Play of a (Supposedly) Realised Being in The 21st Century: Personal Reflection of Labeled Existence.

An article was written by Thangtong Trulku for Udumvara’s annual publication:

        “I’m a spoiled, easily distracted, lazy, arrogant tulku. To be frank, I’m the last person who should be writing about anything at all, let alone an article for Rinchen Namgay’s magazine. I can’t even live up to my own expectations of myself, so the chances of me being able to inspire young Buddhists are so small as to be laughable! But Rinchen Namgay is my friend, and he won’t stop insisting that I must write something for him. I suppose the rather flippant ‘OK’ that eventually spilled from of my undisciplined tongue must be a way of repaying some kind of karmic debt. However it’s happened, I have had to write these few words. As far as I can tell, they only succeed in exhibiting my ignorance, but I’ve also done my best not to preach or teach. Instead, I have tried to offer you a glimpse of my life and the things I love about Buddhism.

        I was four years old when I was recognized as a tulku by none other than H.H. Sakya Trinzin. I’m not telling you this to brag, but to ask you to imagine how strange that must feel. At four, I didn’t think about such things. All I was interested in were toys and food – that was it! Then suddenly my little world changed more or less over night. I went to sleep a carefree four year old, and woke up the next morning as someone else entirely.

        Having been been recognized as a tulku of Thangtong Gyalpo, I was sent to India to begin my monastic education. I still vividly remember the day my parents left me alone with all those bald, red-robed men. I instinctively knew that I would left behind when my parents went home, I just didn’t know when it would happen. One day, they told me they were going out to buy some buckets and that they would be back shortly. I remember playing with some other little monks until I was exhausted, then falling asleep. When I woke up in the middle of the night, my parents were nowhere to be found. When a senior monk told me that they had left for Bhutan, I was devastated. What hurt most was that they didn’t even say goodbye. But, it must have been difficult for them too, especially for my mother, who told me many years later that she had cried all the way home.

        This is how I was introduced to monastic life.

        Most of you probably expect a tulku to be well-behaved, wise and intelligent by nature. You probably also think that tulkus are different from everyone else, that they have special qualities and remember their past lives. Well, it wasn’t like that for me. I was, and still am, a very ordinary boy. I had no special qualities at all, and couldn’t even remember what I had for the lunch that day, let alone my past lives. It was a big surprise to learn during my enthronement, that the title ‘tulku’ literally means ‘the play of a realized being’.

        In the 90s, Pewar Rinpoche gave the Rinchen Terdzö in Bir. One day, I left the empowerment hall to go to the toilet. On my way back, I caught sight of a huge statue enclosed in glass. It was beautiful, and behind it were many mani stones. I was just as naughty and curious as all kids are, and picked up a stone that I then hurled at the glass. Fortunately, it didn’t break, but the sound instantly attracted Orgyen Tobgyal Rinpoche’s attention. I hadn’t realized he was nearby and because he was known back then for his unbridled wrath – everyone was terrified of him – I ran for my life. But not fast enough. His attendant quickly caught me and took me into OT Rinpoche’s presence. There was no escape. Shamelessly, I made up some story about aiming for the tree behind the statue, but OT Rinpoche didn’t buy it for a second. He thumped me heavily on the back several times, grabbed my ear, twisting it painfully, and dragged me back to my seat.

        There’s no point in trying to whitewash it, I was very naughty throughout my student life, particularly during my years at the shedra. Actually, I didn’t study at all – perhaps I managed 50 hours of study in seven years! Most of the time I just slept, read comics, watched movies, and did everything I was told I shouldn’t do. I had the reputation of being the naughtiest student in every class I attended. Some of my friend’s tutors wouldn’t allow them to hang out with me – they thought I’d be a bad influence on their tulkus and that I’d encourage them to be reckless.

