conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled Born In Tibet about Shambhala, Chgyam, meditation with the genre: Biographies & Memoirs, Leaders & Notable People.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Chgyam the author (19401987)meditation master, teacher, and artistfounded Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado, the first Buddhist-inspired university in North America; the Shambhala Training program; and an international association of meditation centers known as Shambhala International. He is the author of numerous books including Shambhala: The Sacred Path of the Warrior , Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism , and The Myth of Freedom.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.. End with the sentence '"'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Born In Tibet
  After three years training under this master he undertook a long retreat and, being accustomed to climbing, he searched the nearby mountains for a suitable cave. Mount Kulha Ngang Ya seemed a good situation so, using a pickax, he started to hollow out a cave in the rock. After a day's work he had got through about a yard when he came to an opening into a natural cave with a hole in the roof that could serve as a chimney. A tunnel let to a second cavern, with a natural window looking out on a steep and inaccessible part of the mountain. Lama Möntruk remained there to meditate for the rest of his life.
  When we reached this other mountain, we found the cave blocked. However, the owner very kindly provided a black tent, which was put up near the cave on a flat ledge high up the mountainside. This ledge was sufficiently large for me to walk about, so I could now again take exercise. There was a waterfall on one side, which at that time was frozen, and behind its icicles ran a clear passage through which I would walk out and up the rocks, with no danger of being seen from below. In the rarified air I could hear herdsmen in the distance calling to their animals. At night the cold was intense; several blankets and a well-made sheepskin coat imported from the west of Tibet did not suffice to keep me warm. My attendant found his native sheepskin and felt rugs better suited to this climate.
  On April 11, at dawn, we heard neighing and the monk in charge of my horses appeared. He told me that my bursar, who was still attending to the business of selling our cattle at Drölma Lhakhang, was growing increasingly worried about the situation. The Communist troops had now suddenly appeared in the vicinity, so he had sent this monk with my horses to ask what I thought should be done. The messenger had left the evening before and on his way had seen Communist troops marching toward Pashö. They were telling the people that the Chinese had already gained possession of Lhasa and that they were now about to take control of Pashö district. The troops were coming from different directions, some from Chamdo and others from Enda, north of Drölma Lhakhang. He did not know what had happened at the monastery or to Akong Tulku after he himself had left.
  This news could mean one of two things; either the troops would go direct to Pashö or else they would attack each of the monasteries on the way. My takpa (divination) indicated that the danger was certainly increasing but that there was no need for immediate alarm. I realized that I could neither go to Drölma Lhakhang nor to Yak, so I sent the monk back to make preparations to move our luggage. He wanted to know the exact date on which he should be ready. I told him, at the full moon, on April 23. This was the Earth Hog year, 1959, and I was now twenty.
  After he had left, a second monk came with a message from my bursar; Drölma Lhakhang had not been disturbed, for the Chinese had gone direct to Pashö. I went down to the nearby village, where I met a businessman who had come straight from Chamdo. He told me that the military had been in complete control there since the first week of April. They had put loudspeakers everywhere telling the people that the Dalai Lama had been forcibly abducted by the guerillas. They said that the Chinese had always intended to liberate the Tibetans and that they were there to bring great benefits to the people by peaceful means. They had, however, been forced to fire some guns in Lhasa when the guerillas attacked them and Norbulingkha, the Summer Palace, had been slightly damaged, but now everything was all right. They added that the Chinese had been obliged to take over the civil government because the Tibetans had broken the Seventeen Point Agreement of 1949; they also declared that Tibetans must not have any contact with the foreign "Imperialists."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.. End with the sentence '" That stopped him worrying.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The landscape was beginning to change to more rocky and bare ground. We came across local tracks which we had to avoid and it was often difficult to find a suitable place to camp. Most of the party were showing signs of extreme fatigue, but all the same they kept up their spirits. After several more crossings on high ground Tsepa realized that we were approaching the Temo Pass on the Powo-to-Lhasa road. This meant that we must cross the road at the top of the pass and, in order to reach it, we must travel through the night. All the way lay under snow and it was impossible to avoid leaving tracks; unfortunately we could not reach the pass that same night and were forced to camp in the bitter cold hiding our fires with the greatest caution. Next evening we started off again; there were many animal tracks, but owing to the snow no people were traveling. At twilight we could see the pass beneath us, but we had to wait till it became dark and from our concealed position we watched and listened carefully for any possible travelers on the road. Though the snow was lying on the mountainside, the road itself was clear and we were able to cross it without mishap, though a man and horse must have passed earlier in the day, for their prints could be clearly discerned.
  I had told everyone to walk in single file so that our tracks would not appear to belong to a very large party. We now needed to hurry on as quickly as possible to find somewhere where we could be concealed before daybreak; unfortunately the land here was very bare with little scrub and lay mostly under snow; it would have been easy for anyone to follow us, so we left a man to keep watch behind us and sent another scout ahead. The land was undulating and when we reached the higher places we could see for miles around, but the only thing to catch the eye was the track that we had made. Again we turned aside and found higher mountains in front of us, which appeared to be wild and uninhabited, so we could again travel by daylight. From the time that we crossed the road all the party had made a special effort to walk quickly; tired though we all were, we could not afford to stop and a few short rests taken at intervals had to suffice; the fact that everyone was on short commons made the strain all the greater. The all-important thing was to conserve our energies for the critical moment when we would have to cross the main Chinese high road and, after that, the Brahmaputra. After several more days' traveling our guide again lost his way and we could only guess our direction. As we went we were faced with continuous ranges of mountains and valleys; there seemed no way to get through.
