The Collected Works of Chögyam Trungpa: Volume 4 (18 page)

When we experience aggression we feel that everything is an expression of injustice. There is too much concrete, too much steel, too much grease, too much pollution, and we feel very angry and frustrated. We are so involved with this world of emotions that, although we might have a beautiful sunny day, fantastic weather, and a fantastic view, we still grind our teeth. We feel that the world is trying to mock us. The clear blue sky is trying to mock us or insult us. The beautiful sunshine is embarrassing to look at, and the fantastic full moon and the beautiful clouds around it are an insult. There is constant hate, enormous hate, so much so that it is almost unreal. We feel that we are actually levitating off the ground because we are so angry. We feel that our feet are not attached to the ground, that we are hovering above the world, because there is such a sense of aggression taking place.

On the other hand, if we are passionate, if we are in love or in a lustful state, we begin to feel that there is an enormous amount of glue sprayed all over the world that is trying to stick to us. Our only frustration is that we do not have enough money to buy all the beautiful clothes we see in shop windows, all the beautiful antiques we see in the shops, and all the beautiful food or wealth that exists. We may try to project an image of aloofness or specialness: “I’m not going to be like the rest of my countrymen. When I buy clothes, I’m going to buy special ones, not like the rednecks.” But that is just a sidetrack. Fundamentally, the juice of the juice is that we
want
so much, and we begin to spray our own glue all over things. We want to be stuck to things, to persons, objects, wealth, money, parents, relatives, friends, or whatever. So we begin to spray this crude glue all over the place. We are asking to be stuck.

Hopefully, we think, we can pull things or people back into our territory: “Once I get stuck to something, I’ve got enough sanity and enough power to pull it back to me. I want to make sure, to begin with, that my glue is strong enough. Then when I am stuck to my friend, I can step back, and my friend will be so stuck to me that I will not have to worry. He or she is always going to be with me, because my glue is so powerful, so strong, and so tough.” That is the game we play. But the problem is that things get turned around, and we find ourselves stuck. The ground we create is too solid, too powerful, and we cannot step back. Then we might scream and begin to worry. But that panic connected with passion is another matter altogether, beyond the subject we are discussing at this point.

Another emotional style is called stupidity or ignorance. It occurs when we are so absorbed in our world that we miss the sharp points. For example, if somebody is yelling at us, calling our name, we might answer him and we might not. We want to shield ourselves from the world. The world makes us blush, and we begin to hide behind a timid smile. If somebody insults us, we try to walk away. We are trying to save face by ignoring reality. If somebody is irritating us, we feel we can’t be bothered: “Let’s change the subject. Let’s talk about something else—my fantastic trip to Peru. I took photographs there when I was with the Indians. It was fantastic!” We become very skillful at changing the subject of conversation. Sometimes we shield ourselves with a little sense of humor, but the humor is usually somewhat superficial. Fundamentally we are ignoring the situation. The sharp edges that come up are pushed away or ignored. We play deaf and dumb.

There are many different emotions, but these three—aggression, passion, and ignorance—are the basic emotions or basic styles that make up the second level of perception.

The third level of perception is the ultimate idea of bewilderment or confusion. It is much more fundamental than the emotional style of ignorance that we just discussed. Basic bewilderment or mindlessness is experiencing things as if the world did not exist and we did not exist. We could almost view this level of perception as mystical experience because it is so solid and pervasive. It is like being entranced by the shimmering reflection of light on a pond: There is a sense of being stunned, fixed solid—so fixed that the experience is extremely confusing, but nevertheless, we do not want to let go of our fixation; we do not want to let go of the phenomenal world. We would like to hand on to it, to keep ourselves attached to the world, as though we had tentacles with suction cups on the ends.

