Essays and articles

This article was originally written for the Jamyang Buddhist Center blog in anticipation of a Kālacakra emmpowerment bestowed by Venerable Jhado Rinpoche

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On a backpacking trip through India many years ago, I bought a t-shirt with an image of the great stupa at Bodhgaya, the spot of Buddha’s enlightenment. The words on the back of the t-shirt, perhaps in an attempt to make a reference to “Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité”, optimistically said “Peace, love, Kalachakara” (sic), a beautiful, if a bit obscure, sequence. The first two aspirations are self-explanatory and noble, no doubt, but what is this third word (in this case misspelled), and why does it matter so much to the followers of the Indo-Tibetan tradition?

Literally translated as “the wheel of time”, Kalachakra has little to do with the eponymous fantasy novel cycle of Robert Jordan, and does not even directly refer to the very flow of time itself (although there is a connection). Instead, it primarily refers to an advanced system of Buddhist methods, tantric methods in particular, which, after travelling through ancient India and the legendary kingdom of Shambhala, eventually found their way to Tibet. There, this system was carefully preserved and diligently applied as a solution to the main Buddhist problem: that of gaining awakening for the benefit of all sentient beings. Since Kalachakra teachings are now spreading in new regions and are being practised (or at least contemplated) by an ever-growing body of students across the world, it might be worthwhile to briefly revisit the history of the system itself. The meaning of the Kalachakra empowerment, which opens the door to the system’s practice but requires a certain level of inner maturity, is also something worth contemplating.

Kalachakra in Shambhala, India, and Tibet

The tantric system of Kalachakra is said to have been originally taught by the historical Buddha himself, though not in his regular form. Using the ability to manifest emanations to guide disciples in accordance with their level and predispositions, the Buddha manifested as the Kalachakra mandala (with its symbolic deities) in Amaravati, in modern-day Andhra Pradesh. The main recipient for this teaching was King Suchandra of the legendary kingdom Shambhala, who then compiled the root tantra of the tradition, composed a commentary to it, and then taught the system in his kingdom, thus turning it into a society of practitioners. (Interestingly enough, despite Shambhala’s semi-legendary nature, it is believed to be still accessible to exceptional yogis: the father of the previous Tsenshab Serkong Rinpoche, for example, was said to have visited Shambhala and brought back fruit unseen in Tibet.)

From King Suchandra, the lineage was transmitted in an uninterrupted manner (with more texts written down the line); eventually, through pure visionary experiences connecting India with Shambhala, the Kalachakra teachings were also revealed to two Indian yogis: Cilupa and Kalachakrapada the Elder. Their combined revelations were eventually brought to Nalanda monastery and shared with a number of masters, who, in turn, brought them to the famous Buddhist translators including Tsami Sangye Drak, Ga Lotsawa, and Dro Lotsawa; each of these made their own contribution to the body of translated Kalachakra literature still extant in Tibet. Three major transmission lineages thus appeared: the Ra lineage (“Ra Lug”), the Dro lineage (“Dro Lug”), and the Tsami lineage (“Tsami Lug”); many minor ones exist as well, stemming from such famous masters as the Kashmiri pandit Shakya Shri and master Vibhutichandra. This historical richness shows that many genuine transmissions of Kalachakra were brought to Tibet, often through great effort and sacrifice; it also highlights the importance of an authentic source for the Dharma one wants to undertake. As many as twenty-four translations of the root texts are said to have been produced in this process, five of them described as being particularly complete.

Moving through the fabric of Tibetan religious history, these early translator lineages interacted with each other and formed the foundation for further teachings and the continuation of the practice tradition. As a result, three major transmissions emerged, still practised and maintained to this day: that of the Jonang school, which specialises in Kalachakra tantra and maintains the view of “luminous other-emptiness” (zhentong); that of the Third Karmapa Rangjung Dorje, appreciated not just by his own Karma Kagyu school but also by the great historical masters of the non-sectarian movement (Ri-me) of Eastern Tibet; and, finally, that of Buton Rinchen Drub, whose lineage was later received by Je Tsongkhapa and by the holders of the Sakya tradition. It is Buton’s (and Tsongkhapa’s) lineage that is maintained by His Holiness the Dalai Lama and that forms an important part of the ceremonial practices maintained by his private monastery, Namgyal. Jhado Rinpoche, as a former abbot of Namgyal, is a highly learned master of the latter transmission, infused with the views and practical advice of Tsongkhapa, Khedrub Norsang Gyatso, the Seventh Dalai Lama, and other great holders of the Gelug lineage.

It is worth noting that in addition to these lineages of transmission for the root texts, commentaries, and empowerments, two special systems of yogic practice arose. Tibet is sometimes said to have eight practice lineages, referring to complete and self-sufficient systems of yogic practice: Ngagyur Nyingma, Kadam, Sakya, Dagpo Kagyu, Shangpa Kagyu, Pacification, Chod, Six-Branched Yoga and Three Vajras; some of these loosely overlap with certain Tibetan Buddhist “schools” (as in the case of Nyingma and Sakya), while others, like Chod, have spread across all the schools and can be equally maintained by masters from many traditions, albeit with certain differences in technique and view. The last two practice lineages, Six-Branched Yoga (or Jordruk in Tibetan) and the Three Vajras (also commonly known as Orgyen Nyendrub, or “Orgyen’s approach and accomplishment”), are both directly derived from Kalachakra. They represent two major strategies for gaining realisation through Kalachakra’s secret yogas: the more widespread one, that of the six yogas (still practised by the abovementioned three extant lineages), and the slightly more obscure one of combining the six yogas into the methods for working with the three vajras of body, speech, and mind. This shows the enormous role that Kalachakra has played in Tibetan religious culture, giving rise to two (out of eight) comprehensive yogic systems that are counted amongst Tibet’s most precious spiritual jewels.

What is an empowerment, anyway?

The immense effort that went into preserving the lineages of Kalachakra transmission was not only focused on the root texts and commentaries brought from India; it also had to do with the dual treasures of “that which ripens (min) and that which liberates (drol)”, the ripening empowerment and the liberating practice instructions that accompany it. In order to properly study and practise Kalachakra, or any other Buddhist tantric system, one was always expected to receive a proper empowerment, or wang, relying on a qualified master who had themselves received the lineage in a proper and verifiable way. This is as true today as it was in Shambhala, ancient India, and early Tibet, and so it might be important to know a few things about the meaning and importance of empowerment ceremonies in Vajrayana Buddhism.

In his book Empowerment and the Path of Liberation, the 16th-century non-sectarian master Tsele Natsok Rangdrol contextualises the role of empowerments in the following way:

Entering the door to the teachings of Secret Mantra Vajrayana depends upon two things: ripening and liberation. Unless you first obtain the ripening empowerments, you are not authorized to hear even a single verse of the tantras, statements and instructions.Translated by Erik Pema Kunsang

Those who attempt to study advanced teachings or apply them without this type of authorisation, he continues, will only create obstacles and accumulate negative imprints. To illustrate this point, he brings up important quotes from a wide array of root tantric texts, such as this one from the Tantra of the Heart Mirror of Vajrasattva:

Just as a boatman without oars Cannot cross to the opposite bank of a river, There will be no accomplishment without the support of empowerment.

Natsok Rangdrol then offers an explanation of the three terms used to refer to an empowerment: the Tibetan term wang (Wylie: dbang), which can literally mean “power”, and the three Sanskrit terms associated with it. For wang, he writes:

Formerly your body, speech, and mind followed deluded habitual tendencies and possessed no independent power. The method that now provides you with natural authority over the indivisible state of the four kayas is called “empowerment”.

Wang is a Tibetan translation for a system of interconnected Sanskrit terms: some of them nouns, some verbs. In Natsok Rangdrol’s presentation, the Sanskrit word abhishincha (literally “to anoint” or “to sprinkle”) refers to the washing away of our obscurations: those of body, speech, mind, and gnosis (or primordial wisdom). The noun abhisheka (“anointment”) means that we are now formally authorised to perform the different aspects of practice, such as working with the pure imagery of Kalachakra tantra or learning to master our inner energies. Finally, the term abhisiddhi (literally “total attainment”) refers to the ripening of our constituent elements (including our skandhas, our pranas, and so forth) into the different aspects of awakening. All four terms show us what is supposed to happen at an empowerment, when a qualified master and a well-prepared disciple come together.

