May 2009
May 31, 2009BUDDHIST LITERARY HERITAGE PROJECT LAUNCHED
More than 50 of the translators most dedicated to the preservation of the Buddhadharma and 7 incarnate lamas from the major schools of Tibetan Buddhism have resolved to make universally accessible the entire Buddhist literary heritage within the next 100 years. They have named this monumental effort the Buddhist Literary Heritage Project. At the repeated requests of all the conference participants, Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche agreed to be the interim leader and caretaker for this historic undertaking. The action begins immediately with the 5- and 25-year goals that were the essence of the conference proceedings.
Khyentse Foundation, which sponsored the conference, was appointed as the interim secretariat to provide administrative support during the planning process and to begin identifying financial partners.
A number of translators have already offered to train more translators, develop the necessary tools and resources, and provide editorial support for the project. And leading translation groups from around the world have pledged to translate particular sections of the Kangyur.
How big is the project?
The first translation of the Buddhist literary heritage from Sanskrit into Tibetan began in the eighth century and required seven generations of effort by teams of Indian and Tibetan translators under the sponsorship of the Tibetan Dharma kings. Their efforts rescued this precious world heritage from the forces that later annihilated Buddhism in India and nearly eradicated the Sanskrit language. During the political turmoil of the 1960s, Tibetans again rescued these precious texts, carrying them to safety in India, where Gene Smith and the Tibetan Buddhist Resource Center tracked them down, preserved and published them, and posted them on the Internet. Many of these texts are easily available online today, but they are locked away in the Tibetan language, awaiting translators to share their meaning with the world.
Based on Dr. Phillip Stanley’s decades of research, the core of the Buddhist literary heritage in the Tibetan language (not including the collected works of Tibetan masters, Sungbum) totals about 193,000 pages:
• Sutras and Tantras (Kanjur): 1,118 texts containing 65,500 pages.
• Shastras—commentaries on the sutras written by Indian masters (Tenjur): 3,377 texts containing 127,500 pages.
The Importance of the Buddhist Literary Heritage Project
Here’s what some of the conference patrons and participants have to say about the importance of translating the words of the Buddha.
His Holiness the Dalai Lama: Translating Buddhist books will make “an invaluable contribution to a deep and lasting understanding of the Buddhist tradition in western lands.”
His Holiness Sakya Trizin: “Presentation of the dharma in non-Tibetan and non-Sanskrit languages will create great merit and through this so many people can attain liberation and enlightenment.”
His Holiness the 17th Karmapa: “Translating the words of the Buddha and commentarial treatises from Tibetan into English is a necessary foundation for the genuine study and practice of the Buddhadharma for English speakers.”
Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche: “By translating the Buddhist texts into modern languages, you may well be saving a vast swath of Buddhist civilization and culture from global annihilation.”
Dzigar Kongtrul Rinpoche: “What we are doing here is really serving mankind and the world at large.”
Doboom Tulku Rinpoche emphasized the importance of “a new spirit of objectivity and respect for the indigenous Tibetan Buddhist tradition” (in translation) to ensure the survival of pure Buddhadharma in the modern world.
Orgyen Tobgyal Rinpoche called the Kangyur, which the translators aspire to translate within 25 years, “the most precious of all the scriptures” because they are accepted by all Buddhist schools.
Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche: “Having the Kangyur in Western languages, starting with English, is crucial to establishing a genuine lineage of Western Buddhism.”
Jigme Khyentse Rinpoche reminded the translators that what they are really translating is not just the Buddha’s words but the Buddha’s wisdom, realization, and compassion.
Pema Wangyal Rinpoche: [The words of the Buddha are] “a treasure and heritage of mankind that needs to be preserved and translated into other languages” and that can “bring peace and harmony to the world.”
TRANSLATION SKEPTICS Q&A
The Buddhist Literary Heritage Project is immense, ambitious, and important—but it’s difficult for some people to get their minds around it. Translating the entire Buddhist canon will take an enormous amount of energy, and some people have asked us simply: “Why?” Here we’ve attempted to address questions about the project by using the words of Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche and His Holiness the Dalai Lama.
