. Everything dies but life never kills. Killing is when we distance ourselves from something. "Killing" is when we stand apart from something and use it as equipment, use it as something that we are simply trying to get something "from" or do something "to" without any recognition of the mutuality of what this thing, what this person, what this event is. So. Killing means "killing time", it means not being present. Killing means looking at a spider in your bathtub and going whump [pantomimes killing the spider] as if it didn't have right to be there - you know, as if it wasn't doing whatever it was doing in its own life. So when you see the spider, it means taking a piece of toilet paper or a piece of paper, sliding it underneath the spider and putting it outside the window. It also means that if there are roaches in your house and they are infecting the food so that you could get sick and you could spread the sickness to many other people and this sickness could go on and on. Therefore you call an exterminator and have the roaches killed. Because there is the recognition that death is part of life. Death is part of how life lives, but killing is when you create unnecessary death, when you create suffering.
Now, as we were saying, the motive to kill something is based on separation, based on "this" and "that", subject and object. If for you there is no subject or object, if for you there is no this and that, if for you in your experience there is really nothing that you can call a body, nothing you can call a mind, nothing that you can call a world because everything is what we can call Buddha or Awareness in Itself, then you have no motivation to kill. You can't separate yourself from anything and so you can't kill anything. You can't distance yourself in that kind of way.
So we say there is no killing for that kind of mind. So then that means we have to look at all the ways in which we do kill, all the ways in which we do produce wrong action. At that point we are saying there is no killing, perhaps in the sense that - I'd better not because it's bad, it causes suffering, it causes harm and I can recognize though that it's bad because it does not accord with the nature of reality. It is a refusal to recognize mutuality. It is a refusal to recognize the vast interdependence of everything which is and that everything which is arising within Awareness and that Awareness is presenting itself as each and every being, that that which is arising as you is arising as all beings. A refusal to recognize this is killing.
So we start to recognize that when we kill, kill time, kill whatever, there is a contraction present. There is an inability to experience our experience clearly and openly and so we open that. So this is a matter of working with killing or stealing or anything ofthis nature not from a purely moral stance or an ethical stance, but working with it directly within our experience. So having worked with it in that way quite thoroughly we see all the motivations for killing, say, or stealing or lying or sexual misconduct or slander or miserliness or anger, so on and so forth - the ways in which we defile our experience of the Three Jewels of Buddha, Dharma and Sangha or Space, Activity and Knowing.
Seeing those, and having seen them so thoroughly, we can't convince ourselves of them anymore. Those motivations simply do not arise for us anymore. So that is another facet of understanding this Precept 'there is no killing.'
Then, though, if we penetrate yet further into what Awareness in Itself is and live as Awareness in Itself, then for us there is no killing because there is nothing to be killed;there is no one to kill; there is simply nothing. So how we are going to work with it is going to depend on the depth of our practice. Whether we formally take the Precepts or not, the issues that the Precepts speak of are fundamental issues for everyone who is alive and so certainly for everyone who is practicing. Receiving the Precepts also means not only committing oneself to that, but basically committing oneself to being responsible for one's life and being responsible for manifesting the Dharma.
So in that sense, receiving the precepts is also a matter of entering into the Lineage of the Transmission of the Teachings. Those people who have taken the responsibility of making sure that the Dharma is available for beings who choose it. And so when a lay person takes the Precepts, this is something like entering the Teacher's household or family rather than being just a kind of cousin or friend or something of that nature. You are starting to enter more closely into the Teacher's Lineage. Taking say, lay monk's vows or monk's vows is perhaps stepping a little bit closer. This doesn't mean that your practice is necessarily better than anyone else's, but that you are realizing just how vast, how deep practice is, and that you want to make sure that you can practice it and that other beings who wish to practice it, can. You are starting to take more responsibility for the Dharma being present.
Being a monk doesn't mean that your practice is better that a lay person's. It is just different because intimately involved in your practice is the responsibility for Dharma to be present for lay people to come and practice it. When we talk about entering into the Teacher's family in that way we are not talking about favorite sons and daughters or this or that but just, you know, people who sort of have to do the housework, you know, this kind of thing. So the Precepts are a very multileveled issue which is why, as I say, when we do have that publication on it which is called "Cutting the Cat into One", it will tend to be quite long or it will be published in several sections.
Is there anything else anyone would like to talk about at this time?
May I see the time? All right so if there is nothing else: up against the wall.
  • 1. A reference to the "Jijiyu Zanmai Doka", in Chanting Breath and Sound, Great Matter Publications.
  • 2. Soon after this, Roshi consulted the root meanings of the Sanskrit terms and revised his translation of these terms to: form, basic reactivity, symbolization, habitual patterning, and consciousness.

