Abuse and Realization by Jon Norris

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Abuse and Realization

Abuse and Realization

I have resisted writing this post for many years, but the time has come for me to speak of abuse and exploitation within the corridors of Buddhism. The NY Times article below lays out the current chaos in the Shambhala community fairly well, but this is just the latest in a litany of such cases. There is no need to go into all the sordid details here; there are dozens of books and websites and lawsuits where you can find those, but I would like to make a couple of personal observations.

Although I proudly walk the spiritual path as a Buddhist, I am no fan of religion, not even Buddhism as a religious institution. This may surprise you but a lot of Tibetan lamas feel the same way. The 16th Karmapa admitted that the corruption of monasticism in Tibet contributed to its demise at the hands of the Chinese. The 17th Karmapa has also questioned the viability of the Tibetan lineages and the tulku tradition in the modern world. Clearly he is struggling with the role that has been thrust upon him. The Panchen Lama has been hijacked by the Chinese. The Dalai Lama has questioned whether he will reincarnate at all. Chogyam Trungpa saw fit to recast sectarian Vajrayana as a more secular Shambhala society. Some Theravadin teachers have gone secular as well. The simple fact is that genuine spiritual growth does not require religious institutions and it is often impeded by them.

Every major religion on the planet is prone to corruption because a priest or a lama or a rabbi or an imam or a shaman is by definition invested with powers that their parishioners both fear and covet. In the case of Tibetan Buddhism, those powers put the ever-present temptation of coercion at a lama’s fingertips. We humans are helplessly enslaved by our sexual hormones; the Buddha reckoned our lot as the ‘Desire Realm’. We are creatures of desire. So it is no wonder that so many men and women are coerced into sexual relationships under the guise of holy orders. Just like Catholic priests, Tibetan monks are notorious for their sexual exploits despite having taken vows of celibacy. Sakyong Mipham, the subject of the article below, was conceived out of wedlock by Chogyam Trungpa and Könchok Paldrön (a Tibetan nun) while they were both under vows of celibacy! It is true that in tantra, sexuality can actually be used as a spiritual practice, but this only works if a genuine environment of honesty, compassion, and empowerment is shared between accomplished male and female adepts. In my experience, that sort of environment is rare indeed.

For these reasons, I have always tried to separate the spiritual path from sectarian religion and lineage politics. I have sought out teachers more interested in maintaining a small group of advanced students as opposed to those looking to build world-wide organizations. There is a place for both I suppose, but it only takes one guru and one student to transmit the dharma, and it seems to me that large-scale institutions introduce more obstacles to that enlightenment than they resolve. Monastic environments are rife with accounts of young monks and nuns being abused by their superiors. The larger a meditation center becomes, the more power is concentrated in its inner circle, and the rationing of access to the guru makes exploitation among the sycophants almost inevitable. This has been the standard model of power at every royal court in history, and it is rampant in Buddhist mandalas as well.

Mahasiddhas like Saraha, Tilopa, and Milarepa saw no advantage to monastic life or temple worship at all. They say as much in their songs. They saw celibacy as unnatural and even antithetical to the tantric ideal of innate (sahaja) spontaneity. While Gampopa tried to adapt that tantric ideal to the monastic environment, his dharma brother Rechungpa refused to even try, preferring to maintain the mountain yogi lifestyle. Both traditions have persisted to this day. Nonetheless, differences between proponents of Kriyayoga, Mahayoga, Anutarayoga, and Atiyoga have led to centuries of sectarian squabbling, and this has made the personal journey to realization all the harder. It’s no wonder that most of our dharma champions have spent years in solitary retreat; the logistical, political, financial, and interpersonal demands of religious institutions are like walking through spiritual minefields!

So, what is a western Buddhist to do? It’s a real predicament; our options in the West are limited. Anyone who has joined a western meditation center soon finds themselves immersed in a whirlpool of executive committee meetings, fund raising, book editing, faction politics, rumor mongering, scandalous behavior, intimidation, and arguments over the curriculum. The meditation hall with its neat rows of cushions is less valued as a place to sit in silent contemplation, and more as a venue for ticket-selling seminars featuring world famous celebrities. Finding a long-term meditation instructor who truly understands the nature of mind and how to take the mind as a path can be a real challenge.

Now, what about the abuse and exploitation? What are we to make of a guru who is supposed to embody the paramitas, but exhibits the darkest vices of humanity? Here is an example from my own past. Back about 1974 I helped set up Chogyam Trungpa’s meditation center at 78 Fifth Ave in New York City. Being from the mid-west, I had carpentry expertise that not many New Yorkers had, so I helped remodel a tenth floor loft there, and then I moved in to help manage it. For months after we opened that Fifth Ave Center, we never saw Chogyam Trungpa. We waited and waited for him to visit New York, each of us longing for a chance to have a personal interview or at least attend a seminar. When he did finally come to town, I was asked to serve as his chauffeur and guard. I was thrilled at the prospect—finally—a chance to spend some quality time in the presence of the guru. I actually envisioned sitting in his residence while he discussed dharma topics or translations or provided advanced pointing-out instructions.

When my turn came to serve, I drove a limo over to pick up Rinpoche at a swank apartment on the upper west side just off Central Park. He came down dressed to the nines in a Savile Row suit complete with a boutonnière. It was then I discovered that our curriculum for the night was to pick up a beautiful 20 year old blond model [I will call her Elsie here] who would be Rinpoche’s date for the night. Elsie was a rising star on the New York modeling scene. She was also a promising concert pianist. She had learned of Trungpa through her boyfriend, a New York dentist, who was also a student. How she ended up on a date with Trungpa I have no idea.