My lama is part of a living tradition. Why do we need to dredge up the past by translating old sutras?
DJKR: The living traditions of Dharma that still exist today—for example, in Japan, China, Thailand, and Burma—have only survived because they had the foresight to translate the original sacred Buddhist texts into their own languages. Also, those in the Tibetan community who are still able to understand and communicate in classical Tibetan are rare. In about 100 years there will be almost no Tibetans who can read the words of Kangyur and Tengyur and understand their meaning, and very soon it will be too late to do anything about it.
The Dalai Lama: I often tell young Tibetans that if they cannot easily understand Tibetan, then they should read English translations. Now even my own brother uses both texts. He reads the Tibetan, and sometimes when it’s a little difficult to understand the meaning of certain terminology, then he reads the English. He compares the two, and finds it very useful.
Why do we need all this text? I have enough practices to do already.
DJKR: Every religion has an original book—Christians have the Bible, Moslems have the Koran, and Buddhists have the Tripitaka. These are of vital importance because what Buddha taught us must always be the final word on any given subject, not what we find in the Shastras—and definitely not what’s to be found in the Tibetan commentaries…. The trend today is for teachers, priests, scholars, politicians, and fanatics to obscure the original meaning of important texts by interpreting them in a way that supports their own personal agendas. This happens in all religions, including Buddhism, and when such problems arise, our beacon of truth can only be the words of Buddha.
I’ll never read this. Who will? It seems to be just for the sake of academics.
DJKR: Very few Tibetans read or study the Kangyur nowadays, and many wonder if it’s worth the effort to translate, especially considering the great resources that would be involved. Among Tibetans, the Kangyur is used as a merit-making object. Monasteries buy a copy and then shelve it. The text is read when offerings are made, but little effort is invested in understanding the meaning of each word. Offering is a powerful way of making merit, but using Kangyur solely for this purpose is neither to be admired nor emulated. In fact it’s a big mistake. Chinese, Thai, and Burmese Buddhists still read and contemplate the sutras, but Tibetans rarely do. My concern is that if we decide not to translate these texts, this Tibetan mistake will be both reinforced and perpetuated. And as Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche noted, translating the Kangyur “is crucial to establishing a genuine lineage of western Buddhism.”
One reason for prioritizing translation work is that we must continue to make available sacred Buddhist texts for non-Tibetans who wish to study and practice the Buddhadharma. But this is not the only reason for us to put all our energy into producing well-translated texts. The Buddhist heritage and culture that permeated Tibetan life for more than 1000 years have all but disappeared in India, its country of origin. The great lotsawas who translated Buddhist texts into Tibetan effectively rescued the Buddhadharma from premature extinction. So what was virtually lost in India can now be found in Tibet, and it’s becoming available again in India. As inauspicious as it may sound, when we look at the current situation in Tibet, and the waning interest of Tibetans themselves in their own language and culture, it’s clear the same near extinction could happen again.
Why translate from the Tibetan when the true original was in Sanskrit?
DJKR: The first translation of the Buddhist literary heritage from Sanskrit into Tibetan began in the eighth century and required seven generations of effort by teams of Indian and Tibetan translators under the sponsorship of the Tibetan Dharma kings. Their efforts rescued this precious world heritage from the forces that later annihilated Buddhism in India and nearly eradicated the Sanskrit language. During the political turmoil of the 1960s, Tibetans again rescued these precious texts, carrying them to safety in India, where Gene Smith and the Tibetan Buddhist Resource Center tracked them down, preserved and published them, and posted them on the Internet. Many of these texts are easily available online today, but they are locked away in the Tibetan language, awaiting translators to share their meaning with the world. Orgyen Tobgyal Rinpoche called the Kangyur, which the translators aspire to translate within 25 years, “the most precious of all the scriptures” because they are accepted by all Buddhist schools.