http://wwzc.org/dharma-text/confusion-mother-wisdom

Friday, August 26, 2011

A Deity Goes into Retirement - Tibetans Face Uncertainty in Post-Dalai Lama Era

A Deity Goes into Retirement
 
Tibetans Face Uncertainty in Post-Dalai Lama Era
 By Erich Follath in Dharamsala, India   08/25/2011

http://www.spiegel.de/international/world/0,1518,782329,00.html

Part 1: Tibetans Face Uncertainty in Post-Dalai Lama Era
Part 2: Intrigues in the Exile Community
Part 3: A Tibetan with No Experience of Tibet
Part 4: 'I Believe in Miracles'
Part 5: Shadow of a Scandal
Part 6: 'I Will Not Stop Praying for the Party' 


Part1: Tibetans Face Uncertainty in Post-Dalai Lama Era

The Dalai Lama has officially retired from politics, claiming he wants to live as a "simple monk." It's a watershed moment for Tibet, amid fears of Chinese meddling and controversy over the new generation of leaders. Meanwhile the Chinese authorities continue to brutally crack down on protests by Tibetan monks.

He certainly doesn't want to end up like the Queen. "With all due respect, and she's a very nice lady in person, but having to recite bad speeches written by someone else? It's not for me," says the 14th Dalai Lama, known among the faithful as "Ocean of Wisdom" and "Buddha of Compassion." He dabs at beads of sweat on his forehead, careful not to endanger a fly that has landed there. "I would feel like a puppet."

For this reason, a political compromise was inconceivable for the man many worship as a "god-king." That was despite the entreaties of his Tibetan followers, no matter how much they begged him to at least remain the ceremonial leader of the government-in-exile, which he established more than 50 years ago in the Indian town of Dharamsala after the Chinese Communists had forced him to flee from the Tibetan capital Lhasa. The Dalai Lama no longer wants to hold any political responsibility.

"It has nothing to do with resignation, or health reasons, only with insight," he said in a recent interview with SPIEGEL in the French city of Toulouse, where he was giving lectures on Buddhism, before traveling to Germany this week as the guest of the Hessian state government in the western city of Wiesbaden. "I have taken a close look at all forms of government. A democratic parliament with an elected prime minister is the only modern and functioning one. Monarchy: yesterday. Theocracy: from the day before yesterday. I believe in the separation of church and state. But what sort of a hypocrite would I be if I didn't draw any conclusions from this realization?"

For centuries, the Dalai Lama was, in the opinion of the overwhelming majority of Tibetans, both the secular and spiritual leader of his people. The current holder of the office already introduced democratic structures while in exile, but they were reforms from the top down, and he always had the last word. Now he has resigned from his secular duties, including his right to dismiss ministers and shape the course of negotiations with Beijing. He also intends to significantly reduce his spiritual duties and address the search for a successor -- "male or female," as he says.

"I just want to be Tenzin Gyatso, a simple monk," he says. He signed the constitutional amendment that makes this transition possible "with relish," he adds. "The government in Beijing has described me as an obstacle to all compromises. Now this stumbling block no longer exists, and it will have to show its cards and reveal whether it intends to grant Tibetans true autonomy, and whether it is serious about installing its own Dalai Lama in the future."

And then, as is so often the case, a chortling, infectious laugh erupts from the Dalai Lama like a force of nature. "And besides, here's a suggestion for the Communist Party leaders: How about joining me in stepping down?"

The curtain has fallen. A theocracy is coming to an end, and it is doing so peacefully and without bloodshed. A god is going into retirement.

Huge Moral Authority

What a long road for Tibet, for an institution, for the 14th Dalai Lama, who, as his followers believe, was first born in 1391 and, most recently, in the cycle of rebirths, in 1935. And what a long road for this Tenzin Gyatso, a farmer's son who, at the age of two, was chosen as the reincarnation of the Dalai Lama by a search team of monks because of his special characteristics, who resided in the Potala Palace in Lhasa when he was only five, was named the political leader of his people at 15, negotiated with and long admired Mao, until he recognized that the Great Chairman was only trying to use him. A man who, after his dramatic 1959 journey across Himalayan passes, preached nonviolence, offered the Chinese rulers of his homeland the renunciation of claims to an independent Tibetan nation in return for cultural autonomy, and was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1989.

For the Chinese, the Dalai Lama is still public enemy number one. Communist Party politicians berate him as a "wolf with the face of a man" and a "demon." In the Western world, however, the 14th Dalai Lama is seen as a role model. According to an opinion poll, he enjoys greater moral authority in Germany than the German pope. Many see him as the alternative to the "classical" politician, as someone who embodies what he says and who practices what he preaches, and even manages to reflect on himself in a self-deprecating way: a blend of Gandhi and Groucho Marx who is particularly beloved among celebrities like actors Richard Gere and Uma Thurman, French first lady Carla Bruni and Italian mountaineer Reinhold Messner.