What would that look like in practice, though? If I go to an empowerment, what am I to expect? An empowerment is a process that combines certain ceremonial tasks (mostly performed by the presiding master and his assistants, with minor participation of the students) with a guided meditation shared by the teacher and the participants. Depending on the level of the empowerment (with Kalachakra empowerments typically being the most elaborate and detailed) those gathered go through multiple psychological and symbolic steps: some for preparation, some for the main part, and some to conclude the process with a sense of purpose and auspiciousness. The preparatory parts always include taking Buddhist refuge, adopting bodhisattva precepts, and, in the case of higher classes of tantra, also taking the so-called tantric vows, which then need to be studied and properly maintained. These steps prepare one’s body, speech, and mind for the main activities meant to “ripen” or “empower” the disciple and authorise them to perform the complex yogas of Kalachakra.

The elaborate Kalachakra empowerment

All three lineages described above (those that passed through the Third Karmapa, the Jonang school, and Buton) primarily transmit Kalachakra through a uniquely elaborate empowerment taught in the earlier texts of the system (although that sometimes gets substituted with the more abbreviated forms described in the section below).

Overall, His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama gave the elaborate Kalachakra empowerment (the lineage for which is said to go all the way back to the rulers of Shambhala, and, of course, Tsongkhapa and his disciples) 34 times, 10 of which occurred in the West. In this, he is following in the footsteps of his predecessors, most notably the Seventh Dalai Lama; however, the magnitude of the transmission in the Fourteenth Dalai Lama’s case is unmatched, since hundreds of thousands of people from all over the world are said to have received it or attended it as observers (the Bodhgaya empowerment in 2012 is estimated to have had more than 300,000 participants). A glimpse into the incredible atmosphere of these events is now preserved in Werner Herzog’s 2003 Wheel of Time; further glimpses, however, can be gained from the recorded preliminary teachings, which, due to their open nature, are partly available on His Holiness’s website (see here and here).

His Holiness on one occasion facetiously remarked that he mainly schedules the elaborate empowerment in order to lure people in for the preliminary teachings, in which he would often comment on the foundational Buddhist texts covering the topics of bodhicitta and wisdom. He also allowed for open attendance of the Kalachakra empowerment due to its connection with the ideal of world peace; non-Buddhists were invited to participate as observers and spend some time generating compassion and positive aspirations. In that, each empowerment (often lasting at least 10 days, with all the preliminary rituals, the teachings, and the initiation itself) became a major festival for deepening one’s spiritual practice and one’s sense of the transcendental, along with one’s commitment to peace and harmony.

For Buddhists who were intent on actually practising Kalachakra, at least to some degree, these empowerment proceedings always culminated with the transmission itself, roughly divided into two main parts: (1) seven initial empowerments that establish the permission to undertake generation stage practice, and (2) two sets of four empowerments each that have to do with the more advanced yogas; according to Tsele Natsok Rangdrol, each of these empowerment levels corresponds to a particular aspect of our being that is being purified and ripened. His Holiness did not always give both parts, sometimes only sharing the first one as the essential permission to start practising the basic aspects of the Kalachakra path. Even when he did provide the second part, the general audience was not expected to understand it; the most esoteric and elusive aspects were mainly aimed at lineage holders and advanced practitioners who would be capable of grasping the intent of the teachings.

For those aiming to truly receive the first seven initiations, elaborate materials were developed by senior Western scholars, including Jeffrey Hopkins and Alex Berzin, whose book Introduction to the Kalachakra Initiation became a very popular read amongst those attending the ceremony with His Holiness. The book, although not fully applicable to the more abbreviated forms of Kalachakra transmissions (see below), provides extremely clear information on the general context of Kalachakra teachings and on the precepts and vows that one receiving an initiation would be expected to then maintain. It is a wonderful reminder that one entering the doors of Kalachakra means entering an extremely rich world inseparable from Buddhism’s general teachings on ethics, compassion, and wisdom. Upon receiving the empowerment, one is expected to maintain the quintessential points of Buddhist practice (expressed in the three levels of vows), and usually also perform a daily practice (a “commitment”) that should never be skipped or neglected.

Abhayakaragupta’s Vajravali

Although the primary lineages of Kalachakra transmission (those that also maintain the root texts, commentaries, and elaborate yogic instructions) mainly rely on the elaborate empowerment, certain abbreviated forms exist as well. One of the more famous ones came from the Indian master Abhayakaragupta, who, prompted by his primary meditational deity Vajrayogini, compiled a major tantric collection known as Vajravali, or “Vajra Garland”. Vajravali, which was brought to Tibetans by the Kashmiri pandit Shakya Shribhadra, contains empowerments for many of the advanced tantric systems, along with their sadhanas, or “methods of accomplishment”; the Kalachakra empowerment included in this cycle has a more succinct fourfold structure similar to that of other tantric cycles, and is generally accepted to be an equally suitable entrance to Kalachakra practice. A major technical distinction between the elaborate empowerment and that of Abhayakara (and similar lineages) is also the particular mandala used: sand mandala for the former and cloth (or printed) mandala for the latter.

Collections similar to Vajravali sometimes also include a simpler form of Kalachakra initiation known as the empowerment of the “Coemergent” (Sahaja) Kalachakra. This form, which has its own sadhanas and yogic commentaries associated with it, is, for example, included in the Rinjung Gyatsa collection (that Lama Zopa Rinpoche famously transmitted to early FPMT students in the 1980s), and has also been given in the West by such masters as Garchen Rinpoche.

Later “short lineages”, pure visions, and terma

Since the world of Vajrayana is dynamic and doors to the realm of enlightened kayas are never fully closed, more recent lineages of Kalachakra transmission eventually arose in Tibet as well. One of them comes from Khyenrab Choje, the first Chogye Trichen of the Tsar subschool of Sakya:

While in meditation retreat in the Potala in Lhasa, as a result of his spiritual practice, Khyenrab Choje beheld the sustained vision of the female tantric deity Vajrayogini against the backdrop of the cliffs of Drak Yerpa and received extensive teachings and initiations directly from her. Two forms of Vajrayogini appeared out of the face of the rocks at Drak Yerpa, one red in color and the other white, and together they bestowed the Kalachakra initiation on Khyenrab Choje. When asked if there was any proof of this, his attendant showed the kusha grass Khyenrab Choje brought back with him from the initiation. It was unlike any kusha grass found in this world, with rainbow lights sparkling up and down the length of the dried blades of grass. This direct lineage from Vajrayogini is the shortest, the most recent, and the most direct lineage of Kalachakra that exists in this world.
(From Parting from the Four Attachments)

Although Khyenrab Choje lived in the 15th century, his unique lineage is very much alive today, carried over by the masters of Tsar and Sakya schools and merged with other transmissions. The 26th Chogye Trichen Rinpoche (a guru to Lama Zopa Rinpoche, His Holiness the Dalai Lama and His Holiness Sakya Trichen) was an accomplished Kalachakra practitioner himself; when he was giving a major Kalachakra empowerment in Malaysia in 1989, powerful signs of auspicious synchronicity manifested in the following way:

During the initiation of Kalachakra, at the time of the consecration of the physical representation of the mandala by the deities of the wisdom mandala, Rinpoche explained that the deities of the mandala of Kalachakra were now actually present above the physical mandala on the shrine. One of those present remarked that when Rinpoche said this, his words had unusual weight, as though he were clearly seeing this for himself.
Following the initiation, as the chopon was clearing the shrine, he noticed clear markings on the mandala plate…. There were eight clear flower shapes at eight points around the edge of the plate, and two in the center of the plate, making a total of ten flower patterns of “lotuses.” This was seen by everyone and was photographed.
(From Parting from the Four Attachments)

Further teachings related to Kalachakra arose through the terma (or “revealed treasure”) tradition, often primarily associated with the Nyingma lineage. In general, masters of the Nyingma school don’t rely on Kalachakra (which arrived to both India and Tibet quite late) beyond quoting it; a notable exception was Mipham Rinpoche, who wrote a major Kalachakra commentary that is yet to be translated into English. In the absence of a uniquely Nyingma lineage of Kalachakra, the terma teachings (sometimes associated with the subclass of “pure vision” teachings, or dagnang, like those of the Fifth Dalai Lama) might be one of the only ways to experience Kalachakra in union with the view of Dzogchen. Two relatively recent practice cycles from this category are the Ati Kalachakra Longsal of Chögyal Namkhai Norbu and the Kalachakra Six Unions guru sadhana revealed by Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche (another guru to the current Dalai Lama).

