3.11 CONDUCT IS CHARACTERIZED BY THE THREE MODES OF RELEASE
The natural praxis of Dzogchen is to be sustained over a long period. When the
first thought arises for beginner yogins and yoginis, they recognize it, just like
meeting their long-lost friend. The mere arising of a thought, whether happy or
sad, good or bad, occasions the recognition that it is the creativity of pure presence,
that it is a subjective illusion, and that it is released as it stands. In the middle of
the practice, when meditation has improved somewhat, the thought releases itself
like a snake uncoiling. Whatever happiness or suffering arises in mind
simultaneously releases into the matrix of pure presence, where hope does not
arise with joy or fear with sorrow. Finally, when the meditation is complete,
neither benefit nor detriment arises with a thought, like a thief entering an empty
house—whatever negative situation arises can no longer disturb us, can have no
effect upon us, and we act like children gazing at wall paintings.
Consider Serwa Gomchen, a close disciple of Yukhok Chadrel Choying Rangdol,
who stayed in retreat his whole life engaged in the praxis of Dzogchen. He had five
brothers, and all of them were very rich and famous in the locality. There were
twenty-five people in his family including wives and children. They were a very
powerful family, and in using their power, they were so envied and loathed by the
local people that the people decided one day in a secret meeting to kill them all.
The people would not be happy if even a single one of them remained alive, or so
they said. And so it was that one night, when the entire family was gathered in
their house, the people set it ablaze, and the locals waited around the blazing fire
with guns, letting none of the family escape—all were killed. The next day one of
the relatives of the dead family went to see Serwa Gomchen in the mountains and
told him what had happened, weeping the whole time. The Gomchen enunciated
the syllable “A” once, and then pretending not to have heard properly, he asked
him to repeat the story. When he had heard the story again, he said, “Now a
termite’s nest has been destroyed!” He stayed totally relaxed, without grief or
anger, and never mentioned it again. Dzogchen yogins and yoginis are that kind of
person.
If we ordinary human beings are able to, we fight our enemies physically, if not,
we challenge them in court. If we cannot fight them openly, we perform ritual
magic and invoke the gods or naga serpents to harm them. In that way, when we
face misfortune, the imperative of remaining in the Dzogchen view is forgotten,
and we cannot remember even a single word of its precepts. This is because we
have been unable to build confidence in the view or to sustain the meditation. If
only we could make the habitual activity of body, speech, and mind into
equanimous conduct, then, even though we remain ordinary beings, we would not
suffer acute pain or unbearable suffering at the occurrence of any small personal
reverse of fortune. There are many stories of past masters who illustrate
indifference in the face of what would be for us intolerable suffering.
If we can become yogins and yoginis who no longer discriminate between good
and bad, or between samsara and nirvana, then we will be released from the abyss
of hope and fear. At this stage all karmic causality is constantly resolved in the