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Encountering the Dakini

From Tibetan Buddhist Encyclopedia
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Padmasambhava, called by Tibetans Guru Rinpoche, "the precious teacher," embarks on his spiritual journey, he travels from place to place requesting teachings from yogins and yoginls. Guided by visions and dreams, his journey takes him to desolate forests populated with ferocious wild animals, to poison

lakes with fortified islands, and to cremation grounds. Wherever he goes he performs miracles, receives empowerments, and ripens his own abilities to benefit others. When he hears of the supreme queen of all dakinls, the greatly accomplished yogini called Secret Wisdom,1 he travels to the Sandal Grove cremation ground to the gates of her abode, the Palace of Skulls. He attempts to send a request to the queen with her maidservant Kumari. But the girl

ignores him and continues to carry huge brass jugs of water suspended from a heavy yoke across her shoulders. When he presses his request, Kumari continues her labors, remaining silent. The great yogin becomes impatient and, through his yogic powers, magically nails the heavy jugs to the floor. No matter how

hard Kumari struggles, she cannot lift them. Removing the yoke and ropes from her shoulders, she steps before Padmasambhava, exclaiming, "You have developed great yogic powers. What of my powers, great one?" And so saying, she draws a sparkling crystal knife from the girdle at her waist and slices open her heart center, revealing the vivid and vast interior space of her body. Inside she displays


to Guru Rinpoche the mandala of deities from the inner tantras: forty-two peaceful deities manifested in her upper torso and head and fifty-eight wrathful deities resting in her lower torso.2 Abashed that he did not realize with whom he was dealing, Guru Rinpoche bows before her and humbly renews his request

for teachings. In response, she offers him her respect as well, adding, "I am only a maidservant," and ushers him in to meet the queen Secret Wisdom. This simple maidservant is a messenger of her genre, the dakinl in Tibetan Buddhism. As can be seen from her name, Kumari, "beautiful young girl, the crown

princess," she may be humble in demeanor, but she is regal and commanding in her understanding of the nature of reality. Like many dakinls, she teaches directly not through words but through actions. Specifically, she teaches with her body, cutting open her very heart to reveal her wisdom. She holds

nothing back, sharing her nature with Guru Rinpoche himself. Kumari demonstrates that her body is not as it appears. While she may be young, graceful, and comely, the object of desire, she shows her body to be empty and as vast as limitless space; in her heart is revealed the ultimate nature of reality. And

within its vastness are all phenomena, all sense perceptions, emotions, thoughts, and cognitions as a mandala of deities arrayed in the vivid splendor of their raiment, ornaments, and jewelry, with demeanor both peaceful and wrathful. Looking into her heart center, the practitioner is looking into a mirror,

seeing the mind and the entire world in dramatically different perspective. One cannot see such a sight without being transformed. Kumari represents the most significant class of enlightened female figures in Tibetan Buddhism, the wisdom dakinl. In yogic literature and lore, she and her sisters appear to

practitioners, men and women alike, during rituals and during retreat to give teaching, direction, and challenge in meditation practice. According to the Tibetan tradition, as a female she has a unique power to transform the practitioner and to confer power. Her power comes from her lineage of realization,

representing the enlightened nature of mind of both yogins and yoginls. Her mind is the expression of the essence of pristine wisdom, the fundamental wakefulness inherent but undiscovered in all beings. Her female body is vibrant with vitality, uniquely bearing and birthing that pristine wisdom. Yet at

first the great Guru Rinpoche, considered the second Buddha and known for unfailing omniscience and sophisticated skillful means, does not recognize her. What does this mean? The biography of the great master is known in Tibetan as a liberation story (namthar) that portrays the inner spiritual journey to enlightenment. The events in this biography are not historical fact in the Western sense. They trace in mythic, symbolic, and visionary fashion the transformation of conventional mind into awakened awareness. This biography and others like it in the Tibetan Vajrayana tradition are beloved blueprints

for the spiritual journey of every practitioner. Why does Guru Rinpoche not recognize Kumari as a realized dakinlwoman? This event in Vajrayana lore is paradigmatic. In many sacred biographies, even the most realized teachers do not immediately recognize the dakinl, whose ambiguous, semiotic quality