We are determined to ignore the possibility of any spaciousness in our experience. This level of bewilderment is the fundamental style of ego. Space is completely frozen into mindlessness. In such a state, it is impossible to step out or to step in. There is a sense of being fixed, being part of a rock or a mountain. It is like flat air, which doesn’t have any energy. We begin to feel that our head is being flattened on top, as though we were wearing a cast-iron frying pan on our head. Our head is stuck to that pan, and we are constantly carrying that big flat metal object on our head. Our head is not even stuck to a sheet of corrugated iron—that texture would be too interesting. This is completely flat. We do not feel exactly squashed, but we feel that we are being weighted down by the force of gravity.

This kind of heavy-handed mindlessness makes us feel that we shouldn’t worry about anything at all. On the one hand, everything is there and at the same time it is confusingly not there. We can’t be bothered to talk about anything at all. We are carrying a cast-iron head, our shoulders are stiff, our neck is stiff, and in fact, our whole body is made out of cast iron. Since our legs are cast iron, we can’t even move. But we still have a heartbeat, which is a reference point. The only things functioning are our lungs and heart. We breathe in and out, and our heart beats: That is the ultimate level of stupidity or bewilderment.

We have been discussing the samsaric way of handling our world, in terms of the three levels of samsaric perception: body, emotions, and mindlessness. There is a definite tantric approach to those three levels of perception, which is known as the principle of the three kayas, or the trikaya. Kaya is a Sanskrit word that simply means “body.” There is a correspondence between the three levels we have discussed and the three kayas. In the language of tantra, the level of body corresponds to the kaya or body of manifestation, the nirmanakaya. The level of emotions corresponds to the body of complete joy, the sambhogakaya, and the level of bewilderment or ignorance corresponds to total space, the dharmakaya. There is no tension or contradiction between the samsaric and the tantric descriptions. Rather the tantric principle of the three kayas shows how we could relate to the levels of body, emotions, and bewilderment that already exist within our state of being.

Traditionally, dharmakaya is the first kaya, corresponding to the samsaric level of mindlessness.
Dharma
means “law,” “norm,” or “truth,” among other definitions. The teachings of the Buddha are called the dharma, the truth. The first kaya is called dharmakaya, the “body of truth,” because the dharma speaks completely and totally in accordance with the language of ignorant people. The starting point for hearing the dharma is confusion. If we are not ignorant and confused—thoroughly, utterly, and completely—then there is no dharma. At the same time, dharma speaks the language of intelligence, which is the opposite of ignorance. The dharma is able to communicate the truth by relating to the confusion of sentient beings.

Dharmakaya is the original state of being, which transcends our basic state of mindlessness. It is the opposite of having a cast-iron pan on our head. It is a state of complete freedom. It is so free that the question of freedom does not even apply. It is complete and it is open—thoroughly open, utterly open, magnificently open. Dharmakaya is so completely open that the question of openness does not apply anymore at all, and so completely spacious that reference points do not make any difference.

The second kaya is the level of emotional manifestation. This is called
sambhogakaya
, which literally means “body of joy.” The dharmakaya, as we have discussed, is completely open and completely free. At the level of sambhogakaya we are looking at the emotions that are manufactured or manifested out of that. The emotions that manifest out of this state of openness transcend the samsaric emotions, including aggression, passion, and ignorance. In the sambhogakaya, emotions manifest as the transcendent or completely enlightened versions of the five buddha families that we discussed in chapter nine. When they manifest in this way, the emotions provide tremendous capability and enormous scope for relating with the universe. There is accommodation for dualism, for relating with this and that if necessary, because from this point of view duality is not particularly regarded as a threat or unkosher. This accommodation provides tremendous freedom. There is a sense of celebration in which emotions are no longer a hassle.

The third kaya, the nirmanakaya, is the “body of emanation,” the body of existence or manifestation. It is the manifestation of our mind and our body. It is also the manifestation of the bodies of those who have already experienced or gone through the other two kayas, and who then manifest on the third level, the nirmanakaya. In that sense the nirmanakaya refers specifically to the vajra master or teacher who is here on earth. Such a teacher has achieved the dharmakaya and the sambhogakaya, but in order to communicate with our body, our food, our clothes, and our earth—that is, with our sense perceptions—he needs a manifested body. It is necessary that the teacher manifest in the nirmanakaya in order to communicate with us and to teach the vajrayana and the entire buddhadharma.