If you have questions about the Buddhist Literary Heritage Project, please send them to us or post a comment below and we will ask Rinpoche and/or translation team members to address them and post the answers.
May 30, 2009
JIGME KHYENTSE RINPOCHE ON THE IMPORTANCE OF VIEW
Tulku Jigme Khyentse Rinpoche placed the aspirations of the translators solidly in the Buddhadharma framework of bodhicitta, wisdom, and compassion.
“Infrastructure is very important, and funding is necessary of course, but even more important than that is bodhicitta. Without that, what are we going to translate? What is the use?... With bodhicitta it’s possible to develop wisdom, not just knowledge. That wisdom is what we’re trying to transmit.”
Jigme Khyentse Rinpoche placed the aspirations of the conference solidly in the Buddhadharma framework of bodhicitta, wisdom, and compassion. He emphasized the importance of aspiration and merit, and invoked the spirit of Tibetan Patron King Trisong Deutsen; Shantarakshita, who was instrumental in introducing Buddhism to Tibet; Guru Rinpoche Padmasambhava; and the great translator Vairochana. Read more of Tulku Jigme’s words of wisdom to conference participants on pages 50-52 of the Conference Proceedings.
PENOR RINPOCHE 1932-2009
Penor Rinpoche, head of the Nyingma lineage from 1993 to 2001, passed away in March of 2009. Read a biography of Penor Rinpoche. Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche sent the following message about his passing.
“Last month yet another great master, Kyabjé Penor Rinpoche, passed into parinirvana. What a loss for the world! And what a loss for those of us who have a connection with him! For me, his passing has brought home the troubling realization that, while many great masters are still alive and with us, from the point of view of our own impure perceptions, they are no longer young, and sometimes appear to be quite frail. This worrying reality should inspire in all of us a real sense of urgency.”
Read more…
NEPAL TEACHINGS AVAILABLE AS MP3 DOWNLAODS
Rinpoche’s teachings on Parting from the Four Attachments, June 2 through 11, at the International Buddhist Academy in Nepal, will be posted on the SI website. This is Rinpoche’s only scheduled public teaching for the rest of this year. Although it may not be possible for you to take part in the retreat in Kathmandu, you can download MP3 files of the teachings and do your own retreat at home. Visit the Siddhartha’s Intent web site to download.
NEVER STOP ASKING
Lynn Hoberg shares what it’s like to volunteer behind the scenes of a historic event when emotions are running high and so much is at stake.
Let them have me perform deeds that are conducive to their happiness. Whoever resorts to me, may it never be in vain. Whether they look at me with anger or admiration, may this always be a cause for accomplishing all their goals.
—Shantideva, The Bodhicharyavatara
NEVER STOP ASKING
By Lynn Hoberg
It’s early August of 2008 and I’m speeding through Vancouver in my rental car. I’m late, and I’m beginning to realize that, after dropping a friend in Yaletown, I’ve misjudged the distance back to the University of British Columbia campus and I’m going to be more than 20 minutes late for my lunch meeting. As I drive, I’m thinking about my reluctance to commit to this next project. I’ve been volunteering for Khyentse Foundation for several years, and Cangioli Che (the executive director of the Foundation) has asked me to consider taking on some work for the upcoming translation conference.
I’ve been to India before and I understand some basic things about travel in the region, so my main position would be travel coordinator. There will be buses to hire, airport transfers to arrange, hotels to book, itineraries to plan, and overland routes to map out, and there will be many Rinpoches and special guests to consider. My responsibilities won’t end there—I will be expected to oversee the production and printing of conference materials and provide administrative support, as well as assist with on-site volunteer coordination.
I have yet to agree to volunteer for the project (although from the beginning I knew I would say yes) because I need to be sure that I can take the time to travel to India, be confident that my finances can bear the time off, and be clear about what the team will need. I have to be sure that I can actually do what is being asked of me!
But as I careen through the Vancouver streets, I’m also thinking about how I pray to be asked to do things like this, and how I’m amazed and honored that people think I can do these jobs well. So I race through the university campus, hoping the conference team won’t reconsider just because I’m grossly tardy to our meeting.