In general, when it comes to the terma tradition, most non-sectarian masters (including His Holiness the Dalai Lama) maintain a middle way view: genuine revelations definitely exist (since all the tantras that came from India themselves arose in the same way), but we need to maintain a wise level of discernment and check the origins of a particular cycle. In Approaching the Buddhist Path, His Holiness mentions that the authenticity of a particular terma is usually checked by an authoritative master who considers three factors: whether the teaching and the terma are prophesied by another lineage master (such as Padmasambhava), whether the terma is in harmony with the well-known authentic treasure teachings, and whether the treasure discoverer has authentic qualities. Guided by these criteria in our careful contemplations, we can also consider how Kalachakra continues to be a vibrant element of the spiritual culture of the Himalayan region: having passed through Shambhala, India, Tibet, Mongolia, and now open to the entire world, it continues to inspire further spiritual methods and countless practitioners.

Conclusion

Depending on our individual connections to particular teachers, lineages, and traditions, we might at some point decide to attend a Kalachakra transmission, or just admire it from afar, rejoicing in the positive imprints people are receiving through their practice and study.

Regardless of what decision we make for ourselves, we would be invited to remember that the essence of Dharma lies in the three principal aspects of the path (renunciation, bodhicitta, and the wisdom of emptiness and interdependence), and that any Buddhist tantric practice, if we choose to undertake some, would have to rely on proper cultivation of these foundational blocks. Without them, and the associated practice of mind-training methods (lojong) and foundational learning, we risk turning the advanced teachings and methods of Kalachakra into an object of mere intellectual fascination. An even greater danger lies in turning these advanced contemplative methods into a system of esoteric techniques leading us away from compassion, potentially even fortifying our sense of self-importance and increasing the distance between us and our fellow sentient beings. However, if our practice is deeply integrated with the three principal aspects, and if we understand the importance of a healthy and balanced relationship with a spiritual mentor (the master who shares the transmission and who has been carefully checked by us), entering the doors of Kalachakra might give us access to a path that many great beings of the past have walked as well. If we keep deepening our wisdom and compassion, this journey will certainly make a contribution to the healing of the world, which so badly needs its time cycles (symbolically represented by the Wheel of Time, Kalachakra) to be turned into cycles of wisdom and boundless love.

Exploring the Heart of Buddhist Meditation

October 30, 2026 Mikhail Morozov

This article was originally written for the Jamyang Buddhist Center blog, in anticipation of Jamyang’s course on the calm abiding and special insight sections of Lamrim Chenmo

Trying to identify the very heart of Buddhist meditation—its most quintessential element—is an interesting thought exercise, since opinions would obviously vary. Some traditions might perhaps point at the pinnacle of their contemplative arsenal—at the most advanced teachings related to wisdom, such as “silent illumination”, Mahamudra or Dzogchen. Others might mention a particular quintessentialized presentation of all the main aspects of the path, or even mention a specific mental quality, such as mindfulness, as being of utmost importance. There are also pithy statements summarizing everything in one point, such as Mingyur Rinpoche’s famous “The essence of meditation is awareness.” However, if we were to take a more broad overview of Buddhism’s multiple branches, a slightly more elaborate and cross-traditional answer might present itself: the practices that really characterize the Buddha’s unique approach to solving the problem of suffering are the dual methods of calm abiding and special insight–also known under the Sanskrit names, shamatha and vipashyana (or samatha and vipassana in Pali).

Shamatha practices were nothing new by the time of the Buddha; a part of a larger system of training known as samadhi (sometimes translated as “concentration” or, more literally, as “complete placement”), they were already perfected by the previous generations of practitioners and offered widely by the very two teachers that the Buddha himself studied with, Udraka Ramaputra and Arada Kalama. Prince Siddhartha Gautama was particularly gifted in the arts of samadhi and thus picked up everything that the two masters had to offer extremely fast. He discovered, however, that the training in concentration alone was not sufficient; it had to be combined with wisdom (prajna), cultivated through the practices of vipashyana, or special insight. Dr. Alan Wallace occasionally compares this combination of methods to the union of technology and science: shamatha provides the seeker with the contemplative technology (not unlike a telescope or a microscope, but for the mind) which can then be put to the service of contemplative science, primarily explored through vipashyana. Most of Buddha’s elaborate teaching career was spent on directly and indirectly teaching the methods of shamatha and vipashyana, along with the underlying level of ethical practice necessary to support the two.

Since the practices of shamatha and vipashyana are present in all the major Buddhist traditions, no matter how we classify them, one might naturally assume that they are fairly important, and quite likely even indispensable. However, for a modern practitioner, their usefulness might be proven even before entering the gateways of Buddhism proper, at the more common secularized level of practice shared by Buddhists and those who use the science-backed secular training modalities. Early evidence suggests, for example, that shamatha practices might improve the lives of those suffering from attention deficit, whereas emptiness-centered vipashyana meditations seem to support greater compassion and emotional wellbeing. Infinitely more research is needed, and is underway, but even these early publications suggest that one’s interest in these dual practices might be well-warranted.

What of Buddhists and their spiritual aspirations, then? At which point do these practices become particularly important? The answer is fairly straightforward: as soon as one starts aspiring for an irreversible transformation of the mind in this very life. Buddhist practitioners primarily aspiring for a good rebirth, whether in the human realm or in the Pure Lands such as Sukhavati, are usually not invited to practice shamatha and vipashyana as something indispensable (even though these practices can have a strengthening effect on one’s ethical discipline, which is still seen as essential). For this reason, some branches of the Pure Land tradition in East Asia do not teach these methods in an outward manner (although one might argue that focusing one’s mind single-pointedly on the Buddha of Infinite Light does bear semblance to shamatha). However, as soon as one starts actively aspiring for personal liberation or full awakening–the two higher goals delineated by the lamrim tradition of Tibetan Buddhism–shamatha and vipashyana gain utmost importance. For those moving towards arhatship, or personal liberation, these two correspond to the second and third of the three higher trainings (namely, the training in mental stability and wisdom). For those on the bodhisattva path, they form the last two moral perfections, or paramitas, that are necessary for becoming awakened. Those who integrate their bodhisattva journey with the skillful methods of Buddhist tantra are not exempt from this logic, either: attentional stability and the correct view of emptiness remain indispensable, or become even more important to make sure one doesn’t mistakenly turn one’s practice of Vajrayana into a cause for greater suffering instead of boundless happiness. In short, no matter which of the three major vehicles–foundational, that of perfections or that of the secret mantra–one follows: shamatha and vipashyana remain quintessential provisions on the path, or maybe its very essence.

Je Rinpoche on calm abiding and special insight

What, then, of the different presentations of these practices in the Tibetan tradition, and maybe even the Gelug lineage in particular? There is no shortage of brilliant and inspiring sources: some extremely quintessential and only presenting one or two specific methods, and some extremely elaborate. When it comes to the elaborate presentations offered by the founder of tradition, Je Rinpoche Tsongkhapa, certain ambivalence of emotional reactions from modern readers might exist: some would find them greatly inspiring, while others would feel too much effort has to go into studying such detailed teachings. Why bother with such an academic source, one might think, when pith instruction texts teach me all I need to know in just a few paragraphs or even lines?

It is true that pith instruction manuals (whether short or elaborate) do exist and do already offer us a lot to chew on. Tsongkhapa certainly originated his own lineage of pith instructions on shamatha and vipashyana, some of which were eventually codified by Panchen Losang Chokyi Gyaltsen in his teachings on the Gelug-Kagyu style of Mahamudra. Why, then, read, let alone study, the presentation in such elaborate texts as Lamrim Chenmo, or the Great Presentation of the Stages of the Path to Awakening? Perhaps for two reasons: to know the full outline of the land, and to undo the knots of incorrect assumptions many of us–as first generation practitioners of Buddhism–might habitually carry.

