Dolkar

Of course, I should be blase about this.

This afternoon, I took refuge at the Vajrayana Institute in Ashfield, with Geshe Samten. The ceremony was long, and the teachings were not trivial, and the undertaking, itself, is a somewhat serious one. 

Which does naught to explain my childlike elation this afternoon. I've just made a vow to pray three times twice a day, to revere my guru, and to follow the five precepts and ten moral values of the lay Buddhist practitioner. I should be at least, sobered by these responsibilities. I should be at least a little pained, perhaps, sitting for three hours straight during satsang (yeah, that's right, me, sitting that still. Three hours. Go figure). 

And I feel blessed. 

Partly, this comes from the unexpected part of the proceedings, over and above learning about the causes, objects, motivations, benefits and advice in refuge from Geshe Samten.

Many years ago, when I was just getting my toehold on the form and emptiness mind-gizmo, I picked out White Tara as my deity - or, you could say that she kind of picked me. I've got a copy of an old thangka painting, which has formed the basis of my meditation 'shrine' that has moved with me across 10 suburbs in the 7 directions (well, not qute, but you get the idea). 

Her compassion speaks to longevity - Green Tara can be called on when you need help, now, but White Tara, manifested from the tear of Avalokiteshavara (the Dalai Lama is the incarnation of the same, as Chenrezig), White Tara is a little more full bodied, and her maternal compassion is the mercy of those who are wounded, either physically or psychically.

It's her picture on this blog, as 'The Divine Mother'.

So really, it's no surprise at all, that when it comes to being given a refuge name today by Geshe Samten, a monk for whom I've paid reverent audience once before but certainly have never personally spoken to, before today, when it comes to this, in my prayerbook, written in there by Geshe-la, I've been given the name:

Dolkar.

It means White Tara.

There are times when you can look another human being in the eye, and for a flash of a second, there's a connection that speaks to an out-of-this-world space, but of a connection that's absolutely grounded in the depth of the other's worldview. A flash. It lasts less than an instant. It may well be worth far less than that - my mind is inevitably the eternal storyteller. 

I live for these moments.