Seven months later I’m sitting in Delhi International airport, waiting for Cangioli’s plane to arrive from San Francisco, just 45 minutes after my flight from New York. Already Delhi looks different from the way I remember it. The airport seems brighter, cleaner, and far less chaotic than it did the last time I was here. I think about the first time I came to India, in 1994, and how emerging into the heat and aroma of the arrivals hall felt like an assault. Tonight it seems quiet and light. From across the room I hear Pema Wangchuk yell “Lynn!” and I look up to see him waving. I feel unbelievably joyful and relieved to see him; he is not only a wonderful and generous person but also the master of all travel on the Indian subcontinent. Everything I will need to know as travel coordinator, Pema Wangchuk already knows.
It’s about midnight, and we wait in the airport café. Pema buys me a bottle of water and himself a coffee. Pema has been one of Rinpoche’s secretaries forever and has lived in Delhi for over 15 years. He speaks fluent English and Hindi, as well as his native eastern Bhutanese dialect. He is unflappable. As we catch up over beverages I laugh and feel happy to be back in this foreign land that I love so inexplicably much. But I have only just arrived, and I have no idea of the obstacles that will arise in the coming weeks.
For example, I’m unaware that in a few days I will need to book last-minute flights for a group of Rinpoches and only Pema will know how to arrange them. I don’t yet know that I need special cars to meet translators in Delhi, Chandigar, and Dharamsala, and he will know whom to call at a moment’s notice. And I certainly don’t yet know that, even though I tell him not to, he will get out of bed at 4 AM to greet some late-arriving translators. But what I do know now, as we sit at the airport, is that his response to all of my queries is, “don’t worry, no problem.” And as always, he will be right.
Ten days later the translators begin to arrive at Deer Park. In the past week I have been busy finalizing the details of how everyone will travel and where each person will stay. The workload has been well beyond what I had expected. At first it seemed like we had plenty of volunteers, but after a week of preparing on site, it seems like everyone is doing double or even triple duty. The list of tasks seems endless. Every room has to be cleaned. Menus have to be revised and enhanced. One person is making a to-do checklist for the conference chair, while at the same time meticulously cleaning all the windows of the halls. Another person is moving chairs and cushions from place to place because we haven’t yet decided which rooms to use for the break-out groups.
The technical staff is testing all the audio-visual and recording equipment, or running to neighboring town to try to find a certain camera or part or battery. Other people are digging holes in the field to bury waste paper. The press team is making phone calls and arranging news coverage. From the kitchen comes the aroma of sample cakes and scones, all being tested until they’re just right for the high tea we’re planning for the next night. The maintenance staff is painting walls, fixing broken windows, hanging lights, and even filled a ditch with concrete so our guests won’t accidentally trip and fall. The amount of things that have been done since I arrived is actually kind of … crazy.
Most of our volunteer team arrived well before the conference, many coming from great distances to participate in this event. Most of our guests and translators, however, will arrive tonight on three chartered buses that have made the full-day trip from Delhi. For this mass arrival we have gathered every possible volunteer to help greet, carry bags, and direct our translators to their rooms at Deer Park.
The expected arrival time is late, so many people have had to get out of bed to come and help. The press team is here, the kitchen staff is here, the hole-diggers are here. Everyone is here. But even after many long full days of work, at just before 11 PM, the energy is high and everyone is out on the temple steps, talking and laughing, waiting for the coaches.