Buddhism has become the fashionable religion, from Los Angeles to London, just as the monk Padmasambhava predicted more than 1,200 years ago: "When the iron bird flies, when horses run on wheels, the king will come to the land of the red man." The Germans are particularly enamored of Tibetan Buddhism, with their dozens of Tibetan centers and tens of thousands of Dalai Lama disciples, who see the Asian faith as the most appealing world religion, and one that generally does not look down on people of other faiths. It preaches peacefulness instead of inquisition, persuasion through meditation instead of missionary evangelism and the hope of attaining Nirvana instead of the threat of jihad, and it treats guilt and sin as concepts from a different, more punishing religious tradition and man as the sole creator of his own fate. What could possibly be wrong with that?

Because of this global support, many pay close attention to the turmoil in Tibet, which they consider the land of their dreams, their Shangri-La. But many people are unaware that as recently as the early 20th century, there were brutal power struggles between the monasteries in Tibet, that torture (including the particularly notorious method of gouging out victims' eyes) was the rule, and that reforms were only begun under the predecessor of the current Dalai Lama. Many are also unaware that it is only the current Dalai Lama who has sharply criticized feudalism and called for an accounting with that aspect of Tibet's past.

In fact, the 14th Dalai Lama has often been all too willing to allow himself to be co-opted as a sort of lowest common denominator among all those searching for meaning. Now he wants to put an end to his role as an object of projection for dreams of all kinds. He also wants to stop being a "wish-fulfilling jewel," another of his epithets, for all of his supporters. Instead, he is leaving Tibet and his global fan club to their own devices.

But how can this work? Can someone simply shed his religious and political power like an old coat he no longer needs? Doesn't this make Tibet like a Vatican without a pope, a place robbed of its unique identity?

These are not only religious questions. The struggle over the legacy of the Dalai Lama has to do with more than the reorientation of a government-in-exile. It involves questions of power and influence in one of the world's most important and contested regions. It has to do with military bases in Tibet, new transportation routes for consumer goods, the world's highest railway line, giant deposits of minerals, including zinc, copper and lithium, and the reservoir of water contained in the Himalayas.


Part 2: Intrigues in the Exile Community

At the center of this drama on the roof of the world are the rulers in Beijing, who hold sway over the majority of the roughly 6 million Tibetans and subject them to political, cultural and religious suppression in an "autonomous region" repeatedly shaken by unrest. The authorities in India, China's main competitor for dominance in Asia, which borders occupied Tibet and grants asylum to its refugees, also play an important role. And so do politicians in the West, who see the question of a successor to the Dalai Lama as leverage that could enable them to gain influence.

The Tibetan capital Lhasa is now a city of nightclubs, brothels and artificial palm trees, with ethnic Chinese making up more and more of the population. The Dalai Lama was once forced to flee the city like a thief in the night. Now his ancestral seat, the Potala Palace, is turning into a garishly decorated Disneyland.

Meanwhile his Indian exile about 1,400 kilometers (875 miles) to the south, Dharamsala, also known as "Little Lhasa," is a place where latter-day hippies rub elbows with monks in trendy cafés like "Shambhala."

The story of what is happening in the two cities is filled with intrigues and surprising twists and turns. It is a story where Shakespeare meets Siddhartha, and "The Name of the Rose" blends with "Hamlet" and the "Da Vinci Code" to form a narrative which could easily be filmed by Hollywood, if it weren't for one drawback: It seems a little too unbelievable.

The Chinese Communist Party, with its official commitment to atheism, is now seriously claiming the right to be in charge of Buddhist reincarnations and to enthrone a new Dalai Lama. Meanwhile, officials in the Tibetan exile community are watching each other carefully and hatching intrigues -- a situation not unlike that at the Vatican, with its jealously competing cardinals.

Lobsang Sangay, 43, is the Dalai Lama's political successor. A lawyer with a doctorate from Harvard University, Sangay, as a former leading member of the uncompromising Tibetan Youth Congress, was long regarded as a terrorist by the Chinese. There are also whispers and warnings about him in the exile community.

The 17th Gyalwang Karmapa could play an important role in choosing the Dalai Lama's spiritual successor. The Karmapa, a much-loved but controversial figure, is a 26-year-old monk and the third-ranking member of the hierarchy of Tibetan spiritual leaders. But following the suspicious discovery of a large amount of cash in his monastery, some police investigators in India speculate that he could be a spy for the Chinese, a "sleeper" planted in the nest of Tibetan exiles by forces on the other side of the Himalayas.