        Like many of you, whenever I found myself in difficult or demanding situations, I felt inadequate. I certainly always felt that I wasn’t good enough to be a tulku. I sometimes even had doubts about certain aspects of Buddhism. For instance, when I was studying the Middle Path – or Middle Way – philosophy, I was constantly arguing with my classmates. I’d even go as far as to claim that Buddhism isn’t really that special, it’s just a religion created by a super-smart man called Siddhartha, who everyone believed in unquestioningly.

        Because I’m a tulku and my life and upbringing haven’t been ordinary, many people seem to think that I am destined to naturally exude special qualities. That’s never going to happen. I am no different from any other dweller in samsara. I can’t walk on water or fly in the sky. And although I now know that all I see and experience are just a play, like all the other young men of my age, I’m riddled with negative emotions and turbulent thoughts, and impatient for the next Game of Thrones and Walking Dead series to be shown.

        As a child, I was oblivious to what being a tulku means. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. As I grew older, I began to have doubts about whether or not I really was a ‘play of a realized being’. Had H.H. Sakya Trinzin made a mistake? Could he have picked the wrong boy? Could someone with so many flaws nevertheless be the ‘real deal’? I talked about it a lot with my friends. Although they all agree that I lack any extraordinary tulku qualities, they still truly believe that I am a tulku because they implicitly trust the master who recognized me. And it was their extraordinary faith and devotion in their guru that really made me think.

        I realized that, although I am such a lazy bum, I have had the good karma to meet many special masters and to have received many precious teachings. So, perhaps everything that had happened to me, happened for a reason? Perhaps I was meant to help people? I liked that thought. However small and insignificant it may seem, the idea that I had a purpose transformed my view. Everything I had previously doubted and that seemed useless, suddenly wasn’t.

        I can’t speak for other tulkus, but so far this lifetime I have had to learn and unlearn many things. It took me a while to truly realize that real devotion and undeterred confidence in the Buddha Dharma cannot be found in mere labels and titles, they are a result of constant struggle, introspection, contemplation of the vast teachings of the Buddha, and a deep and heart-felt devotion for the Guru. My Guru, Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche, has been such an inspiration. He has always shown such trust in me, and such incredible kindness. He really helped me overcome my doubts.

        Since realizing that I had a purpose, my belief in Buddhism has grown. I feel happier and more comfortable with myself, regardless of who people think I am. I don’t care any more about whether I’m a tulku or not, and I definitely don’t pressure myself by thinking about it all the time. These days, I just try to be myself and, if possible, help others.

        Khyentse Rinpoche, my Guru, also opened the door to three year retreat for me. But my main reason for remaining in retreat was because he wanted me to. I wouldn’t have dared make that decision on my own. Retreat taught me valuable life-skills, such as cookery, chopping woods, carpentry and torma making! But the most valuable lesson I learned was that, if someone like me can do a three year retreat, there is no limit to what any one of you can do. You just need the will and determination to make a start, then the rest will follow. I should confess, though that, as usual, I was the laziest and the most undisciplined person in the retreat.

        If I could travel back in time to meet my younger self, I would tell him to study more, to give his best to whatever he was doing, to be happier, and not to pressure himself by worrying about what others think of him. At the end of the day, the only person who makes things complicated and unreasonably difficult is you. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but the truth is that nobody else can do your part for you.

        Most people lack confidence these days. I think it’s that lack of confidence that leads to unemployment, loneliness, drug-taking, depression and suicide. Practising Buddhism, doing a little study and practice when you have time, can help to change all that. It helped me – the laziest and naughtiest tulku on the planet – so why shouldn’t it work its magic on your life too? Don’t fall in the trap of imagining that, some day, everything will turn out right, or that you will practise Buddhism once you have retired, because everything in this life is impermanent and unreliable. Ask yourself, do you have just a few minutes each day to do something meaningful? To learn how to rely on yourself, and how to take full responsibility for the rest of your life – not just the good bits? I think everyone does, and perhaps now is the perfect time for you to make a start.