The Collected Works of Chogyam Trungpa: Volume One by Chögyam Trungpa

gold on a red background. The tops of the cupboards formed a shelf for the many gifts of bowls and offerings which were brought to me. Behind it there were recesses framed in deeply carved and lacquered wood to hold old and valuable images of buddhas, bodhisattvas, and eminent spiritual masters. Above these was a second row of niches to house images of smaller size. The walls joined the ceiling with a deep gold painted, carved cornice. The wooden ceiling was colored. The furniture consisted of several long settees with deep piled up mattresses which, in our country, take the place of chairs. My bed was like a long box filled with cushions, so made that in the daytime I could sit on it and work at a long table beside it. One side of the room, over the cupboards, was exclusively used for my books; these scriptures were written or printed on separate oblong pages held together between two boards and tied up with a ribbon; at one end the title of the book was written on a white brocade flap, and the books were arranged so that the title faced outward.
    My bedroom served both for sleeping and for private study and meditation; it opened into a sitting room where meals were served and formal visits received. My raised throne was beside the door and a row of seats ran lengthwise down each side of the room; those nearest the throne had thick cushions for the more important guests but their size gradually diminished until the end of the rows, when they became merely rugs on the floor.
    Since I was now five years old, it was decided that it was time for me to begin my studies. It was a great shock to hear that a special teacher was coming to Dütsi Tel to give me lessons. One of the monks told me that he had a scar on his forehead, and I anxiously watched everyone who came for fear that it might be he. One day Asang Lama arrived; though I saw that he had a scar, I said to myself, “This can’t be my new teacher,” for I had expected him to be a very severe monk, but this man looked so gentle. He held his rosary in his hand and was smiling and talking to my senior secretary.
    We began our lessons on the following day in my residence above the assembly hall. It happened to be the first day of winter and snow was falling. Always before, when the monks came to sweep the snow off the flat roof, we children would play among them, throwing snowballs at each other; on that day I could hear my little friends shouting at their play outside, while I had to remain indoors to do lessons. Asang Lama was very kind; he gave me a clay panel made in relief depicting Amitabha, the Buddha of Infinite Light, which delighted me, and he told me how glad he was to be able to be my teacher, for he had been a devotee of the tenth Trungpa Tulku. He began with teaching me the Tibetan alphabet and was surprised that I picked it up in one lesson. I also had to learn to recite a mantra or formula of Manjushri, the Bodhisattva of Wisdom. We went on with both reading and writing lessons; this was unusual, for in Tibet reading is usually taught first and writing comes afterward.
    At this time my mother’s visits became less frequent; to begin with she only came to see me every other day, then every third, after which her visits became more and more spaced out, until after a fortnight without seeing her, she came to tell me that she was going back to Dekyil; I missed her as only a small boy can.
    The life at Dütsi Tel was found to be too full of distractions, so it was arranged to send me to Dorje Khyung Dzong, the retreat center established by the tenth Trungpa Tulku. It was in a remote spot and had been built over the cave where the fourth Trungpa had spent six years in meditation. The center stood on a ledge of high rock and was approached by a long zigzag flight of steps. The front of the building was supported by pillars grounded in the rock below; its windows looked over a wonderful spread of mountains with the river winding through the valley, and at one place