Some things are happening very openly in Dharamsala, the home of the exile government in India, where there are democratic elections, a reshuffling of power is taking place and objective police investigations are being conducted. In the People's Republic of China, on the other hand, true tragedies are unfolding, largely hidden from the eyes of critical observers.

In mid-March, a roughly 20-year-old monk called Phuntsok protested loudly against Chinese oppression near the Tibetan Kirti monastery in China's Sichuan Province holding a picture of the Dalai Lama in his hand. Then he poured gasoline on his body and set himself on fire. He died from the burn wounds, but according to Tibetan exiles, Chinese officials also beat him while he was dying.

An angry crowd that had quickly gathered at the site of the self-immolation blocked the path of security forces. Then a special unit that was brought in brutally forced its way through the wall of people and surrounded the monastery, which was known for being "defiant." Tibetan exiles quote eyewitnesses who reported that the monks were regularly targeted by officials, being subjected to torture and brainwashing. Two Tibetans allegedly died, 300 monks were taken away and the rest were ordered to exercise humiliating "self-criticism" and disparage the Dalai Lama. Kirti was literally starved to death.

Another monk, 29-year-old Tsewang Norbu, set himself on fire in Dawu in Sichuan Province last week, shouting "freedom for Tibet" as he was dying.

"Our hands are tied," says Professor Samdhong Rinpoche in a tone of despair, sitting in his modest office in Dharamsala. Rinpoche, 71, is the previous prime minister of the Tibetan government-in-exile.

The cleric's only explanation for the particularly brutal approach that China's rulers are taking at the moment is the nervousness that has taken hold in Beijing in light of the revolutions in North Africa. "They fear a 'Jasmine Revolution' in China, which is why they are lashing out at minorities, civil rights activists and religious people," he says.

He is already looking forward to his future job at a university. "You know, I think I'm quite a decent teacher," says Rinpoche, keeping a straight face. "But I fear I was always something of a failure as a politician."

Nothing has been achieved in his government's relationship with the People's Republic, says Rinpoche. "We have made more and more compromises, while Beijing has remained inflexible and has rudely insulted our leadership." And yet, he is quick to add, his words should not be misinterpreted as criticism of the Dalai Lama. "There is no alternative to the peaceful middle way of His Holiness."

But who are the two men who, in the wake of the Dalai Lama's decision to retire, will soon wield so much influence? How could a Harvard-educated scholar and a young monk change Tibet's fate, and how will they be able to make their views heard in the shadow of the Dalai Lama and under the watchful and hostile gaze of the powerful Chinese Communist Party?


Part 3: A Tibetan with No Experience of Tibet

In the eyes of many of his fellow Tibetans, the new Kalon Tripa, the official title of the prime minister of the government-in-exile, already has two strikes against him. First, Lobsang Sangay has no religious education. And second, he only knows the country which he is fighting for from second-hand accounts. He is a Tibetan with no direct experience of Tibet.

This is probably the reason that there was some tension between him and his rivals near the end of the election campaign. "But I did capture 55 percent of the votes in the end," Sangay, who is married with one daughter, says proudly. He rejects the criticism that someone in his position should wear a robe instead of tailored suits, calling it a cliché. His father was a monk whose monastery was completely destroyed in the Cultural Revolution. His uncle, says Sangay, went underground and was presumably arrested or killed, and then disappeared without a trace. "One can be devout without spending one's life behind monastery walls," he adds.

His parents fled to India in 1959, the year of the failed popular uprising. They married there and their son was born in India. They did everything they could to make sure that he had access to a good education, even selling a cow, one of their most valuable possessions, so that Sangay could attend an advanced school.

A gifted student, he seized the opportunity and earned a degree in English literature from the University of Delhi. He won a scholarship to Harvard, where he eventually earned a doctorate in law, writing his dissertation on the history of the Tibetan government-in-exile. He has been at Harvard for 16 years and has consistently worked on behalf of the Tibetan cause. In 2008, he testified as an East Asia expert before a US Senate committee, and on two occasions he arranged for secret meetings between the Dalai Lama and academics and artists from the People's Republic.

In 1992, he became the youngest member of the Tibetan Youth Congress (TYC) in Dharamsala. Despite its respect for the Dalai Lama, the TYC has always called for a tougher approach to China, and has demanded Tibetan independence instead of merely "true" autonomy. Some of its members dreamed -- and probably still dream -- of armed resistance against the Chinese occupiers.

