Trungpa Rinpoche

being no–one, going no–where, a light rain falls on my head. mist envelops the mountain tops. the staff in my hand steadies the trail down. sitting with Trungpa I chant the Great Dharani; circumambulating the Stupa rain splashes from it’s roof. upon parting transcending the three worlds, vowing to become Buddha and save all beings; the mantra of shattering Hell: om gar ra ji ja sa ba ha om gar ra ji ja sa ba ha om gar ra ji ja sa ba ha.