Lamrim Chenmo, as Je Rinpoche’s opus magnum, does not simply offer practical instructions on the practice of the graduated path: those are already included in other manuals, including Tsongkhapa’s own Middle-Length Lamrim. Lamrim Chenmo, as the most elaborate version, presents the same essential points–the same map, in a way–but does so with much greater detail, going, on occasion, into detailed polemical presentations that would be of great help to the doubtful mind. The difference in the amount of detail is meant to give greater understanding. To use a medical analogy, it’s as if we were going from the ability to simply perform a medical procedure to an intimate understanding of human anatomy that underpins said procedure; we understand the deeper logic of things, which dispels our doubt and strengthens our resolve to keep practicing. While the hunger for scholarly perfection would probably not be quenched even by Lamrim Chenmo, the practitioner in us would receive more than enough to work with.

Tsongkhapa’s presentation of calm abiding, or shamatha, unpacks the practice (and the associated perfection of mental stability) with great detail. Je Rinpoche scoured a great number of sutras (such as the King of Samadhis Sutra and the Sutra Unravelling the Intended Meaning) and shastras (including the works of Kamalashila, Maitreya and Asanga) and brought the key points together in a clear presentation that could equally be used by an anthropologist and an actual practitioner. The difference between Lamrim Chenmo’s presentation and that of a short pith instruction text is in the level of detail on our inner map. For instance, when talking about the shamatha objects, Tsongkhapa does not limit himself to one, two or even ten; he presents the widest possible array, eventually settling on the visualized image of the Buddha as the main example (suggested, amongst other things, for its relationship with the visualization practices of tantra). He also unpacks the preliminary conditions necessary for undertaking a successful shamatha retreat; the mental factors that need to be fine-tuned for the practice of calm abiding to be successful; and, finally, the stages of progress, each accompanied by the gradual decrease in the levels of laxity and excitation and culminating with the actual realization of calm abiding. In exploring these topics, Tsongkhapa alternates actual authoritative explanations (supported by numerous references to the shastras and sutras) with a “question and answer” format, dealing with potential doubts and objections in a way that makes the path extremely clear.

This presentation of calm abiding, though elaborate, is still dwarfed by Lamrim Chenmo’s section of special insight. Written for practitioners who are also not shy of a certain amount of study, it goes into great length to first explain what special insight itself is, and then to unpack the ways to construct one’s vipashyana practice focused on emptiness. The Gelug approach to meditating on emptiness puts great emphasis on the correct identification of the “object of negation”–the impossible type of existence that the meditating mind has to refute. Since exaggerating or underestimating this object can lead one to the extremes of nihilism and eternalism, Tsongkhapa takes great care to present his unique and powerful understanding of Chandrakirti’s and Buddhapalita’s view on the matter, engaging, again, in a type of virtual debate with the potential objections regarding the topic. In this, the extremely elaborate presentation of Lamrim Chenmo works well in combination with Tsongkhapa’s own more abbreviated presentation in the Middle-Length Lamrim, along with careful guidance from a teacher experienced in these meditations. An unsupported beginner might feel that the profusion of information is overwhelming, but someone supported by gentle guidance and clear contextualizing explanations would see how each point becomes a major source of support for one’s emptiness practice. For a Gelug practitioner, the study of the insight section of Lamrim Chenmo is a way to look straight into Tsongkhapa’s intent for how emptiness meditations should be done; it is a synthesis of everything that Je Rinpoche had to say on the matter in his other seminal works on wisdom.

Studying a text as elaborate as Lamrim Chenmo and practicing shamatha and vipashyana might initially feel like two very different types of activity. If we want to meditate, shouldn’t we just… meditate? No one is blocking us from making our first attempts to calm the mind at a very early stage; but it is also true that careful exploration of the maps offered by Je Rinpoche would make us infinitely more informed as we try to undertake the elaborate, complex and exciting journey known as the contemplative path. After all, even His Holiness the Dalai Lama, known for his mastery of numerous shastras and tantras, turns to Lamrim Chenmo often enough to have read it dozens of times (as once mentioned by Lama Zopa Rinpoche, who also used to advise his students to read and re-read the lamrim texts multiple times). It was the one book His Holiness carried with him when leaving the Norbulingka summer palace on March 17, 1959; the very same cherished copy was later used to give teachings and explanations to numerous students across the world. By tapping into the same source, we can hope to cultivate some of the same wisdom and practical insights that the entire lineage of Je Rinpoche’s heirs has so beautifully embodied.

Becoming wise in just 400 verses

October 30, 2026 Mikhail Morozov

*Image: Aryadeva | From the* *Himalayan Art Collection*

This article was originally written for the Jamyang Buddhist Center blog in anticipation of the cneter’s upcoming course on “400 verses” by Āryadeva

One aspect of the richness of the Indo-Tibetan Buddhist tradition is its textual legacy: an incredible collection of texts to peruse, contemplate, and apply in one’s meditation, both translated from Indian sources and written by the great masters of Tibet.

Even though the primary source material for most Buddhist teachings comes from the sutras, or the discourses given by the Buddha, it is fairly rare for them to be at the center of one’s philosophical studies. In contrast to the Pali suttas, which tend to be more linear, sutras that belong to the Sanskrit tradition often cover a lot of territory and present a complex narrative that is not easy to immediately make sense of; think of being introduced to Star Wars or Star Trek in the middle of an episode, with no beginning or end in sight. For a newcomer to Buddhism, or even someone already immersed in the tradition but hoping to develop coherent understanding, the’ teachings of the sutras might be initially somewhat confusing—especially since valuable information on the same topic is usually scattered over hundreds of individual discourses. To support the study and practice of future generations through well-organized explanations, the great masters of India wrote the so-called śāstras: treatises that are meant to “heal and protect the teachings”.

Most of the quintessential śāstras used by the Mahāyāna tradition (in its northern and eastern branches alike) were composed by the so-called “Seventeen Panditas of Nālandā”: great masters closely associated with the ancient Indian monastic universities of Odantapuri, Vikramaśilā, and Nālandā proper. This list of 17 most prominent figures was created and popularized by His Holiness the Dalai Lama, who frequently refers to himself as a follower of the intellectual and practical tradition established by these great scholar-practitioners. Interestingly enough, some of these masters, like Atīśa, were not from Nālandā itself, and had stronger ties to Vikramaśilā, and, to a lesser degree, Odantapuri. Others, like Nāgārjuna and Āryadeva, quite likely predate Nālandā as the great institution that it later came to be. However, since the works of all these scholars have frequently been used side by side, and since their lineages of transmission almost inevitably pass through Nālandā proper, the common name of “Nālandā tradition” is used to refer to their intellectual legacy as a whole.

Āryadeva, the master with one eye

While the first place in the list of these 17 masters is rightfully occupied by Nāgārjuna, the second belongs to his heart son Āryadeva: the “noble divine one”, to translate his name literally. In his praise of the 17 sages of Nālandā, His Holiness the Dalai Lama describes this master in the following way:

I call to mind the bodhisattva Aryadeva,
His [i.e. Nāgārjuna’s] principal spiritual son, peerlessly learned and accomplished,
Who traversed the ocean of Buddhist and other philosophical systems,
Who is the glorious crowning jewel amongst all the holders of Nagarjuna’s teachings.
(Translated by Geshe Lhakdor)

Historical research places Āryadeva somewhere between 2nd and 3rd centuries AD, close to the peak (or later period) of Nāgārjuna’s activity as a writer and teacher. Like many other Buddhist scholars of that era, including Śāntideva and Atīśa, Āryadeva was said to hail from a royal family, in this case of Sinhala (modern day Sri Lanka)—although there are different opinions on whether he was born from a mother’s womb or just miraculously appeared in a lotus flower like Padmasambhava. In either case, future Āryadeva was a member of the ruling clan who gave up his connection to royalty in order to study and practice the Dharma. Having mastered the Three Baskets (or Tripitaka: the teachings of Vinaya, Sūtra and Abhidharma), he sought to gain even deeper understanding and eventually received both sutric and tantric teachings from Nāgārjuna, using them to deepen his own experience and to excel in debate against the non-Buddhist tenet systems. The latter was still necessary to protect the tradition and also ensure the continuous flow of royal support.

Āryadeva’s mastery as a debater and the incredible sharpness of his intellect are highlighted in one of the main legends associated with his life: the story of him losing an eye and winning a battle against Matrcheta (sometimes identified as Aśvaghoṣa, the author of a famous biography of the Buddha). As the story goes, Matrcheta, who was originally a devotee of Shiva, was consistently victorious in his debates with Buddhist monastics, which meant that they (in following the rules of debate) had to convert to his teachings and propitiate Shiva as well. Receiving the Buddhist plea for help and setting out on the path, Āryadeva received some last-moment coaching from Nāgārjuna (which led the student to arrogantly proclaim himself the winner), along with a cryptic prophecy: “Along the way, you will have to make a sacrifice; but if you do so without regret, that which you lost will restored to you.”