During the 2008 popular uprising in Lhasa and other regions in the Chinese-controlled territory, many Tibetans died at the hands of brutal police officers and plainclothes security forces. But the violence was not one-sided. Tibetans, apparently encouraged by fellow Tibetans in exile, destroyed Chinese businesses. And the recent self-immolations of Tibetan monks in China are also not without precedent. As an act of protest, a member of the TYC set himself on fire in India a few years ago. And the TYC leadership is currently staging a hunger strike in New Delhi in protest against the siege of the Kirti monastery.

Violence against others, as well as violence against one's own body, is forbidden in Buddhism, and the Dalai Lama condemned the acts of protest. Sangay agrees with him, but he also expresses "great understanding for the courage of my fellow Tibetans, who are understandably outraged and distraught," and says that he respects their actions. He is performing a careful balancing act, as he tries to reconcile the highly contradictory positions in his community.

"I also welcome the intervention of the United Nations in Ivory Coast and Libya," says the new premier, "and I call upon the world to intervene in our cause, as well."

Is Sangay seriously calling for an armed international campaign on behalf of Tibet, within the internationally recognized borders of the People's Republic of China?

"No, no, not military," he adds. He is careful not to portray himself as an unrealistic dreamer. "But Tibet should become the subject of serious negotiations at a level that would involve presidents and prime ministers," he says. "The whole world is morally and politically obligated to get involved." He believes that the revolutions in the Arab world could become a model in China. "Wherever there is repression, there is always resistance. But I do not advise my fellow Tibetans who are oppressed in the People's Republic to use violence."

Sangay believes that the Chinese cannot resist the tide of history forever, a tide that is increasingly being shaped by the free will of the people. "I am democratically legitimized, but the leadership in Lhasa is not. The authorities in Beijing will have to talk to us sooner or later," he says self-confidently. He expects especially strong support from Germany and points out that Chancellor Angela Merkel is a committed champion of freedom. "She knows what it means to live under communist tyrants."

Naturally the premier-in-exile, who was sworn in at the parliament-in-exile two weeks ago, pays close attention to the political maneuvering of the communists.

The Communist Party, which has always equated Tibetan Buddhism with "feudalistic practices," has long attempted to exploit religion in a bid to silence Dharamsala. Tibet's god-kings have traditionally participated in the search for their spiritual deputies. In 1995, the Dalai Lama designated (or recognized, depending on one's worldview), a young boy as the reincarnation of the deceased Panchen Lama, and hence the new second-highest ranking member of the religious hierarchy. Through middlemen, the abbot of the Shigatse monastery in communist-controlled Tibet had secretly sent photos of various candidates to Dharamsala.

China's political leaders were outraged. Their agents abducted the boy, Gedhun Choekyi Nyima, who was six at the time, and brought him to Beijing. Since then, the authorities have refused to provide any details about the boy, even though foreign delegations have repeatedly requested information about his whereabouts and wellbeing. Human rights groups have called him the "youngest political prisoner in the world." When asked about his fate, officials in Beijing say tersely that he is doing well, that his parents are anxious to give him a "normal life," and that it was necessary to protect him from the "Dalai Lama clique."

"We don't even know if he is still alive," says Sangay. "He would be 22 now."


Part 4: 'I Believe in Miracles'

But the Communist Party also took things a step further and selected its own Panchen Lama ("Precious Teacher"). He is from the same district as his rival, and he is the son of two faithful party members. To give the process the appearance of religious legitimacy, the Chinese resorted to old Tibetan rituals, using a traditional golden urn in their staged ceremony to validate the reincarnation. Of course, the overwhelming majority of Tibetans never accepted the Communist Party's enlightened one, whose name is Gyaltsen Norbu, even berating him during public appearances.

Now the party has openly declared its right to determine the reincarnation of the 14th Dalai Lama, insisting that the reincarnation must be ratified by the Communist Party. Sangay chuckles at the very idea. "It's as if Fidel Castro were to appoint the next pope. On the one hand, China's Communist Party persecutes anyone who so much as displays a photo of the Dalai Lama on its territory, and on the other hand it is extremely concerned about the continuity of Tibetan Buddhism. I would say that the Communists have a credibility problem when it comes to reincarnation."

Sangay believes that he will be able to move from Dharamsala in India to Lhasa in Tibet one day. "I could have become rich as a lawyer in the United States. As Kalon Tripa, I earn about €350 ($505) a month," he says. "But I believe in miracles." The fall of the Berlin Wall was such a miracle, says Sangay, as was Nelson Mandela's success in South Africa. Besides, he adds, who would have thought it possible, only three decades ago, that the Soviet Union would collapse and the United States would have a black president one day?

The question remains as to whether the elected Tibetan leader has a concrete idea of the chosen one, the potential spiritual successor of the Dalai Lama. Could Sangay imagine a system of dual leadership for Tibet one day, with him as its political leader and the young Karmapa as its spiritual head?