accounts for the richness and variety of her lore. She may appear in humble or ordinary form as a shopkeeper, a wife or sister, or a decrepit or diseased hag. She may appear in transitional moments in visions, her message undecipherable. If she reveals herself, if she is recognized, she has tremendous

ability to point out obstacles, reveal new dimensions, or awaken spiritual potential. It is essential that the Vajrayana practitioner not miss the precious opportunity of receiving her blessing. But when the time is not yet ripe, or when inauspicious circumstances are present, the dakinl cannot be seen, contacted, or recognized. When this occurs, the potency of the moment is lost and realization is missed.


Missed Opportunities, Skewed Interpretations

The dakinl lore has sparked enormous interest in recent decades, as Western scholars and interpreters have endeavored to comprehend her meaning. Speculation about the dakinl has been an implicit part of scholarship on Varayana Buddhism from its inception as a Western academic discipline.

Nevertheless, the lack of agreement concerning her meaning and the attempts to interpret her according to various biases are reminiscent of Guru Rinpoche's mistake. In an important essay surveying Western interpretations of the dakinl, Janice Willis concluded that there is little consensus concerning her

meaning, and "little precision in the various attempts to further delineate and characterize [her] nature and function"; finally, she "remains elusive to academic or intellectual analysis."3 She has, for the most part, not been recognized. Certainly there have been fine preliminary studies of the dakinl, beginning with the scholarship of David Snellgrove, who traced the development


of the dakinl from her "gruesome and obscene" origins to her "more gentle aspects" in Tibetan depictions as symbols of transcendent wisdom.4 Herbert Guenther shed light on her meaning in symbolic context, associating her directly with teachings on emptiness and the spiritual goals of tantric Buddhism.5 Recent scholars such as Martin Kalff, Adelheid Herrmann-Pfandt, Anne Klein, and Janet Gyatso6 have continued to contribute to a comprehensive understanding

of the dakinl. Yet certain biases have inhibited further development of an interpretation of dakinl lore. Two pervasive paradigms have prevailed, sometimes facilitating understanding, but finally inhibiting an appropriate explanation of the dakinl in the Tibetan Varayana tradition. The first, prevailing model is that of the anima in Jungian psychology, an archetype of the feminine closely associated with the unconscious, embedded in the psyche of the male. The

second, more recent model derives from feminist sources, which treat the dakinl as a female goddess figure who may be, on the one hand, a creation of

patriarchal fantasy or, on the other, a remnant of some prepatriarchal past who champions women in androcentric settings. Each of these paradigms has obscured an accurate understanding of the dakinl in her Tibetan sense. The adequacy of these models is examined and assessed in more detail in chapter 1.

Ambiguity regarding the dakinl's identity is not found only in Western scholarly sources. Tibetans also consider the dakinl ambiguous and often hesitate to conceptualize, systematize, or formulate her meaning. Yet, at the same time, Tibetan lamas and rinpoches who travel and teach in the West are increasingly


troubled by the dakinl's appropriation by various Western communities. They are particularly bothered by feminist criticism. At a recent dinner with several Tibetan lamas, I discussed the progress of my book. One remarked to me, "Everywhere we go, everyone always asks us about dakinls." Yes, I replied,

Western students are very interested in dakinls and in enlightened women teachers. "No," he corrected me. "They don't ask because they are interested. They ask to embarrass us. They want to criticize our tradition." He and the other lamas went on to describe how they felt that such questions were attacks on

Tibetan Buddhism and how they perceive feminist critique as a rejection of the very heart of their tradition. Certainly this atmosphere affected my research. Several of my interview subjects questioned me closely about my intention and method and eventually expressed displeasure with interviews they had conducted with


others who were writing books, saying that "the teachings had been perverted." One lama asked me to come back for more material the following day, commenting, "If you are writing such a book, you must get it right." This lama asked me on several occasions to turn off my tape recorder so that he might

speak frankly about his concerns for the future of the Tibetan tantric tradition. How can this concern be heard? Just as Tibet has captured the Utopian imagination of American culture, the romance of Tibet has sparked deep ambivalence in American Buddhists and others that is surfacing in a variety of ways.7 Especially at issue are questions regarding spiritual authority and potential, imagined, or real "abuses of power." Feminists within, but especially