While traveling to the place of the debate with his powers of swift movement, Āryadeva came across a woman who needed the eye of a monk in order to gain certain worldly attainments. Pulling the eye out (which already shows a great degree of composure), he generously gave it away, but felt regret when he looked back and saw that she was crushing the eye with a stone. It was this fairytale-like (or Greek myth-like) act that left Āryadeva one-eyed for the rest of his life—which, while greatly inconvenient practice, might carry the symbolic meaning of having the eye of non-dual wisdom. Despite this misadventure along the way, Āryadeva was successful in using his great wisdom and his miraculous powers to defeat Matrcheta and ward off Shiva’s attempts to help his champion. Eventually, Matrcheta was forced to accept defeat and study under Āryadeva, feeling great regret at the thought of harm that he’s brought by persecuting Buddhists and destroying their scriptures; combining his own intellectual prowess with the powerful teachings of his master, he too is said to have become a master of the Dharma.

Interestingly enough, in commenting on Āryadeva’s missteps: regretting giving up the eye and feeling momentarily superior to Nāgārjuna, His Holiness suggests we take some aspects of the story with a grain of salt—or, rather, as something that requires further interpretation:

From another perspective, Nāgārjuna and Āryadeva were highly realized ārya bodhisattvas. Thus this story seems odd, for it appears to ignore Āryadeva’s mastery. Surely someone with his realizations would never have behaved like that toward his spiritual mentor. Nor would he have given one of his eyes to someone for whom it was of no benefit. Similarly, he would not have regretted his generosity afterward. Because this story makes Āryadeva appear imprudent, I question whether these events should be taken literally.
(Approaching the Buddhist Path, pp. 139-140)

Four Hundred Verses

The story of Āryadeva’s victory over Matrcheta demonstrates both his meditative achievements (which he needed to deal with the more magical aspects of the debate) and the incredible sharpness of his learned mind. It is this latter quality that made him a true heart-son of Nāgārjuna, whose teachings on the Middle Way can hardly be described as “easily accessible”. In fact, Āryadeva’s main work, Four Hundred Verses (or Catuḥśataka), was probably crafted as a bridge between Nāgārjuna’s profound vision of emptiness (expressed especially in his Root Verses of the Middle Way) and what regular beings can actually understand and train in. While making Nāgārjuna’s vision of reality more accessible (in relative terms) for a practitioner on the path, Āryadeva is also teaching what the practice itself consists of: a gradual grinding away of the afflictive elements and unhelpful types of behavior. A famous summary of this approach is verse 190 of the text itself:

First prevent the demeritorious;
next prevent self;
later prevent views of all kinds.
Whoever knows of this is wise.

The full Tibetan name of the text, Four Hundred Verse Śāstra on the Conduct of Bodhisattva Yoga, implies that the text is a treatise for those with a Mahāyāna disposition. It is not a guidebook for Buddhism in general (let alone popular mindfulness), but a practice manual for those who want to eventually realize the two types of bodhicitta and arrive at full awakening for the benefit of all beings. The “yoga” part might not be immediately apparent, since the first four chapters of the text deal with philosophy—or, in fact, what we can call “philosophical intelligence”, the ability to use philosophy to interpret and perceive reality correctly. In these opening chapters (each of which has 25 verses, like all the other chapters of the text) Āryadeva helps us argue against four fundamental mistakes our mind constantly commits—the so-called “four distortions”:

1) Seeing impermanent as permanent

2) Seeing that which is polluted as pleasurable

3) Seeing the psychophysical aggregates as clean

4) Seeing aggregates as a proper basis for feeling pride

For a beginner, these contemplations might seem quite abstract, especially when taken as a basis for intellectual speculation not accompanied by deep personal reflections and meditation. The actual purpose of Āryadeva’s verses, however, is to make us contemplate and feel the truth of impermanence, non-pleasurability and so forth. Through integrating these four themes into our experience, we become a suitable vessel for the more advanced teachings on the bodhisattva path and emptiness; in this manner, Four Hundred Verses is actually a manual for the psychological transformation we need to undertake on the path: first through contemplating the four distortions, then through mastering the bodhisattva virtues, and eventually through cognizing emptiness directly.

Recalling her own earliest experiences of meditating on the very first chapter of the Four Hundred, Venerable Thubten Chodron shares a very down-to-earth story:

My neighbor at that time was a young woman who loved to play her radio very loud. And it used to drive me kind of crazy, but when I was meditating on this text it ceased driving me crazy. It was like, “Well, the sound is impermanent. My life is impermanent. I don’t want to be thinking about the sound when I die, so I’m not going to even think about it when I’m alive.” And so all these different things that usually the mind would get anxious or fearful or worried about, I began to be able to see them from a completely different perspective. That they’re just things of this life and that Dharma is definitely more important. And so that made the mind stop the worry and the fear and the anxiety.

Summarizing the overall experience of studying the text in Dharamsala in the 1970s, she adds:

And I remember that time period as one of the times when my mind has been the most calm, the most peaceful.

Despite the importance of the four distortions—and the contemplations that serve as their antidote—on the path, Catuḥśataka, as a guide for the Mahāyāna path, does not in any way limit itself to them. Chapters 5 through 8 focus on the virtuous conduct of the bodhisattva—something that also belongs to the category of conventional truth and helps a practitioner build a solid foundation for insight into the ultimate. From chapter 9 onwards Āryadeva focuses on unpacking (or, perhaps, “repackaging”) the emptiness teachings of Nāgārjuna, presenting them, once again, as a foundation for practice, in this case the practice of meditative vipaśyanā. In a way, Catuḥśataka is a complete, time-tested textbook for developing the conventional and ultimate types of wisdom while also undertaking the elaborate virtuous activity of a true bodhisattva. While not as simple and accessible as the lamrim texts created by Tibetan authors (or even Śāntideva’s Way of the Bodhisattva), it still has all the features of a practice manual that can be deeply transformative to a diligent practitioner led a skillful guide.

As a final note, the benefit we can derive from a śāstra like Catuḥśataka is directly dependent on both our own diligence and the qualifications of the teacher unpacking the material for us. Āryadeva’s style, while brilliant and sharp in its ability to challenge our assumptions, is characteristic of the age he lived in and is therefore not easily accessible to a modern reader. Receiving an elaborate commentary that we can then weave into our meditation serves as the main way to integrate the insights of the Nālandā masters into our own life and our gradual progression towards enlightenment.

Seeking inspiration in the Twelve Deeds: rom “mastering arts and crafts” to “renunciation”

October 30, 2026 Mikhail Morozov

This article was originally written for Jamyang Buddhist Center blog. See part 1 here

One of the highlights of Jamyang’s large shrine room is the 12 gold-covered bas-reliefs depicting the 12 deeds of the Buddha. In this piece, Michael Lobsang Tenpa continues exploring the twelve deeds as they are presented in the sutric Sanskrit literature.

The deeds of the Buddha between his birth and his renunciation of worldly life are relatively well-known, though, perhaps, little studied; they are certainly presented in greater detail than the history of the early years of Jesus. Most of these acts, at least from the point of view of the Sanskrit tradition, have to do with the future Buddha’s accumulated spiritual potential: the incredible spiritual maturity brought from past lives inevitably shines through again and again, inspiring everyone around and laying the groundwork for the illustrious teaching career that would eventually begin once full awakening was attained. One aspect of this groundwork are the future Buddha’s deeds meant to illuminate the minds of his retinue, planting the seeds for their own eventual spiritual realization. Another aspect is guiding the future generations—including us, who, in contemplating these intermediate deeds, can find inspiration for our own accumulation of merit and wisdom.

Being a prince of the Śākya clan, Siddharta was naturally expected to study the arts and sciences of his time. Instead of pursuing his studies in a gradual manner, he, however, quickly established himself as a prodigy. Even during his first official visit to the school of the Śākya clan (where he was supposed to study with other youths), he inadvertently overwhelms the teacher with his spiritual magnificence, causing the master of literary sciences to prostrate in awe. This scene evokes a few verses of praise from a worldly god who is observing the event and notes that the future Buddha is only attending the school to accord with the conventional norms—not because he actually needs any further learning. To prove this point, the bodhisattva proceeds to reveal his mastery of a great number of scripts (including those of non-human beings), inspiring his fellow students to also aspire for full awakening and progress on the spiritual path.