"I know the Karmapa and have a high opinion of him. He is highly respected and can play an important role," he says carefully, but adds that he is not authorized to say anything more than that. Sangay expressed himself more clearly when he spoke with Newsweek in 2009, saying: "The Chinese hard-liner strategy has always been, when the present Dalai Lama passes away, the Tibetan movement will fizzle out, or disintegrate. So the issue is, is there anyone who can replace him? What will happen to the Tibetan movement after he passes away?" And then he answered his own question: "(The Karmapa) has grown up to be a very attractive lama to the general public, but also, importantly, to the young. They can connect with him. He's of the same age. They know the hardships he went through to escape."

But what if this new, terrible suspicion cannot be set aside, namely that the Karmapa's escape was nothing but a pre-arranged game with the communist archenemy? What if, following Beijing's choice of the second-in-command in Tibetan Buddhism, the third-highest ranking member of the religious hierarchy also turns out to be unacceptable?

A Rare Interview with the Gyalwang Karmapa

The Karmapa lives in the hottest part of Dharamsala, 600 meters (2,000 feet) lower down and half an hour's drive from McLeod Ganj, the elevated part of town where the Dalai Lama has his official residence. He resides in the Gyuto, a whitewashed monastery with little golden towers, which also houses the Tantric University -- as a subtenant of the Dalai Lama.

Ogyen Trinley Dorje, a.k.a., the 17th Gyalwang Karmapa, has given only a handful of interviews in his entire life, and he hasn't given a single interview since the damaging accusations were made against him. Calling him well-protected is an understatement. The circles of his caretakers surround him like the leaves of a water lily. His daily schedule is managed by a staff of 12 people, with titles like public relations director, human resources manager, manager of reincarnation issues, and each of them has a deputy. Very few are granted the chance to penetrate to the center of the flower, the Karmapa himself.

After lengthy negotiations with the Karmapa's team of advisers, SPIEGEL finally managed to arrange a meeting, but only under somewhat conspiratorial circumstances: It was characterized as an "audience," the last item on the Karmapa's agenda that day, following prayers and audiences with a handful of privileged pilgrims from around the world.

Historically speaking, the Dalai Lamas and the Karmapa Lamas are members of different schools. The Karmapa's Kagyu school, also known as the "black hats," were long more powerful than their rivals, the Dalai Lama's Gelugpa or "yellow hats." But when faced with the common threat posed by the Maoists, the Tibetans, without abandoning their theological differences, joined forces under the undisputed spiritual leadership of the current Dalai Lama.

The 14th Dalai Lama and the 17th Karmapa have some things in common, including a magical, centuries-old life history that requires a considerable leap of faith on the part of their followers, or, as the Dalai Lama puts it, "about as much of a leap of faith as the story of the virgin birth" in Christianity. According to the tenets of Tibetan Buddhism, both men demonstrated significant signs of their uniqueness in their earliest youth, signs that could only be interpreted as a nod from above. In this sense, both men emerged as reincarnations of a very special sort.

The story of the current Karmapa ("man of Buddha activity") goes like this: As predicted by his predecessor, he was born in 1985 in a nomadic tent "northeast of the snow," to sounds resembling a conch shell horn. He baffled his mother by identifying himself to her as the Karmapa, saying: "If you wish to sacrifice something to the Karmapa, you can give it to me." In 1992, he unerringly led his parents to a search team of monks equipped with the secret notes and clues provided by the deceased 16th Karmapa. When the seven-year-old boy was also able to identify ritual objects, the searchers were in agreement. "Apo Gaga," as he was called, "the one who makes us laugh," had to be the true holy one.

He was taken to the main monastery of the Kagyu order in Tsurphu near Lhasa, where he was enthroned in a magnificent ceremony -- and recognized, not only by the Dalai Lama, but by the leaders in Beijing. It seems safe to assume that this was all part of a political calculation. But why was the government of the People's Republic so accommodating when it came to the Karmapa?

At 14, he decided to flee Tibet to embark on a search for the best Buddhist teacher, as he would later recount. On a December evening in 1999, he jumped out of a window at his monastery and into a waiting SUV. Traveling on horseback and on foot, he crossed icy mountains, avoided military checkpoints and eventually made the risky crossing over the border into Nepal. He arrived in Dharamsala on Jan. 5, 2000. The Karmapa has never revealed the identities of those who helped him escape. Beijing must have felt humiliated. The boy's parents and a few friends were allegedly interrogated for hours and briefly detained.

In Dharamsala, the Dalai Lama took the inquisitive boy under his wing, and he soon became a favored pupil. Speculation ran rampant after the young Karmapa was permitted to sit in the Dalai Lama's chair during his absence. He was the "only plan B that the Tibetans have," wrote the German magazine Geo, while Time was convinced that he was the "world's next top lama."

