Dakini's Warm Breath (eBook)

Fromthe Preface

WhenI was nineteen,Iwas first enveloped by the feminine principle, albeit in a hidden form. As Iarrived on the Delhi tarmac straight from Nebraska and inhaled the scent ofsmoke, urine and feces, rotting fruit, and incense, I knew I was home. Fromthat moment on, the sway of brilliant saris, the curve of water jugs, the feelof chilis under my fingernails, and the pulse of street music called me back tosomething long forgotten. As I gazed into the faces of leprous beggars,wheedling hawkers, and the well-oiled rich, I was shocked into a certainequanimity I could not name. The only way I could express it was to say that Isuddenly knew what it meant to be a woman. On subsequent trips, I have hadsimilar responses, the slowing of my mind and a deep relaxation in the pores ofmy body, calling me from ambitions of daily life to an existence more basic andfundamental, calling me home.

Asa graduate student in South Asian religion in the late sixties, I discoveredfeminism. For many years, my feminist journey paralleled my academic andspiritual ones, and I found few ways to truly link them. Looking back at mypapers and essays, I can see that I was trying to find a place for myself as awoman in academe. At the same time I began Buddhist sitting meditation practice, zazen,inthe Japanese Soto tradition. In my first teaching job, I was the only woman myacademic department had ever hired. When I was inexplicably terminated,departmental memos gave as the reason that my husband was a universityadministrator and I 'didn't need the money.' I joined a class actionsuit against the university and eventually won. During the turmoil, Buddhistmeditation gave me a quiet center from which to ride out the maelstrom.

Later,eschewing another full-time academic appointment for full-time interventionwith rape victims, my feminism emerged full blown. I saw myself burning in allwomen's rage, rage against the violence, the brutalization and objectificationof us all. Even as I became outraged, I continued to sit. Alternatingconfrontation therapy with convicted rapists and long periods of intensivemeditation, I learned that rage is bottomless, endless, the fuel forall-pervading suffering in the world. I began to feel directly the sadness atthe heart of rage, sadness for all the suffering that people—,female and male,rape victim and rapist—,have experienced. I knew then that feminism saw a partof the truth, but only a part. Having experienced my own suffering, I began tosense its origin and to glimpse its end.

Thatis when I came to teach Buddhist Studies at Naropa University, at the end of1977.Severalyears earlier, I had met my teacher, Ven. Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, andrecognized at once that I had everything to learn from him. He completely knewthe rage and he knew the sadness, and yet he had not lost heart. He thoroughlyenjoyed himself, others, and the world. And he introduced me to a journey inwhich I could explore rage, sadness, passion, and ambition and never have themcontradict my identityasa woman and a practitioner. My feminist theories wilted in the presence of hishumor and empathy, and my consuming interests turned to Buddhist practice,study, and teaching.

Ven.Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche was one of the first Tibetan lamas to teach in NorthAmerica. Born in the eastern Tibetan province of Kham in 1940,hewas recognized as an incarnate teacher (tlku)ofa major Kagyu school when he was only thirteen months old.Hewas enthroned at Surmang Monastery and rigorously trained in Kagyu and NyingmaBuddhist philosophy and meditation until the...