The mastery that the future Buddha reveals is not limited to worldly sciences and arts; it also includes skill in the advanced contemplative arts that were already known to ancient Indians (including the art of single-pointed concentration). On an outing with other Śākyan boys, Siddhartha feels drawn to a rose apple tree, and, sitting underneath it, displays his natural giftedness in the art of samādhi by sequentially entering the four meditative absorptions, or dhyanas. This early experience will later play a rather large role in the bodhisattva’s spiritual career, since this early taste of samādhi will eventually inspire him to discover his signature combination of calm abiding (śamatha) and special insight (vipaśyanā): a quintessential Buddhist recipe. The Lalitavsitara Sūtra additionally claims that it was this experience of samādhi that later inspired the bodhisattva to abandon the world, planting the seed for the sixth deed, that of renunciation. On top of that, the sheer strength of Siddhārtha’s concentration interrupts the movement of certain worldly sages, or rishis, flying over the farm. Initially angered, they discover that the source of their travel delays is a glorious young bodhisattva and end up showering him with praises and good wishes.

The most significant display of Siddhārtha’s natural mastery of worldly arts and sciences happens when he is trying to prove that he is worthy of his chosen bride, Gopa of the Śākya clan (also known as Yasodhara). In order to impress her father, Dandapani the Śākyan, who quite naturally objects to his daughter getting potentially wed to someone uneducated and inexperienced, Siddhārtha participates in a series of tests, competing against his multiple peers (including his future attendant Ānanda and his jealous cousin Devadatta). Even before the start of the contest, he displays Superman-level strength by throwing the corpse of an elephant (meaninglessly murdered by Devadatta) out of the city bounds, lest it releases toxic miasma dangerous to humans. In the contest itself, he once again displays his mastery of sciences (including math), literary arts, and numerous types of physical discipline. A display that particularly stands out is that of archery; much like Rama, who had to string the divine bow of Shiva in order to win the hand of Sita, Siddhārtha has to string and bend the impossibly heavy bow of his own grandfather. Emerging successful in every test, the bodhisattva is once again showing a fundamental Mahāyāna idea: success is brought about by the accumulation of merit; therefore, a being that has completed that accumulation is able to perform its deeds in a perfect, effortless form.

Referencing this contest, the praise attributed to Nāgārjuna states:

Homage to you, lion among men, in all your youthful vigour,
Displaying your prowess in the games at Aṅga-Magadha,
Where you triumphed over the proud contestants,
So that not one could stand as your rival.

By contrast, Khyentse Chokyi Lodro focuses on the act of mastering arts and sciences itself:

Taming an elephant, writing, swimming and the rest—
You become well-versed in the sixty-four crafts and enjoyed the sports of youth,
O wondrous prodigy,
Foremost among humans, grant abundant virtue and excellence!

Delighting in the company of royal consorts

The next deed might come through as somewhat surprising to people who expect the Buddha’s biography to be prudely spiritual and mainly focused on renunciation. What’s so great about delighting in the company of one’s queens and courtiers? The answer lies in the attitude that the future Buddha brought to his courtly, romantic and sensual endeavors—the attitude of combined renunciation and bodhicitta, in particular.

A common theme uniting the previous deed and this one is that of “according with the worldly conventions.” Why would a bodhisattva want to follow those conventions, exactly? In order to help other beings mature, making sure they are ready to eventually receive the liberating instructions. With this in mind, Siddhārtha performs what is expected of a young prince of his age, sensually enjoying the company of his wife and his concubines (Lalitavistara says he had 84000 beautiful companions—hyperbolically or, perhaps, symbolically, since the same number will become famous as the total number of teachings the Buddha supposedly offered). On this note, Naragjuna’s praise states:

Homage to you, who, to comply with worldly convention, And avoid all misdeeds, took on a queen and courtiers.

While the future Buddha was enjoying the company of his wife and concubines (sometimes, as Lalitavistara describes, falling asleep on a sofa in the company of a few of them), the worldly gods and the fully awakened buddhas used their power to emanate a number of songs meant to encourage the bodhisattva on his path.

One part of these songs reminded Siddharrtha of his past lives, spent in accumulating wisdom and merit and performing the heroic deeds described in the Jatakas:

Seeing the beings who are forever without protector,
Hero, you made the following promise:
‘I will awaken to the supreme state without old age or grief
So that I can deliver all beings from death, old age, and other sufferings.’
Therefore, Virtuous One, quickly leave this fine city
And practice the conduct of previous sages.

Another part offered a powerful teaching on the four types of suffering: those of birth, sickness, old age, and death:

“The three worlds are ablaze with the suffering of old age and sickness;
This world is ablaze with the fire of death and without a protector.
Always deluded in impure existence,
Beings spin like a bee caught in a vase.

Yet another one tackled the themes of interdependence and emptiness, offering the bodhisattva—and also us as modern-day practitioners studying his life—a chance to contemplate the essence-less nature of phenomena:

“Desired objects are momentary and empty.
They are as untrue as a magical illusion or a mirage;
They have no substance, like a bubble of water or foam.
The learned ones realize that these objects emerge from conceptualisation.

Those reminders, it is claimed, are a traditional offering to all the bodhisattvas approaching full awakening; and yet they were also not really necessary, since Siddhārtha (at least in the view of the Sanskrit tradition) never really forgot his purpose or got confused by the mistaken appearances of saṃsāra. Like many other things in the Buddha’s life, this deed is a dance, where figures are well-rehearsed and are performed to teach and inspire others—including us as modern-day practitioners.

Throughout his previous deeds, Siddhārtha was already displaying strong renunciation and knowledge of his purpose. However, since the deeds of the wheel-turning buddhas are supposed to unfold sequentially and with proper flair, the bodhisattva’s renunciation of royal life in itself presents a major cosmic drama. It starts with King Śuddhodana seeing an alarming dream of his son leaving to becoming a traveling mendicant. Intent on avoiding this outcome with even greater passion than before, the king builds three palaces and makes sure there are always plenty of guards around Siddhārtha, essentially preventing him from leaving. In addition to that, he wants his son to fully focus on hedonic joys and not witness anything disturbing.

Despite his father’s best effort, Siddhārtha, during his exploration of royal parks, still comes across suffering through the activity of the so-called “four heavenly messengers”. These four figures, described sometimes as magical emanations of worldly gods, are an old person, a sick man lying helplessly in his own filth, a corpse, and, finally, a traveling monastic with an inspiring air of peace and self-mastery. Encountering these four, Siddhārtha asks his charioteer Chanda about the nature of each, inviting us to also contemplate these four destinies: the inevitability of old age, sickness, and death, and the chance to win inner freedom through focused spiritual effort.

Since the retinue shares Siddhārtha’s thoughts with King Śuddhodana, he later becomes even more heavily bent on keeping his son in the palace. Further hedonic joys are provided, and the consorts are ordered to make sure the prince is constantly entertained. An extra heavy gate is installed, and multiple strong youths are placed in all the directions to physically prevent Siddhārtha from leaving (although with a strict order to not harm him). However, what’s meant to happen will still happen—in this case, through the helpful intercession of worldly gods, who have already divined the incredible benefits a fully awakened Buddha can bring to the world. Multiple worldly powers volunteer to perform the necessary tasks: putting the royal retinue to sleep, opening the gate, helping the bodhisattva himself get up, and so forth. Yakshas are tasked with supporting the movement of the prince’s horse, and a “divine road” (allowing for fast and effortless transportation, not unlike hyperspace travel in science fiction), is temporarily set up. An important role is played by the god Dharmacarin, who reminds the bodhisattva that his consorts, and, indeed, all beings with bodies of flesh and blood, are not unlike corpses:

Inspired by the lords of gods,
Immediately the Bodhisattva looked around and examined the retinue of consorts.
Seeing that they had become repulsive,
He thought, “It is true, I live amid a cemetery.”