I can’t help thinking that in order to be here, in such a light mood, everyone must feel like I did on that summer day in Vancouver so long ago. At some level, even though we’re tired and already overworked, people feel lucky to be here. Once again, all I can think is, please, may they never stop asking for my help. When the headlights of the buses appear in the distance, the volunteers all cheer and applaud. A few days later, the conference is underway and everyone is busy attending to the work at hand. The weather is off and on cooperating, alternating between pleasant sunny days and raucous thunderstorms that take the power out. The figures of our inspiration—the Rinpoches, the translators, the patrons—are hidden away in closed-door conferences, discussing the business of translation. When they aren’t assembled, they are networking, discussing projects, and being interviewed by reporters. From its inception, people referred to this conference as potentially “historic.” This is why we all agreed to be here: to support this event and Rinpoche’s vision to further the work of translation in the West. What is decided here affects us students because it could greatly influence how the dharma is available to us.
Because the program hall can barely accommodate the participants and guests, most volunteers can’t attend the conference. Some huddle around open windows to listen to the proceedings; others are still too busy to have even a moment to eavesdrop. Despite the fact that many volunteers have been working constantly on site for weeks and are fatigued and often cranky, they are still interested in this unfolding story.
On this particular day I’m sitting on a wicker stool in the back of Manjushri Hall, contemplating the logistics of making copies and collating them during the upcoming tea break. I’m relieved, however, when I look behind me and see superhuman transcriber Alex Trisoglio typing away in the back of the room. I think, at least I’ll be able to read this later. But perhaps even more sweet, I ponder, is that beyond being able to read about all that is being accomplished here, we volunteers will always remember what it was like to actually be here.
I have a clipboard that has a marvelous baby-faced image of “Shree Krishna” on it that I bought in Palampur, the closest shopping town to Bir, just before the conference began. Trying to look official, I’m now standing in the courtyard with my clipboard and attempting to herd translators into their buses and cars. The conference is over, but my job won’t be complete until the participants reach Delhi, a few days from now.
Today the group will travel to Dharamsala for a fortuitous last-minute audience with His Holiness the Dalai Lama. Late last night, after the rain poured down on our closing banquet, after our weary staff had crept off to bed, I once again consulted my two local aces, Pema Wangchuk and Prashant Varma, the Deer Park director.
My trust in Prashant ranks with my trust in Pema. Prashant has arranged this meeting; he has driven to Dharamsala to meet with His Holiness’ secretary to advocate on the translators’ behalf. He knows all the details about what we will need, how we will arrive, and all the necessary protocol. Prashant is more than charming, he is incredibly experienced in these matters. Feeling confident in what should be an easy journey, Pema and I have devised a sound plan for the 60 or so travelers. But now, here in the courtyard, it’s chaos. People are talking and milling around, without any urgency at all. I’m gesturing with my clipboard and people are mostly ignoring me or giving me a polite smile. To others, it seems that I have become invisible; my requests to load the bus arouse no reaction at all. People don’t want to go in the car I have for them, or there is a last-minute addition to the list, or someone had to run off to the toilet. Finally, quite behind schedule, our caravan is leaving. Tashi Colman, chair of the Conference Organizing Committee, is in my car and he’s waving his hands around because he realizes he has left his phone in the Deer Park office. I lend him mine.
While he makes calls I muse that we have been granted a meeting with the highest lama of Tibetan Buddhism and I may actually fail to get everyone there in time. As my vehicle eases down the Bir Road, I think, Wow, this could be a profound failure of organization. I’m laughing, but only because that seems like the only option I have left. Tashi is making calls, laughing and mocking his own absentmindedness, and I’m feeling simultaneously worried and happy.
What I don’t know yet is that everyone will arrive for the audience in time. I also don’t know that afterward the rain will be pelting down, causing everyone to run off in different directions and, despite my concern, that will be fine. I’m thinking that working on this conference has been one of the most difficult and most satisfying things I’ve ever done. Tashi is still talking and laughing and gesturing in the front seat.
What I do know now, at that moment, is that I pray that this is not my last volunteer job for Khyentse Foundation.
LIGHT SHINES ON A HISTORIC CONFERENCE
Steven Goodman, co-director of Asian and Comparative Studies at the California Institute of Integral Studies, takes you along for the wild ride from a participant’s point of view.