outside of, American Vajrayana communities have been among the most vocal critics of the spiritual authority of the Tibetan guru. At the same time, the dakinl has been appropriated by some as a symbol of either female power or patriarchal exploitation.8 This appropriation has been met by Tibetan lamas with


a mixture of disappointment and outrage. Just when the esoteric Vajrayana teachings have been made most available to Western students, these teachings have been used as weapons against the very teachers who have presented them. The dakinl, traditionally viewed as the most precious symbol and secret of the


inner spiritual journey, has been reshaped into gynocentric crusader or misogynized victim. The irony of this dilemma holds little humor for Tibetan lamas in diaspora making a concerted effort to safeguard and propagate their own precious traditions and lineages. The gender wars in American Buddhism are

viewed as a fundamental distortion of the teachings.9 From a feminist point of view, one might consider their responses to be patriarchal entrenchment that deserves no sympathy from Western practitioners. But the tremendous complexity of these matters reflects in part the sorry state of gender relationships in

Western culture. Women's and men's liberation movements have remained primarily in a political or oppositional mode that has insidiously promoted the disempowerment of both men and women. While various forms of feminism have attempted to address this, their methods have often promoted a merely political

vision incapable of healing the whole wound. When political or oppositional methods have been carried into religion, religious communities have become the battleground. This has definitely been the case in these recent developments in American Buddhism, which threaten the integrity of the transmission of Buddhist teachings.


Certainly, there are wholesome and important aspects to this warfare: the social and political dimensions of patriarchal institutional religion need scrutiny and adjustment in order to respond to concerns about gender equality and responsible uses of power. But there is the enormous danger that the

gender wars will obscure the central point of a spiritual path. For anyone, feminist or otherwise, who wishes to step into the vortex of spiritual power of a vital contemplative tradition like Tibetan Buddhism, a certain nakedness is required. One's politics, convictions, gender identity, and emotions are

exposed to a perspective that transcends all of those aspects of one's identity. Yet all are potent fuel for the spiritual journey. If one is ready to include every political instinct, every conviction, every emotional reaction in one's spiritual practice, unflinchingly staying with all the painful

aspects, there is tremendous possibility for transformation, both personal and situational. Only this can heal the gender wars in American Buddhism. This book is not intended to contribute in any way to the gender wars, for it seems they have completely missed the point of the fundamental teachings of

Tibetan Buddhism in general and the dakinl tradition in particular. Watching these controversies rage has provided the ground for quite a different approach to the dakinl lore, one based not on politics, sociology, or feminism but on looking at the phenomenon of the dakinl as a central religious symbol

in Tibetan Buddhism. At the same time, it is probably mutually beneficial for the dakinl lore to be made more explicit in Western Tibetan Buddhism. Dakinls represent the domains conventionally attributed to women, such as embodiment, sexuality, nurture and sustenance, and relationship.10 But for dakinls, these

domains are transmuted into realms that are not merely conventional but are much more profound than the concerns of daily existence. When dakinls take human form as teachers and yoginls, they deal with many issues that may prove obstacles to ordinary women, such as discrimination, rape, social limitation,

and abuse. But these dakinl women serve as models for how obstacles may be turned into enlightenment. In short, the dakinl lore provides genuine support for women practitioners, whether Tibetan or Western, to develop confidence, perseverance, and inspiration in their meditation practice. But this lore also

provides support to the spiritual journeys of men, showing the locus of wisdom in realms that male practitioners often ignore. Another point must be addressed. In a traditional Tibetan context,


until recently, it would probably be inappropriate to write a book on the dakinl. Much of the material here could not be found in any written Tibetan text. The dakinl lore has been carried through oral transmissions for centuries, passed on from teacher to student in an intimate setting that would not be appropriate to share publicly. This is not because there is anything scandalous, shocking, or dangerous in its content. Rather, its secrecy is based upon

the personal spiritual power implicit in its understanding. When the practitioner has insight into the nature of the dakinl, Vajrayana practice has the potential to become intimate, pervasive, and transformative. As this tradition has been brought to the West, and indeed depends for its future survival

upon Western support, it is important that fundamental misunderstandings of the dakinl lore be addressed. If the dakinl can be removed from the naive and destructive realms of gossip and politics, the tremendous power of Vajrayana practice and its relevance for Western Buddhist practices may be tapped. These teachings may have the potential for liberating the very views of gender that have blocked much spiritual progress in Western culture.