Further inspired by these thoughts of renunciation and by his bodhicitta, Siddhārtha gets ready to leave—but he has to endure one more test in an argument with Chanda the charioteer. With tears in his eyes, the servant begs Siddhārtha to postpone his quest until old age (following the traditional Hindu model of a sannyasi embarking on a spiritual journey quite late in life), to continue enjoying the royal pleasures and to not leave his beloved ones behind. The bodhisattva, however, remains resolute, and Chanda (witnessing the miraculous opening of the heavy gate by the god Shakra) has to relent. They depart, and, having traveled far enough, the bodhisattva sends Chanda and the horse back to King Śuddhodana and Princess Gopa. Recognising his clothes and long hair as inappropriate for an ascetic, he self-ordains as a traveling mendicant, cutting his hair and trading his white clothes for a safrron-colored garb that has since then become the typical outfit for Buddhist monastics across the world (except in regions where saffron dye was not easily available and was replaced with maroon, like in Tibet, or black, like in China and Japan). Describing this historical act—essentially, the ordination of the first Buddhist monk (who just happens to be Buddha himself), Khyentse Chokyi Lodro writes:

Inspired by renunciation you arrived at the place of purity,
Where you used your blue sword to cut your dark black hair,
And Indra offered you a beautiful saffron-coloured robe—
Supreme protector, may you grant us auspiciousness!

The Buddha’s renunciation of worldly life might not initially seem like much of a template for us. What chances do we have of deities coming to our aid, opening doors and providing us with a heavenly road? And yet, we might notice that the universe is indeed friendly with those who pursue genuine wellbeing; once we develop a more mature vision of what true happiness is, serendipity starts supporting our acts of renunciation, and conditions for focused practice start to arise. For each of us, the right type of practice would be different depending on our current situation: while some are called to perform long-term retreats, others, for now, focus on study, contemplation, and meditation combined with daily life. If any of those activities are performed in the spirit of renunciation and with a genuine attitude of bodhicitta, we are already following in the footsteps of the Buddha, leaving the “cemetery” of our palaces behind and moving towards our own tree of awakening.

Loving Kindness Retreat (2023)

October 28, 2025 Mikhail Morozov

In 2023, I had the joy of facilitating a loving kindness retreat in Lampeter, Wales. The video and audio recordings and the guided meditations from this retreat, along with the additional materials, are freely available below; my hope is that they bring some benefit.

Files and links

Retreat Booklet

Additional quotes

Verse by Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche

Additional links

Retreat schedule

Video

Note: The first few videos have lower video quality since they were recorded on Zoom.

YouTube Playlist

Audio (sessions and meditations)

Audio on SoundCloud

Audio on GoogleDrive

Michael Lobsang Tenpa · Loving Kindness Retreat (2023)

See also

Four Immeasurables Resource Page

Seeking inspiration in the Twelve Deeds of the Buddha: from descent to birth

August 8, 2025 Mikhail Morozov

A painting of the life story of the life Buddha from Himalayan Art Resources

This blogpost was originally written for the Jamyang Buddhist Center

One of the highlights of Jamyang Buddhist Center’s large shrine room is the 12 gold-covered bas-reliefs depicting the 12 deeds of the Buddha. Naturally drawing attention due to the artistic mastery and golden color (so clearly visible against the white of the walls), they might remain a bit a mystery when it comes to the events they depict. In this piece, Michael Lobsang Tenpa explores the lessons that the first 3 of the 12 deeds can offer to us all.

It is common for followers of different spiritual traditions to seek inspiration in the life stories of their respective founders. For Westerners, this is perhaps most strongly exemplified by the Abrahamic paths of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, where the lives of the great prophets serve as a major source of moral guidance. For Hinduism, although it lacks a single founder figure, the same attitude is often held both towards the great Puranic stories (which describe the various exploits of gods and avatars are described) and the life stories of the more recent saints, such as Sri Ramakrishna. These stories are widely read even in the West; I’ve met many Western practitioners who were deeply and intimately familiar with Ramayana and Mahabharata, seeking inspiration in the resilience and virtue praised by these great epic stories. By contrast, few of my Buddhist friends, from any of the major lineages, spend much of their spare time reading and re-reading the life story of the Buddha. It can be argued, of course, that the Buddha’s instructions, contained in the three baskets of Tripitaka and summarized in the treatises of the great Indian, are more than sufficient on their own—at least when it comes to “tasting the chocolate”, to use Lama Thubten Yeshe’s expression. Do we really need to know much about the Buddha himself—beyond the basic narrative covering his birth, renunciation, enlightenment, and passing away? Here’s a working hypothesis: while this type of study is never forced upon us, by undertaking it on a personal basis, we can find a lot of inspiration and learn many valuable lessons.

Inspiration and interdependence

The benefits of learning about the Buddha’s life go beyond becoming superficially inspired to follow in his footsteps (which initially might seem difficult anyway—how many of us are born into royal families and locked up in pleasure groves?) It is not simply a ‘this guy seems great, let me emulate him’ situation, since the more elaborate presentations of the Buddha’s life also provide extensive presentations of his Dharma, illustrating multiple points related to such topics as ethics, compassion, wisdom, karma, impermanence, emptiness, the threes buddha-bodies, and so forth. Of course, all of these could also be summarized under a quintessential heading—such as interdependence, arguably the main principle taught by the Buddha; in reading the major Sanskrit sources on the Buddha’s life, one can see this principle illustrated with great clarity. Amongst these sources we find Aśvaghoṣa’s Buddhacarita and a major Mahāyāna sūtra by the name of ‘The Play in Full’, or Lalitavistara. Reading these two—ideally with a certain understating of basic Buddhist terminology, and better yet, again and again—can introduce us to the major activities of the Buddha and the way they can inspire our own progression on the Mahāyāna path. A helpful framework we can throw on top of these sources is the presentation of the 12 deeds of a buddha, said to be performed by all the wheel-turning awakened ones: those like Śākyamuni, the historical Buddha of our era; Maitreya, the buddha-to-be; and Dipamkara, who is said to be the first buddha of our fortunate eon and whose images are commonly venerated in the Kathmandu valley.

Although Buddhacarita starts with the Buddha’s birth, for general Mahāyāna thought that is hardly the beginning. In a way, Buddha’s life is just the culmination of an extremely vast and arduous journey spanning three incalculable cosmic eons: an iceberg hiding a very vast network of compassionate wise activity. Having generated the enlightened attitude of bodhicitta countless eons ago, the Buddha-to-be spent numerous lifetimes accumulating merit and wisdom and traversing the bodhisattva stages and paths. At the culmination of this journey—and this is where the 12 deeds formally begin—he manifested a radiant body in the divine realm of Tushita, where all the buddhas of our ‘fortunate eon’ first manifest before descending into an actual human birth.

At the moment of his birth in Tushita, the future Buddha is not unlike a fully filled vessel, replete with every type of Dharmic knowledge and all the virtuous qualities. He shares his teachings with the local and visiting worldly gods (in other words, beings with the karma to get a temporary blissful rebirth), but that is not his final destination. According to the second chapter of Lalitavistara, a spontaneously resounding song then exhorts the future Buddha to not miss the right moment for descending into the human realm, lest the wheel of the Dharma there remains unturned.

This exhortation begins the arduous process of preparing for the descent, illustrating the principles of auspiciousness, appropriateness, and skilful means. The gods surrounding the future Buddha enter a discussion related to the potential circumstances for the human rebirth. Which family would be most suitable for the future Buddha? A perfect one has to be selected, but most candidates seem lacking. To explain how much needs to be present for all the conditions to be ideal, the Buddha-to-be describes the 64 qualities of the family and the 32 qualities of the future mother, finally pointing out the only suitable couple: king Śuddhodana and queen Māyādevī of the Śākya clan.

This presentation, if considered from the point of view of karmic causality, is in itself an extremely rich teaching on merit. Following this, the future Buddha immediately imparts another teaching, talking about the 108 ‘gateways to the light of the Dharma’ that all the gods present in Tushita (and the rest of us) should ideally follow: Dharmic principles that need to inform our practice. These include such important practices as the four immeasurables, the four applications of mindfulness, six perfections, and so on—essentially, everything that needs to be present for the Mahāyāna path, either as a practice or as a quality. This is followed by a sequence of pithy instructions on conduct. Ostensibly delivered to the gods, these instructions, again, might also be meant for those learning about the life of the Buddha—us as readers:

For the welfare, benefit, and love of sentient beings,
You should emulate me with your discipline, study,
Conscientiousness, generosity,
Restraint, and self-control.

