By Tulku Sherdor
An emaciated yogi spending years in remoted retreat cabins in chilly northern climes, frequently with out electrical strength or operating water... counsel to the USA 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 hundreds of thousands of priests in a powerful temple within the distant Tibetan hinterland of Golog... A Human Rights activist suffering to loose 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 matches all of those descriptions, and lots of extra. examine his amazing lifestyles s trip up to now, and his wry, sharp, and candid reflections on existence, loss of life, rebirth, and that which nor is born nor dies our precise nature.
A tender-hearted compliment and elegy to the nice Tibetan Buddhist masters of our occasions. - Moke Mokotoff, Zangdokpalri Foundation
An unique 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 fantastic tales rank correct up there with these in Blazing attractiveness, the memoirs of Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche." -Lama Surya Das, Dzogchen beginning
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Extra info for A Path Strewn with Flowers and Bones
Here, Tulku Sherab Dorje, who has relied upon numerous holy Nyingma and Kagyu masters, and spent many years studying and gaining experiential training in Tibetan Buddhism, has collected a set of reflections and accounts of Buddhist philosophy and practice, which are offered for the edification and entertainment of all. I wish to offer these words of aspiration that this work bring enormous benefit and satisfaction to as many people as possible. May its purpose be fulfilled! Hung Kar Dorje of Golog HOMAGE AND DEDICATION To all the iconic, iconoclastic, wisdom personae, oldest in spirit and freshest of heart, who strode center stage into my life from beyond the curtain of snows, loosing a storm of crystal clear winds to pierce my porous shell and whip my attention back on course to their home, pure lands, where my habits and wanderings never would trespass but for the spur and embrace of their intent and loving rebuke.
In which to make this discovery, or else set new goals. Even after all these years, this stands out as the single most ridiculous bit of advice I have ever received. No one in recorded human history has solved the riddle of their own existence in five years, start to finish. So how is fixing such a finite horizon more practical than setting no limit? Both are eminently impractical, when it comes down to it. But it never occurred to me that my goal was, or should be, practical. My one solace through those teen-aged years was a friendship with Andrew Jerassy.
My parents often recall, and relate to others (showing photos from family scrapbooks, of course), some of the peculiar habits I had as a very young child. I regularly would sit by myself silently for an entire afternoon, going unnoticed. I preferred to hold my bladder as long as possible, as if from long practice sitting through interminable monastic ceremonies. Then, I developed the habit of bending forward from a kneeling position and forcefully striking my forehead against the floor, over and over again, as if performing ritual prostrations, developing a large bruise or callus still evident in those old photos.