Light Shines on a Historic Conference
By Steven Goodman
It’s been two months since the conclusion of a most amazing conference on Translating the Words of the Buddha, hosted at Deer Park Institute in Bir. Here’s what stands out for me—some impressions to give a bit of the flavor of what it was like to be part of these historic events.
On the plane from San Francisco to Chicago, I remember wondering, after all the planning that went into this conference—“What will happen there? Why are we doing this? Why does it feel at once ordinary (I’ve been to India and to conferences many times) and extraordinary? Why are so many Khenpos, Rinpoches, and translators flying long distances at such an inconvenient time? What do we imagine will happen?”
On the second leg of the trip—Chicago to New Delhi—I jotted some notes for a talk I was to give in New Delhi, as part of a panel discussion on “What the Panditas and Yogis brought to Tibet,” which was sponsored by Siddhartha’s Intent India and Khyentse Foundation.
I thought about how the scholastic and practice traditions of Nalanda were brought to Tibet and, over several hundred years, translated into the mother tongue of that new nation, thereby assuring the survival of many precious lineages that did not survive the harsh ravages of time in India.
This grand adventure of cultural translation, I thought, was a heroic and visionary endeavor perhaps never to be rivaled. And as the plane touched down in India, I thought, “Well maybe, just maybe, something equally visionary is about to happen at this conference in Deer Park Institute.” Read more…
As I disembarked, with only carry-on for these two weeks, I happily anticipated meeting many folks—some old friends, and many new ones—from the translating and publishing worlds. Just then a fellow who had kindly lent me his New York Times on the flight asked me, “Are you also going to this Translation Conference?” David Kittelstrom of Wisdom Publishers had been on the same flight.
We were met at the airport by the Wizard of Logistics Pema Wangchuk and his worthy assistant Atisha, who arranged transport to our hotel.
The next morning I was jet lagged, but happy to be in India again. I’d traveled there in 2006 to visit “in the footsteps of the Buddha,” and had walked through the remains of Nalanda University. They say that this massive complex once housed thousands of students and scholars. Remember Shantideva? Naropa?
Soon I met up with Gene Smith, founder of the Tibetan Buddhist Resource Center, who would be my roommate in Bir, John Dunne from Emory University, and Jake Dalton holder of the Khyentse Chair of Tibetan Buddhist Studies at UC Berkeley. We were ushered over to the India International Centre for 5 o’clock tea, introductory remarks by Suresh Jindal and Naresh Mathur, and then a lively discussion about the intellectual (panditas) and spiritual (yogis) traditions of India and their transmission to the Land of Snow. After a bit of Q & A we were treated to a lovely meal and then headed back to the hotel.
Next morning we awoke early and headed out for a special meeting with H.H. the 17th Karmapa, who graciously encouraged us in our endeavors to translate the words of the Buddha and spoke about why such work should be conducted with a spirit of harmonious collaboration.
Then, like a fast-paced movie, we were ushered into several buses for the 14-hour journey north to Bir, in Kangra District, Himachal Pradesh, in northwest India. This was the first time I was able to talk with fellow translators. In the still jet-lagged swirl, we stopped along the way for meals and breaks, and, dreamlike, got back on the bus. And talked, and talked, and talked.
Finally arriving at the gates of Deer Park Institute, we were greeted by Deer Park Commander-in-Chief Prashant Varma, the Conference Mad Hatter Tashi Colman, and all the many attentive volunteers who made sure we got settled into our rooms. The level of attention to detail was impressive: ear plugs (with instructions!) to help us sleep through the nights of barking contests between The Dogs of Bir. And then, suddenly, there was Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche, who said (with mock or real surprise—one never knows), “Oh, welcome, and you know, it usually only takes about four hours bus ride from Delhi to Bir !”
Next morning we gathered for breakfast in the crisp air and grand mountain vistas of the Himachal. Fresh fruit, cereal, eggs, western and India style treats, and—count them—three kinds of sugar. (Someone had done their research on how to keep a translator happy—keep the glucose flowing!)