In studying tantra, we relate with all three kayas simultaneously by relating to the vajra master, who embodies all three. The three kayas are not abstract principles, but we can relate to them experientially, personally, spiritually, and transcendently, all at the same time. As we develop to the level of the teacher’s body, the level of nirmanakaya, then we begin to experience the sambhogakaya. At that level emotions are transmuted and are workable. Beyond that, we also begin to tune in to the dharmakaya, which is open, all-pervading space.

If we are going to study tantra, it is necessary to understand the trikaya principle of being and manifesting. In tantric practice the first step is to realize the level of body, the nirmanakaya. Then we see that the five buddha families are related with the sambhogakaya or the level of emotions. Beyond that it is necessary to transcend both the bodily and the emotional level, which is the dharmakaya, high above. When we discuss maha ati in the closing chapter, you may understand more about dharmakaya. But first it is necessary to understand the importance of relating with the body, or earthly existence, and relating with the vajra master, the great teacher who exists on earth. In some sense such a teacher is a magician, a conjurer: He has achieved total space, conquered the level of emotions, and he actually exists in an earthly body.

TWELVE

The Question of Magic

T
HE
S
ANSKRIT WORD
for magic is
siddhi
, which means actualizing or working with the energy that exists in the realm of experience and the realm of physical being. Unfortunately, in the Western world, the concept of magic seems to be associated with mysteriousness and impossible powers, such as turning fire into water or the floor into the sky. So magic is considered to be possible only for those few chosen people who develop mysterious magical powers. In comic books, for instance, magical things happen because a person possesses a certain power that he exercises over other people, either destroying them or helping them. Such a magician can change a giant into a dwarf, a mute into a bard, a cripple into a runner, and so forth.

In the West, we often treat spirituality with that comic-book approach, and we view spiritual discipline as the process through which we will eventually end up as magicians. We feel that, although we may have a few little problems as beginners, when we become highly accomplished persons, we won’t have these problems. We will be able to shake them off and do anything we want. That is the simple-minded concept of spiritual practice and the simple-minded concept of magic: that once we are accomplished persons we will be able to do anything. We will be able to shake the universe, to change the shape of fleas and the habits of mice, to turn tigers into cats and cats into tigers.

Genuine mystical experience, according to either the Judeo-Christian tradition or the Buddhist tradition, has nothing to do with that kind of mysteriousness. It is not that the mysteriousness finally manifests, and then we realize that spirituality has some value after all: “Now we don’t need to ride elevators; we can just levitate.” That is the ultimate idea of automation, the true American dream. From that point of view, the world is a nuisance; it is problematic; it gets in our way. So we hope we can change its course once we graduate to a higher level. Obviously, there is a problem with that approach to spirituality.

A deeper problem is that this approach is based on misunderstanding the world of ego. We think that ego can achieve enormous power beyond its present ability, which is called “magic.” In that case, we do not have to give up anything at all. We can just latch on to some greater power and expend further energy in the direction of ego. That is an enormous problem, an enormous blockage, and that is precisely why it is necessary for potential students of tantra to go through a gradual process and to give up any idea of the rapid path. It is necessary to start slowly, very slowly, to start at the bottom and grow up slowly. In that way our simple-minded version of the cosmos or the universe changes and becomes more real, more personal, and more direct. Our world becomes workable; it no longer remains separate from our basic being at all. The world contains invitations for us to participate, and we in turn extend our invitation and willingness to participate to the world. In that way, the world can come into us and we can get into the world.

Beyond that, there
is
a magical aspect of the world. That magic does not have to be sought, but it happens by itself. It is not as sensational as we might expect. The greatest magic of all is to be able to control and work with ego, our mind. So we could say that magic begins at home, with our own minds. If we couldn’t practice magic at home, we would be at a loss. We would have no place to begin. So magic begins at home.