It is clear that Western interpretations have failed to resolve the many conflicting manifestations of the dakinl. The problems of interpretation are obvious when we survey the uses of the term dakinl in Tibetan Buddhism. In sacred biographies, she is depicted in a personified manner as an unpredictable,

semiwrathful, dancing spirit-woman who appears in visions, dreams, or the everyday lives of yogins or yoginis. Her demeanor changes in various contexts: she may be playful, nurturing, or sharp and wrathful, especially when protecting the integrity of tantric transmission. She also guards the most private

details of the practice, so that only those with the purest motivation are able to penetrate their essence. Without the blessing of the dakinl, the fruition of Vajrayana practice is said to be inaccessible. It is important to note that the word dakinl is also used in nonpersonified senses, especially

in the meditation and ritual literature. In classical formulation in the unsurpassable Practice Vehicle {Anuttara-yoga-yana),n she is depicted on four levels of meaning. On a secret level, she is seen as the manifestation of fundamental aspects of phenomena and the mind,


and so her power is intimately associated with the most profound insights of Vajrayana meditation. In this her most essential aspect, she is called the formless wisdom nature of the mind itself. On an inner, ritual level, she is a meditational deity, visualized as the personification of qualities of

buddhahood. On an outer, subtle-body level, she is the energetic network of the embodied mind in the subtle channels and vital breath of tantric yoga. She is also spoken of as a living woman: she may be a guru on a brocaded throne or a yogini meditating in a remote cave, a powerful teacher of meditation or a

guru's consort teaching directly through her life example. Finally, all women are seen as some kind of dakinl manifestation. The most appropriate methods for interpreting the dakinl place her squarely within this broad Tibetan Vajrayana context of meditation and meaning. There she functions as a complex but

unified religious symbol of meditative realization, whether or not personified. The methods required to interpret her meaning are associated with the interpretation of symbols. As Janice Willis wrote:

In a tantric universe replete with symbols, dakinl, one may say, is the symbol par excellence; and being preeminently, constitutively, and inherently symbolic, the dakinl always remains a symbol within the "Tibetan symbolic world." As such "she" serves always only to represent and suggest—even for the tantric adept—other and deeper, non-discursive experiential meanings.


As a classical symbol, the dakinl has two dimensions. In the first, the dakinl with all her complexity represents the inner wisdom-mind of the tantric practitioner appearing in concretized form to accentuate obstacles and to indicate the practitioner's inherent wakefulness. In a second dimension, the

dakinl symbolizes the ancient wisdom of the guru and the enlightened lineages of teachers under whose protection the tantric practitioner meditates, navigating the perilous waters of the tantric journey. These two aspects merge when the dakinl reveals to the practitioner an ancient wisdom legacy that is

simultaneously recognized as the inner wisdom-mind of the tantrika. Yet it is of central importance in Tibet that the dakinl is represented as female or, in the nonsubstantial sense, feminine.13 As a gendered symbol the dakinl provides special challenges if the interpreter is to avoid the extremes expressed above. The discoveries of scholars such as Caroline


Walker Bynum, who interprets gender symbols in medieval Christianity, hive been most helpful.14 For example, meaning given to gender symbols in a Tibetan setting contributes in unexpected ways to the social roles of women, to gender attitudes, and to the success of women on the spiritual pith. On an ultimate


level, the limitless and vast qualities of mind are referred to as the Great Mother (Yum Chenmo), while conventional understandings of motherhood are nowhere present. Or, appearance in a semiwrathful dancing feminine form is experienced differently by the yogin aid the yogini in ways one could not

predict, as discussed earlier. From this perspective, a study of the dakinl in all her symbolic dimensions has tremendous potential to shed light on her identity and to bring new perspectives to the meaning of gender.



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