By Tulku Sherdor
An emaciated yogi spending years in remoted retreat cabins in chilly northern climes, usually with no electrical strength or working water... guidance to the United States s such a lot prestigious litigation company, hurtling around the skies in a leased jet to place out criminal brushfires, with billions of greenbacks at stake... A reincarnate Lama swathed in maroon and gold gowns atop a throne of honor amidst millions of clergymen in an impressive temple within the distant Tibetan hinterland of Golog... A Human Rights activist suffering to unfastened indentured slaves within the sweltering jungles of western Nepal... Translator, attendant and center disciple for a dozen years to a real King of loopy Wisdom.... One individual suits all of those descriptions, and lots of extra. examine his impressive existence s trip to date, and his wry, sharp, and candid reflections on existence, demise, rebirth, and that which nor is born nor dies our real nature.
A tender-hearted compliment and elegy to the nice Tibetan Buddhist masters of our occasions. - Moke Mokotoff, Zangdokpalri Foundation
An exciting and unique paintings of literature via a well known western Lama within the Tibetan Buddhist culture, hailed as "deeply relocating and ... remarkably good written." --Erik Pema Kunsang, Rangjung Yeshe
"The great tales rank correct up there with these in Blazing elegance, the memoirs of Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche." -Lama Surya Das, Dzogchen origin
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Additional resources for A Path Strewn with Flowers and Bones
These are traits from previous lives which easily rise to the surface when triggered by the right proximate conditions, like shiny stones loosened from its bed by a small shift in the current of a strong river. The river, here, is the continual flow of our mental impressions and experiences; the current is its ever-shifting pattern of movement, upon which environmental and other changing conditions constantly exert influence. If we are strongly habituated to react to or perceive a particular place or situation in a certain way, even if we never think about it for many years, it can all rush back to us, if the moment is ripe—triggered by an old face, a voice, a song, a smell, a threat, a photo.
But it was no longer my body, my feelings, my thoughts or perceptions. There continued to be a flow of awareness from moment to moment, but the sense that this awareness was centered inside my skull and physical body was gone; it was more like a field, extending off into space without any particular center or boundary. For lack of better words, my presence had expanded way out beyond the confines of my body and my thoughts. Oddly, while there was a sense of mental exaltation and profound physical well-being, any feeling that those experiences belonged to me was almost (but not quite) entirely lacking.
As groups of Lamas chanted in small clusters under the shelter of bright awnings shielding them from the fierce sunlight, we stood respectfully, witnesses to history unfolding, and to signs and portents of the Karmapa’s brilliant realization whose significance we beginners failed to understand. We saw rainbows appearing in clear skies. Some apparently saw snow lions in the scarce, wispy clouds. There was a brief ruckus around the burning pyre itself; later we found out that the heart of the Karmapa had leapt from the flames into the hands of Situ Rinpoche, who placed it in a golden reliquary box with which he offered blessings to all.
A Path Strewn with Flowers and Bones by Tulku Sherdor