But that was before the embarrassing scandal that has now engulfed him.


 Part 5: Shadow of a Scandal

In January, the Indian police stopped a car on a highway near Dharamsala and seized the equivalent of €150,000 in cash. The men in the vehicle claimed that it was from the Karmapa's monastery and was to be used to purchase a piece of land. Soon afterwards the Indian investigators, who had become suspicious, searched the premises at the Gyuto Monastery. They found additional cash, in various currencies, worth more than €1 million -- a sixth of it in renminbi, the official currency of the People's Republic of China. The police chief in Dharamsala claims that Chinese telephone cards were also found at the monastery, and calls them "substantial proof that points to a connection to China."

The press in New Delhi pounced on the story. The weekly news magazine India Today devoted a cover story to the question of whether the Karmapa might be a spy for Beijing, while a headline in the respected daily newspaper The Tribune read: "Monk or Chinese Plant?"

Tibet is one of the most sensitive issues between the two major Asian powers, which sometimes play the game of "Chindia," joining forces against the West on economic issues, and yet eye each other with suspicion in other respects. India feels increasingly provoked by China, which has adopted an extremely self-confident stance when it comes to foreign policy. "They are building new airports and new rail lines near our border. Beijing is zeroing in on us from all sides," laments Prem Kumar Dhumal, the chief minister of the northern Indian state of Himachal Pradesh, where Dharamsala is located. In this climate, some would say that the idea of a "planted" spiritual troublemaker with long-term ambitions is not as far-fetched as it might sound.

The Karmapa laughs off questions about the lingering shadow of the scandal. He receives his guests in a standing position in his simple guest room on the second floor of the monastery, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, like an alert boxer before the first round. He occasionally adjusts his monk's robe, which exposes his fleshy upper arms. He looks like a chubby-cheeked Raphael angel, except for his shaved head that resembles a large billiard ball.

"India, unlike China, is not a dictatorship but a functioning democracy," says the 17th Karmapa. On the wall behind him is the only piece of decoration in the room, a likeness of his "forefather," the first Karmapa. "And that's why I am confident that these accusations will be fairly examined. They will prove to have been unfounded, because it is clear that true believers from the People's Republic also find their way here as tourists and donate money." These pilgrims, he says, were the source of the "suspicious" currency.

For him, the Dalai Lama is the great teacher, a man he looks up to. They are often alone together for hours, discussing the relationship between religion and science. No one can replace the Dalai Lama, says the young man. And yes, he adds, he too has heard the rumor that he is predestined to become the "new Dalai Lama." But the traditions of his order would prevent him from holding the title in the first place. "Perhaps it is wishful thinking for some people, but for me it's unthinkable."

One of his advisers shoots him a stern look, and he immediately stops talking about current politics. He wrote an essay titled "108 Things You Can Do to Help the Environment," says the Karmapa. He loves ink drawings and likes to write poetry, and he practices Buddhist self-criticism. "Sometimes I watch video recordings of my speeches, especially those that I thought were successful. And then I realize that I said nothing significant at all, and I am ashamed."

He is a computer buff and is interested in world affairs, documentaries and films. He liked the animated action comedy "Kung Fu Panda," and he also enjoyed James Cameron's "Avatar." He readily admits that these are escapes into other worlds, and is quick to point out that he is much more interested in real life. But with the exception of a trip to the United States in 2008, the Indian government has not permitted the Karmapa, a man with the status of a stateless refugee, to leave the country. The authorities, probably fearing negative reactions from Beijing, cancelled a planned trip to Europe in 2010.

His day is completely planned in advance. It begins with the audiences, in which he blesses pilgrims from around the world. On this particular day, his visitors included wraithlike French schoolteachers, Taiwanese theology students and American acting students, who brought gifts ranging from plastic Buddhas to white shawls to the ubiquitous envelopes filled with money. His meeting with SPIEGEL will be followed by a session with his Korean language teacher. After that, he will have his religious studies to attend to (copies of both the Koran and Bible are in the library), followed by discussions of the Buddhist concept of emptiness. "In my job," he says, "I can't lose sight of the big picture."

The Karmapa spends his spare time playing with Tashi, his sister's white lap dog, and his idea of freedom is listening to inner voices. "The people around me mean well, and I know that I must submit to my destiny," he says. Then, with an almost defiant glance at the adviser, he adds: "But sometimes I do feel locked up and try not to be sad about it."

At least, he says, he is allowed to speak with his parents in China on the phone. Isn't this astonishing, given that his relatives were supposedly so harshly interrogated by the Communist Party after his escape? Does he see this as a concession to humanity or as a potential means of applying pressure to him -- and who listens in on the conversations?