So I drove Rinpoche to her apartment building and waited in the car with him while another guard went in to fetch Elsie. And while Rinpoche and I waited there in the car, I was naively hoping that he might actually take the opportunity to inquire how my practice was going. But, to my complete shock, he taunted me from the back seat like a locker-room jock lusting after a homecoming queen, “That Elsie is a stunning woman, isn’t she?” He was practically drooling. There was no hint of respect for her or me in his voice. I knew instantly what he was doing. It was the adolescent display of a massive inferiority complex. He was trying to impress on me that this short swarthy partially-paralyzed Tibetan had finagled himself a date with a Caucasian goddess. This whole evening was about enhancing his status! I blushed in embarrassment for him, but said nothing. I just turned back and looked him square in the eye. He had nothing further to say.

I nearly got out of the car and walked away, but some morbid curiosity convinced me to remain still. I literally had an out of body experience at that point. I watched myself drive that car in third person as if I was just another crazy New York actor in a Woody Allen movie. Off we went, me and the other guard sitting in the front seat, and Elsie sitting with Rinpoche in the back. Our first stop was a fancy French restaurant where Rinpoche dined her by candlelight while we guards sat at the bar. Then it was off to Broadway to see Anthony Hopkins in the play ‘Equus’. Again we guards weren’t invited; we waited in the car outside. After the play was over, it was off to the Algonquin Hotel on 44th Street for cocktails with a few of the meditation center’s executive committee. I suppose they were absorbing the faded ambiance of the literary elite. I could only imagine how much all this was costing, and I could not for a moment understand why this money wasn’t being spent on the students who were struggling to pay their dues.

In the early hours of the morning, we all went back to Rinpoche’s apartment for more drinks and chit chat, and after a time Rinpoche took Elsie by the hand and led her reluctantly down the hallway to his bedroom. The rest of us were left to our own devices. Several people went home at that point, but we guards were expected to remain on duty, so four of us retired to the kitchen table to play poker. I think I may have been the only person there who was gobsmacked by these events. Even as I read my cards and placed my bets, I was heartbroken that Rinpoche had not the slightest inclination to spend this time giving us pointing out instructions or outlining a curriculum for our future dharmic educations. We had waited for months for him to come to New York, and now that he was here, we were playing poker!

About 4 o’clock in the morning we heard the bedroom door open, and I looked up to see Rinpoche waddling down the hallway buck naked. He marched right into the kitchen and took some saké out of the refrigerator. Then he turned to us and smiled broadly as if to declare victory, and waddled back up the hallway again. Why hadn’t he worn a robe? It was obvious. This act was calculated to impress us with his sexual prowess. Whether or not he actually had sex with Elsie I never knew, but knowing her superior strength of character, I seriously doubt it. New York models are not easily impressed. Nevertheless, for Trungpa to create the appearance of it in front of his students demonstrated truly sophomoric immaturity. He showed no respect for Elsie’s reputation at all. Did he conceive of himself as a modern day Drugpa Kunley figure? Were we guards supposed to be impressed and tell the world what we had seen? I don’t know. But from that moment on, I had no more illusions. I knew that I would have to take responsibility for my own enlightenment.

About an hour later the chief guard sent the rest of us home. I walked out onto a cold New York sidewalk in the early morning gloom, and found a subway station for the ride downtown. It was a stark moment—one I never forgot. My whole world had changed that night. For all the good things that Rinpoche would do in the years to come, he continued to exhibit that undercurrent of insecurity, pride, and lust. The countless women consorts, the drugs and alcohol, the jewels, the Lipizzaner stallions, the Kalapa Court with its upstairs/downstairs drama, his infatuation with robes and uniforms from Savile Row—his apologists would call these teaching tools, but I think any good psychologist would call them defense mechanisms. He too was a creature of desire. In the end, they would be his undoing; he died at the age of 48, dissipated and sick. Whatever insight he may have had into the wisdom of Maha Ati, it was not stable but peeking out in moments of brilliant clarity from an all too human psyche. Maybe it was crazy wisdom, or maybe it was just wisdom gone crazy!

Over four decades have passed since those early days in New York. Elsie went on to have a long and successful career as a cover model for Mademoiselle and Vogue. Trungpa won his place in the history books too, as a pioneer in the transmission of Vajrayana to the West. But he also left a legacy of scandal and students with broken dreams. In the wake of the Ösel Tendzin debacle, and the conversion of Vajradhatu into Shambhala International, hundreds if not thousands of former students walked away. Some turned to other teachers, and some gave up on Buddhism altogether. And now we are learning that Trungpa’s model of abuse has continued with his son at Shambhala, and more students are departing. There seems to be some karmic inheritance at work here, and in my humble opinion, if we are going to escape that inheritance we need a new model—a new mandala based on the paramitas, and grounded not in monarchy but in shamatha. That is why I now study with teachers like Khenchen Thrangu Rinpoche and Alan Wallace.

So, the best advice I can offer after decades of trial and error is that each of us has to shoulder the responsibility for our own enlightenment instead of expecting a guru to do it for us. Surely we can benefit from empowerments and pointing outs, etc, etc, but by and large we have to develop shamatha and vipashyana on our own meditation cushions. No guru is going to do the sitting for us. And just being in close proximity to a guru is no substitute for doing the work of meditation. In fact, without a firm grounding in meditation, it is more likely to sweep us up in a tidal wave of emotional distress and karmic chaos.

The Buddhist path is an internal journey. Sitting in a giant hall with thousands of lamas and monks and nuns and laymen for an empowerment or a monlam or a sadhana or any sort of ceremony may be deeply inspirational, but it is not going to enlighten anyone. The miracle of realization unfolds through the stabilization of non-dual quiescence and naked awareness even as you explore the emptiness of appearances in the privacy of your own mind. Look there… and you will see all!

I wish you all the best,

~ Tonpa Jon