The world Tulku Urgyen knew was one in which today’s conventional values were turned upside-down: instead of fame, fortune or celebrity being the marks of “success”, it was inner realization that counted, one where the mark of a life fulfilled was leaving a spiritual legacy for others. And Tulku Urgyen was uniquely positioned to know—and share with us—people who inhabited this landscape of sacred values. Yet his message for readers is not that realization is reserved for an elect few, but something that each of us can move toward, no matter where we begin.
A theme central to Blazing Splendor is that of terma—a sacred teaching from a mystical source dating back a millennium—which enriches the life and spirit of those who connect to it. Tulku Urgyen’s stories cast a special light on these treasures designed to transform us. They are jewels of our human heritage hitherto largely unknown in the Western world. Tulku Urgyen was the bearer of such treasures, carrying them in his heart and mind over the Himalayas and then transmitting them in the world beyond to thousands of people from every walk of life.
Blazing Splendor covers more than the years of Tulku Urgyen’s life, from his birth in 1920 to his death in 1996; it weaves a rich tapestry from his family history, and from the contemplative lineages that he himself came to hold. The result is not just a personal memoir, but a spiritual history of Tibet itself. We hear about the teachers who brought the Buddhist teachings to Tibet in the 9th century, and the unbroken line of masters who passed its secrets on through the ages to Tulku Urgyen himself.
Through Tulku Urgyen’s eyes, we meet some of the most realized and genuine spiritual practitioners of the 20th century Tibet. Not only was he a friend and personal confidant of many of the great religious figures of contemporary Tibet, but his relatives and ancestors were some of the most influential figures in Eastern Tibet over the past centuries.
Tulku Urgyen’s life spanned an exceptional period in Tibetan history; throughout the story, an ominous drumbeat in the background heralds the coming of the Communists from the East, and the ultimate devastation of the Tibetan culture and all its richness. We get a telling, up-close look at the treachery of Lhasa politics during this endgame, as Tulku Urgyen tells of his days as envoy of the Karmapa to the Tibetan government in its last gasp. And finally, we see how the spiritual greatness that was once Tibet managed to resurrect itself in the world beyond, as Tulku Urgyen—reading ill auguries of what is to come—fled Tibet a year before the Dalai Lama himself.
Blazing Splendor gives us this access in an earthy, candid and entertaining narrative style: Tulku Urgyen’s own voice. What may be most striking is Tulku Urgyen’s natural humility. Calling no attention to himself or his own stature, he lets us see the world—and a fascinating pantheon of characters—just as he does: with blunt, often wry, candor.
The book’s voice reflects the cozy circumstances in which this tale was first told—a feeling of sitting at the master’s side, as Tulku Urgyen shared these chapters in his life with his closest Western students. Here they have been organized into a sweeping account that shares with readers a world where miracles, mystery, and deep insight are the order of the day—a world as reflected through the open, lucid quality of Tulku Urgyen’s mind.
His students, Erik and Marcia Schmidt, were moved to write this book in part because the unique lifestyle and culture of old Tibet was inexorably changed by the Communist takeover in 1959. Tulku Urgyen was widely recognized within Tibetan Buddhist circles as one of the most outstanding lamas to survive the tragedy of the Chinese takeover in Tibet. As the years take their toll, one after another of the great masters who were trained under Tibet’s classical spiritual system have passed away. In an effort to keep the spirit of this tradition alive, the authors felt compelled to present these first-person accounts by one of the last of a dying breed.
However miraculous many of the events related within these pages seem, recent scientific studies indicate such miracles may not be the stuff of imagination. For example one of the more intriguing aspects of these tales relates to recent findings on the beneficial ways long-term meditation shapes the human brain. While these studies are still in their preliminary stage, they nevertheless have yielded several eye-opening results on the very meditation methods applied by the masters of Tulku Urgyen’s lineage—particularly those undertaken during years of intensive retreat.
For instance, brain imaging using functional MRI while lamas meditate on “boundless compassion” reveals that their brains show remarkable levels of activation in two areas: the site that generates happiness and bliss, and that for readiness to take action. These eight lamas had put in from 10,000 hours of practice time up to 60,000 hours, and the longer they had done so, the stronger their brain’s activity level. While ordinary volunteers who practiced the same meditation for a month had 10% increases in these brain regions, the lamas had, on average, ten times more activity. And for some lamas, the jump was as much as 80 times greater.
As William James, a founder of modern psychology, suggested in his classic The Varieties of Religious Experience, our experiences while we register a temperature of 98.6 F may not give us the fullest account of reality. In other words, alternate states of brain function—and so consciousness—might allow perceptions of the universe that are just not discernible from the vantage point of everyday awareness.
Religious traditions around the world offer accounts of altered realities by visionaries ranging from Meister Eckhardt and St. Teresa of Avila to Black Elk. Of course we don’t know what altered brain activity or extraordinary states might have allowed such visions (and we must acknowledge our own scientific bias in assuming that special brain states need be involved at all), but we do know that in every case the visions came after years of focused spiritual efforts. And neuroscience now tells us that the brain responds to sustained retraining by reshaping its own circuitry.
We have yet to understand what the upper limits of basic mental functions like attention, visualization and memory might prove to be—for modern science is in its infancy in studying how training the mind can rewire the nervous system. On the other hand ancient spiritual traditions, like that of Buddhism in Tibet, have systematically urged practitioners to spend years honing their sensibilities through sustained training.
What’s particularly intriguing about the stories in Blazing Splendor is the sheer length of time put into these practices by the masters of Tibet. While the lamas studied in modern labs have done at least three to six years of intensive retreat, it seems to have been routine for masters of Tulku Urgyen’s generation to have done three or four times that amount. Tulku Urgyen himself, for example, appears to have spent more than 20 years in intensive retreat, as was true of his late peer, the great Dilgo Khyentse. But some of the masters who lived their entire life in Tibet often did even more: Tulku Urgyen’s father put in 33 years of meditation retreat over the course of his life.
Science has now verified how powerful just three years of retreat can be in sharpening mental faculties. We can only guess what 20 or 30 years might do. From that perspective, we might do well to suspend our judgments about the seeming “miraculous” powers routinely ascribed to these Tibetan masters of the past. Who knows what might be possible for a mind so highly and exquisitely trained?
What might be possible remains further obscured by another element of Buddhist tradition, the remarkable humility about their own achievements that marks many highly accomplished practitioners. Thus Tulku Urgyen himself, who was venerated as a teacher by many of the most revered masters of his day (including the 16th Karmapa), repeatedly asserts that he is nothing special—just an ordinary person. This humble stance has another wrinkle: Tulku Urgyen’s line holds to the tradition of the “hidden yogis,” who routinely camouflage their spiritual attainments. Western readers, unaccustomed to this strong tradition of humility about one’s spiritual stature, might misread its signs, inferring instead an absence of accomplishment rather than its veiled presence.
The reader confronts