Homage to the Guru, the Deva, the Dakini and to all patrons who shape the sacred.
Rigdzin Karma entered this world in the year 2468 since the Buddha's Parinirvana a distinctly Buddhist way of marking time that renders events recent enough to be documented yet distant enough to be misunderstood. He was born in a valley southeast of Jomolangma, where mountains rose effortlessly and livelihoods did not. Beauty was abundant. Opportunity remained conditional.
His father, a Tibetan refugee, departed early into samsara, another valley, or simply into absence. The departure was complete enough to become formative. His mother came from a family that had quietly mastered survival, though she herself chose a narrower path: one her relatives called renunciation and accountants termed an administrative inconvenience. Between these two absences one physical, one material Karma learned early that permanence was an unreliable companion.
By age ten, he had become what institutions classify as an orphan and what life recognizes as a student of necessity. When his trajectory seemed fixed toward subsistence punctuated by seasons, the karmic ledger shifted. In 1998, he entered a monastic school whose name Druk Khamsum Wandue Choekyi Phodrang exceeded the length of some Himalayan winters.
The monks observed two things immediately. First, Karma learned quickly. Second, he worked without complaint, lifting stones, hauling timber, and memorizing texts with equal discipline. Whether this reflected devotion, determination, or simply lack of alternatives was never conclusively determined.
He advanced to Chungoen Dongak Dargay Ling, where he studied grammar, poetry, sutra, and philosophy while participating in the ancient monastic tradition of constructing buildings for future generations to renovate. Under his first master, Lopen Yeshey Rinchen, Karma spent four years balancing textual rigor with physical labor, discovering that the doctrine of impermanence applies most consistently to structures built with optimism.
A second teacher, Lopen Lekshed Jamtsho, appeared briefly but decisively. Under his guidance, something shifted. Grammar ceased to feel mechanical. Sutras stopped resisting interpretation. Philosophy revealed itself not as abstraction but as disciplined clarity. Karma's aptitude sharpened not theatrically, but unmistakably.
In 2003, he arrived at Dechenchoeling Monastery and met Khenpo Namkar Donkuen Drubpa, who would become his root guru. Instruction here was neither indulgent nor performative. The Longchen Nyingtik teachings were transmitted without embellishment, and Karma absorbed them with the gravity of someone who understood that precision mattered.
After three years came retreat.
Retreat, as described in brochures, offers a controlled encounter with the mind. In practice, it provides an unsupervised audit. Karma retreated to Bayul Langdrak Ney, The Hidden Valley of Misty Towers, a location chosen for its silence and distance from distraction. The silence endured. The mind did not cooperate.
One evening, a radio played by a less pretentious elderly practitioner nearby began to echo. The music itself was unremarkable. Its effect was profound. Within minutes, it accomplished what months of solitude had not: it exposed the fragility of resolve built on containment rather than genuine insight. Karma remained in retreat physically. Mentally, he had already departed.
At sunset, he asked himself a question less poetic than honest: whether this was genuine renunciation or simply a different form of avoidance. By morning, he descended.
In the capital, Karma encountered another system of doctrine: institutional legitimacy. Despite fluency in Dzongkha, years of classical training, and comprehensive textual mastery, he discovered that knowledge required external validation to circulate freely. Enlightenment, absent certification, was considered non-transferable.
So he adapted. English. Science. Western literature. Temporary employment. Persistent exhaustion. He learned that institutions value clarity, provided it arrives in the correct format.
In 2006, worn thin rather than broken, Karma entered a Christian community that asked fewer preliminary questions. He was welcomed, fed, and trusted with responsibility before credentials. The warmth was genuine. The structure was firm. He remained for fifteen years long enough to be shaped, challenged, disappointed, and transformed. His attempts to improve outcomes for others were interpreted variously. Institutions, regardless of theology, rarely welcome unsanctioned reform.
He crossed continents. Accumulated books. Made a home along the 49th parallel.
In 2020, Karma nearly died. Twice.
The proximity of death clarified matters considerably. The identities he had collected, or at least attempted to collect: monk, scholar, convert, social worker, migrant, proved administratively irrelevant in that moment. There were no forms to complete. No doctrinal checkpoints to pass. Only clarity, arriving without ceremony.
He returned to the Dharma not as performance but as genuine practice. He sought forgiveness without elaboration. He offered lamps without symbolism. Before his first master passed, they met once more, closing a circle that required no interpretation.
When all his teachers eventually died, instruction did not cease. It simply changed form. The message, delivered without flourish, was direct: Stop performing Buddhism. Study it.
So Karma did. Texts, commentaries, philosophy. Physics as well not from novelty, but because genuine inquiry respects no jurisdictional boundaries. The world appeared increasingly coherent when stripped of convenient slogans.
Today, Rigdzin Karma lives with intentional simplicity. He writes poetry. Translates when asked. Guides a small number of students who assume this is preparation for something more public.
It is not.
Over the years, without intention or effort, Karma had developed a tendency to cross paths with those practiced in the performance of divinity, particularly in contexts where sacred authority benefits from careful construction. On more than one occasion, his continued presence seemed misaligned with such projects. Although he made no claims, issued no challenges, and sought no position, he nevertheless emanated a contrast that could be unsettling, especially to those who might be inventing divinity.
Fear not! His final retreat is not geographic. It is internal, uncluttered, and immune to certification. Radios cannot reach it. Committees cannot improve it. The Dharma, unmediated by institutions, remains intact. He already stands as an undeniable curvature in Einstein's field equations and as a luminous clarity in Longchenpa's exposition of Kun Gzhi. So kindly spare his humble voyage across the cosmic space without any let and hindrance of your vigor, if there ever is. After all, even emptiness needs a little space.
Penned By: David Shanker
(A longtime close friend who, over decades, has declined repeated invitations to adopt any of the above disciplines, preferring sustained affection from a safe observational distance.)