The 17th Gyalwang Karmapa cannot answer these questions. He knows that he has a role to play, as a god in reserve, a messiah in training and the new face of Tibetan Buddhism -- and as a man whose life is determined by others. And yet he is also someone who learned to send subtle messages at an early age. They include his way of steering clear of difficult questions with a smile, and of using aphorisms and religious allegories to avoid being specific. It isn't difficult to see at least a hint of his mentor's charisma in the young Karmapa -- and, when it comes to crucial issues, his mentor's seriousness.

The Karmapa's political future is still unclear. "I have no ambition to be a leader of great importance," he says at the end of the audience. "But if circumstances make me into a force for change, I will become a force for change."


Part 6: 'I Will Not Stop Praying for the Party'

It is a scorching summer day in Dharamsala in the northern Indian foothills of the Himalayas.

The 14th Dalai Lama, a.k.a. the monk Tenzin Gyatso, got up at his usual time of 3:30 a.m., put on his plastic flip-flops and spent some time reading ancient Buddhist scripture printed on palm leaves. Then he ran on his treadmill for a while, checking his progress on the machine's computer while listening to the news on the BBC. After that he ate what he calls a cosmopolitan breakfast -- "as becomes a man between all times and worlds" -- consisting of Tibetan barley porridge, mixed with packaged American hazelnut muesli and fresh milk from cows that graze in India's Himalayan foothills.

He read the papers at 6 a.m., the Guardian and the Indian Express, and met with his advisers. At 8 a.m., he began his routine program for the day: preparing for trips abroad, audiences with groups of pilgrims in the garden, and an open-air "pep talk" with the local congregation. "Why are the Chinese often so much more enterprising than we Tibetans?" he asks his followers. "Learn from them! Make an effort!"

It's all in a day's work for the 14th Dalai Lama. He will continue to travel, and he will probably still meet "privately" with political leaders like US President Barack Obama and German Chancellor Angela Merkel, but he will not be as active as he once was and will spend more of his time in meditation. Perhaps, in meditating, he will attempt to reconcile two aspects of his life that seem so contradictory: his Harvard-supported studies on the scientific relationships between Buddhism and brain research, on the one hand, and on the other his seemingly obscure belief in a living state oracle, the Nechung Oracle, who utters pieces of wisdom while in a trance. Most of all, however, the Dalai Lama will likely be putting his house in order and organizing his legacy.

His advisers informed him that the Communist Party in Beijing characterized his retirement as a "malicious trick." "I will not stop praying for the party," the Dalai Lama says in response. And he tells SPIEGEL that he sees progress being made in China, despite the current wave of repression: "Prime Minister Wen Jiabao has advocated more transparency several times, and he has even said that democracy is a necessary development. I am pinning my hopes on the reasonable forces."

The 14th Dalai Lama will undoubtedly pore over the old religious texts once again, the scriptures that grant him, should his people be faced with an emergency situation, the right of "madey tulku," or choosing a "reincarnated" successor while he is still alive. He intends to set the course of his spiritual succession at an important conference in Dharamsala in September.

"The Communist Party should concern itself with the reincarnation of Mao or Deng Xiaoping," he says. "I find it touching that the politicians in Beijing are concerned about my reincarnation, and yet it doesn't make any sense, given that the Communist Party calls me a 'demon.' Do they want to have a demon forever? No, I can assure you, and Beijing, that I will decide on my successor entirely on my own." Although there are several potential options, he says, "as long as I am in exile, we will only search for the successor in exile, as well."

Perhaps the all-important moment of inspiration will come to him while he is trimming his rose bushes or pursuing one of his other hobbies, taking apart and reassembling old cameras, or perhaps while running on his treadmill in the early morning hours.

He will continue to strongly discourage his Western followers from rushing at Buddhism and expecting it to offer instant salvation, as a sort of lifestyle religion. And he will continue to repeat his standard admonition: "Try a religion from your own cultural environment first, like Christianity." And he will also continue to promote world peace and interfaith dialogue, using the same universal, sometimes overly vague, esoteric language.

And, once again, his fans will stylize the Tibetan king without a country into their postmodern angel, as they have always done. They will turn him into a symbol that he never wanted to be: the last common denominator between believers and skeptics in the East and West, between the impotent and the overly powerful, a spiritual consolation for a world fragmented between the winners and losers of globalization. But they will also continue to worship him in his native Tibet and hang on his every word, as if he had the power to bring freedom, and they will wonder if there can be a life after the Dalai Lama.

That is the crux of gods: They can go into retirement, but they cannot abolish themselves -- if only because the incorrigible faithful would never allow it.

Translated from the German by Christopher Sultan