Still a bit dazed, we collected our badges and formally filed into the Conference Hall, which houses a most impressive Manjushri statue, a replica of one hand-made by Sakya Pandita (referred to in the following days by Robert Thurman as “the gracious gentlemen there in front us”).
The proceedings began with introductory remarks by the Conference Chair Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche, followed by letters sent by heads of the four major Tibetan Buddhist schools—H.H. the 14th Dalai Lama; H.H. Sakya Trizin; the late H.H. Mindroling Trichen (who had passed on a month earlier); and H.H. the 17th Karmapa.
Finally Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche, the sponsor of the conference, addressed the group. His tone was at once informal and incisive. What stood out for me then, and even more so now, in retrospect, were these words of his:
“Rather than limiting ourselves to examining and discussing all the short-term projects and issues we’re currently facing as individuals, I’d like us to take a much broader view. I’d like to suggest that over the next few days we start the process of mapping out exactly what needs to be done during our lifetimes and beyond in order to ensure the preservation of Tibetan Buddhist texts. Basically our agenda is to write the agenda for an ongoing translation conference, one that never closes, as all the attendees continue to consult and work together in pursuit of one goal.
“For decades now, individual lamas and translators like yourselves have been putting a great deal of effort into translating the dharma into many different languages, and you’ve been doing it in spite of the almost total lack of support that translation work receives, and always under a lot of pressure. It’s quite amazing what you’ve achieved. And you’ve almost always done it alone. This brings me a lot of encouragement. If you can do so much alone and without much support, it means we can do much better together and with a little more support.
“As we consider what will need to be done for the future of the Buddhadharma, it will become clear we have to aim much higher than merely translating the odd book here and there. In fact, I believe the only way for us to achieve the enormous task we face is by finding ways of working together—not only among translators, but also the sponsors, teachers, and students that are the ultimate beneficiaries of your work. Over the years, such collaborations have been quite rare, and it’s an aspiration of mine that we’ll work together far more closely in the future.”
For me personally, this aspiration set the tone for the five-day working sessions, ably and with good humor facilitated by Ivy Ang. Can you imagine trying to get Khenpos , Rinpoches, translators, publishers, and sponsors to speak their minds on the difficult issues of priorities, and at the conclusion come to agreement on short- and long-term goals? Well, perhaps the spirit of Manjushri (and Avalokiteshvara and Vajrapani too) was guiding things a bit. With lively disagreements, and humor, and a bit of exhaustion we did fashion 5- and 25-year goals and a 100-year vision statement.
To help us decompress, unseen forces arranged diversions—an Indian-themed high tea, evening movies, and a lovely concert. And during afternoon breaks, various reporters—Bhutan Radio and Television and many others—button-holed some of us to ask about why and what and who and when.
And then, on the last afternoon of the proceedings, a scroll (well, actually a printout) was unfurled bearing the emailed greetings, best wishes, and thanks of more than 11,000 interested people from around the world.
And then, and then… as if that weren’t enough, the day after the conclusion of the formal conference, off we went to Dharamsala for a special meeting with H.H. the Dalai Lama. He encouraged us to work together and to consult Pali, Sanskrit, and Chinese versions of the texts that we translate into English. And he reminded us that the words of the Buddha are the basis of the Dharma and ought to be made widely available.
So now, some two months later, it seems a bit like the Wild Adventure is over—and in fact the “real” work is just beginning.
You might ask, as I do: what next? Will the various dharma centers that sponsor translation work listen to their fellow Tibetans and heed the call to encourage the work of translating sutra and tantra and supporting shastra from Tibetan into English? Who will read the translations? Who still knows the difficult grammar and technical terms in the Kangyur and Tengyur? What have we gotten into—this visionary hubris of turning the translation wheel of the dharma?
There will always be questions, and there will always be naysayers—the project is too much—too ambitious, too broad, too long, and so on. One can only imagine those blogging naysayers running to file their reports after covering the “Shakyamuni Buddha Enlightenment.” Does he really think suffering can cease?
In the words of John Lennon: Imagine.
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