For you will not be able to accomplish the auspicious teachings
By the mere sound of your voice and speech.
Please adopt the right conduct
And practice what you teach.

(Lalitavistara, Chapter 4, transl. by the Dharmachakra Translation Committee)

The future Buddha then performs another important deed, passing his crown as the head teacher of Tushita to Maitreya, the next buddha of our fortunate eon. In doing that, he creates a lineage of transmission—something quite important in Buddhism in general, especially when it comes to the practice-oriented instructions that require proper guidance underpinned by the experience accumulated by multiple generations. With that, everything is ready for the departure; as a final gesture, the bodhisattva uses his powers to create some auspicious signs in Shuddhodana’s palace.

Meanwhile in the human realm, queen Māyādevī approaches king Śuddhodana and asks for his permission to abide in the 8 precepts (which include celibacy and are still practiced by lay Buddhists on important occasions). She expresses her wish to practice virtue, and asks the king to also show generosity and care towards his people. Delighted by this request, he assents. The stage is now ready for the bodhisattva’s mindstream to descend into the human realm—intriguingly, entering the womb of a mother who is abiding in celibacy. To initiate the technical process itself, the bodhisattva makes his Tushita body radiate boundless light, illuminating the billionfold universe, making it shake, and bringing love and peace to the minds of all sentient beings.

The basic theme for the Buddha’s descent from Tushita is thorough preparation. Already fully replete with virtue and wisdom, the future Buddha sets the stage for his remaining eleven deeds through teaching, radiating inspirational energy and carefully selecting the desirable circumstances. Everything has to be just right: the time, the place, the parents, and the universe itself.

In praising this deed, non-sectarian master Jamyang Khyentse Chokyi Lodro writes:

Placing noble Śvetaketu’s crown upon the head
Of the protector Maitreya in the heaven of Tuṣita,
With five considerations, you came to Jambudvīpa—
Siddhārtha, grant auspiciousness throughout the three times!

(Transl. by Adam Pearcey)

Each journey must have a moment of arrival—especially a journey leading to a womb. Relying on his previous discussions with the worldly gods in Tushita, the future bodhisattva chooses to enter the womb of queen Māyādevī by using the illusory form an elephant: something important to alert humans to his exceptional nature, since this form, according to Lalitavistara, aligns with the traditional Vedic augural systems and would be recognized by the ages. Once again, this act does not involve sexual contact between the king and the queen, since both are holding temporary vows of celibacy. Much like Jesus and the originator of Buddhist Dzogchen teachings, Garab Dorje, the Buddha (at least in this narrative) is described as having been conceived miraculously.

Once the conception-via-elephant-vision occurs, king Śuddhodana is summoned to the queen so that the joyful news can be shared (the king remains surprisingly calm in the face of an immaculate conception, perhaps due to the overall vibe of miracles filling the air). Priests are asked for their opinion on the significance of the queen’s experience. This is where the famous prediction of dual fate is voiced: the child so conceived will either be a universal monarch or a fully awakened Buddha. Overjoyed, the king proceeds to give out riches and to look for a comfortable place for the pregnant queen. In a typical Mahāyāna sūtra fashion (so beautifully exemplified by the Avatamsaka Sūtra), Lalitavistara then presents a vast vision of multiple bodies and dimensions: as various gods offer their palaces, pregnant Māyādevī temporarily gains the ability to abide in all of them at the same time, along with the one offered by her own husband.

Another theme related to this deed is the period of pregnancy itself, which is longer for future buddhas: 10 months pass between entering the womb and birth. In answering Ānanda’s confused question on the potential unpleasantness of hanging out in a regular human womb, the Buddha explains that the future buddhas appear as a fully formed embryo and spend the whole 10 months in a majestic temple hidden inside the mother’s womb (on its ride side, in particular). This pocket dimension, for lack of a better term, is filled with beauty, and the bodhisattva abiding there is comfortable and developed enough to entertain guests from amongst the six classes of beings. During this period, various visitors arrive. Brahma, in particular, comes to offer the future Buddha a drop of vital energy that contains the essence of our world system (which later merits him custodianship over the Buddha’s womb palace). The four directional kings also come to pay homage, and so do Shakra, other divinities, and a variety of other Dharma-sensitive beings.

This deed, once again, exemplifies the idea of proper preparation. While the bodhisattva himself does not reportedly need to mature (already having a fully formed embryo body), waiting 10 months still makes sense as a way to let the world prepare for his eventual arrival. Good fruit needs time to ripen—in the Buddha’s life and in our own.

Praising this deed together with the first one, a famous hymn attributed to Nāgārjuna reads:

Homage to you who, having taught the gods,
Knew the time had come to tame the human world, and
Descending from the god realm like a great elephant,
Foresaw the family of your birth and entered the womb of Māyādevī.

(Transl. by Patrick Gaffney and Adam Pearcey)

After 10 months, the time is ripe for the future Buddha to finally be born; miraculous signs appear all over king Śuddhodana’s kingdom, preparing beings for this joyful occasion. Wishing to give birth in a pleasant grove, queen Māyādevī asks for the king’s permission to travel to Lumbini—now one of the four major pilgrimage places for Buddhists:

Lord, please listen to what is on my mind:
For a long time now, I have thought about the pleasure grove.
If you will not be upset, displeased, or envious,
I should quickly go to that pleasure grove.

(Lalitavistara, Chapter 7, transl. by the Dharmachakra Translation Committee)

Arriving to the pleasure grove in the company of multiple human and divine beings, queen Māyādevī finds a majestic fig tree, praised as the tree that supported the mothers of all the previous buddhas. As she’s holding onto the tree, it bends to pay homage to the future buddha—showing the karmic gravity of a bodhisattva in his last lifetime. Sixty thousand goddesses appear to offer their support and admiration, and a flash of lightning appears in the sky. With that, the prince emerges from the mother’s right side, which immediately fully heals.

Born with full awareness (and offered a fragrant shower by Brahma and Shakra), the prince then proceeds to take seven steps in the different cardinal directions—a scene partly depicted in Bertolucci’s Little Buddha. As the bodhisattva steps on the ground, lotus flowers emerge; the young prince makes an important proclamation in each of the directions. In the east, he says “I will be the cause of all virtuous practices”; in the south, “I am worthy of the offerings of gods and humans”; in the west, “I am the Supreme Being on this earth. This is my last birth, where I shall uproot birth, old age, sickness, and death!” His proclamation in the north is “I will be supreme among all sentient beings!” Finally, he takes seven steps downhill (“I will subjugate Māra and his army! I will cause great rain clouds of the Dharma to shower down on all hell beings, extinguishing the fires of hell and filling the beings there with happiness”) and seven steps uphill, where, lifting his gaze, he proclaims “All sentient beings will look up to me.”

An important part of the Buddha’s birth story is the demise of his mother, who passes away seven days later. Lalitavistara explains that this happens to the mothers of all the buddhas and is caused by the exhaustion of the natural karmic lifespan; were the mothers to remain alive, they would be unable to witness their precious child depart when embarking on a spiritual quest. With queen Māyādevī gone, the role of the Buddha’s mother is taken by her sister, Mahāprajāpatī Gautamī—Buddhism’s future first bhikṣuṇī.

The birth of the Buddha is the formal beginning of his path on our Earth. It is a fascinating turning point, full of promise and potential: the bodhisattva is already here, but his teachings are not ready to be released to all beings (in fact, the sage who definitely predicts Buddha’s full awakening laments his own inability to live long enough to witness the emergence of the Dharma). That, perhaps, is why Jamyang Khyentse Chokyi Lodro praises this deed by asking for blessings—

The Sage took birth within the garden in Lumbinī;
Brahmā and other gods whom people worship paid reverence.
You shone with the splendid marks and signs of a hundred acts of merit—
Son of Śuddhodana, bestow the light of your blessings!

(Transl. by Adam Pearcey)

The Buddha’s birth, let alone his preceding two deeds, never get as much attention as his awakening. That’s understandable, given the importance of enlightenment and the discoveries made therein; and yet we can contemplate each of the deeds, seeing how every act in this important drama of enlightenment has something valuable to teach us: lessons on generosity, kindness, merit-making, auspiciousness, timeliness, and, above all, the implacable wish to benefit all sentient beings. Illuminating our minds with these thoughts, we can supplicate the Buddha for inspiration and continue diligently practicing on the path.

To be continued