  It has been mentioned before that people who were unable to carry all their own baggage often arranged for a stronger man to take the extra load by promising him half its contents at the journey's end. My own group now felt that they must fall back on their reserve of tsampa: To our dismay, we found that the man who had been carrying it had not only consumed his own share, but ours as well, and the same thing had happened in several other cases. Nevertheless, no one ever attempted to kill any of the wild animals that we came across in our wanderings; this compassionate self-control displayed by a whole band of desperately hungry people moved me greatly at the time, and it remains a treasured memory of those heart-searching days.
  We were now quite lost, surrounded by rocks on every side; there was nothing left for me to do except to resort to takpa. The question that faced us was which rocks to choose for our next climb. Following the directions given by the takpa and after climbing the particular rock it indicated we saw a high mountain with a col on its shoulder. The snow was very deep and the sun dazzled us, but fortunately most of the party carried either dark goggles or eyeshades. Actually, the climb up was easier than the rough ground we had been crossing before, where we had had to jump from rock to rock; but the descent on the farther side to a lower level was very steep and there seemed no indication where to go next. It was again left to me to make a decision, so I headed for a small lake surrounded by rocky ground which we bypassed only to find ourselves confronted by three other ranges with rather steep cols leading gradually to lower ground. After this another line of mountains loomed ahead with a pass across which did not appear to be too steep. Tsepa and I always went ahead to direct the party and when we reached the top of this last pass we were amazed to see the Szechwan-to-Lhasa main road running along the mountainside below, less than a quarter of a mile away. I told everyone not to make any noise and to wait until I could find somewhere where we could all be hidden. This was not difficult on the boulder-covered ground, so when everyone else was safely under cover Tsepa and I went out to investigate our surroundings. Through field glasses we could see the road leading through the Serkyem Pass, which was actually the point that we had been aiming for; once across it we knew we would be very near Lower Kongpo and the spot where we should try to cross the Brahmaputra.
  When we returned to the others we found them all preparing for this, the most dangerous part of our journey. The older people were nervous, fearing that traveling on the south side of the river would prove too much for them and that, should they fall out by the roadside, the Chinese would be bound to find them and through them would trace the whole party. I told them that we must all cross over the road at the Serkyem Pass together and that the younger ones must carry the luggage to enable the older people to walk more quickly. If a Chinese lorry should come along when they were about to cross, everyone must lie down in the fosse beside the road and make no movement. We waited till dark before approaching the road, but when we were some twenty yards away from it we suddenly saw the headlights of a lorry. Fortunately there were a lot of rocks close at hand behind which we all ducked. I had to be very severe with one woman who, to help herself control her fear, was chanting mantras in a loud voice; I told her that she must only whisper under her breath. Since the road went in loops round the mountain we had time to take cover while the lorry was still some distance away; as it came nearer and nearer we could hear the crunching sounds of its gear changes and soon its headlights illuminated the very rocks where we lay concealed. We held our breaths and the minutes seemed like hours, but eventually the lorry passed out of sight and earshot. Just as we were on the point of getting to our feet for the dash across—one man was actually standing up—we heard the noise of a second lorry. As it came near we heard the Chinese talking in highpitched and, as it seemed to us, excited voices; I was afraid it was because they had seen us; however, all was well and the lorry passed by. After a silence of about five minutes we all walked together across the road leaving two men to brush out our footsteps. On the farther side the ground was still rocky but became smoother as we worked our way down the valley; the air also felt much warmer. The discipline observed by everyone was beyond all praise; they looked very serious and no one spoke a word. After some three miles we turned into a side valley which was thickly wooded. We could still see parts of the road and would have been able to spot any approaching headlights; however, there seemed to be no further traffic on it. We walked upward through the valley to cross a pass in the mountains. The nun, who was the sister of the chöpön of Yak monastery, now completely broke down both physically and mentally; it would have been too dangerous for the whole party if we had stopped for her, so we gave her what little food we could spare and then left her: It was a horrid decision to have to take—it left a guilty feeling—but the safety of the whole party allowed of no other alternative. Generally speaking, the older refugees, by walking in a measured pace, had managed to save their energy for this especially dangerous time and they now walked in front, while it was the younger ones who lagged behind. I was feeling very exhausted myself; both Akong Tulku and Yak Tulku did their best to cheer me. The latter, however, was getting worn out by this continual going up and down mountains; he kept saying to me, "Rinpoche, what do you think we shall find behind this one?" I could only answer, "I don't know, perhaps we shall find a nice, warm, secluded valley." At last to shut him up I said, "Probably we will find another still higher snow mountain." That stopped him worrying.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last three paragraphs.. End with the sentence '
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conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: These are high incarnates; but not all known tulkus are of this kind. In some instances a man of advanced spiritual development, but short of final liberation, dies before accomplishing a certain task and returns to complete it. Another kind of incarnation is known as a "tulku of benediction": When a certain well-beloved lama dies, his disciples will ask another lama who has been closely associated with the deceased (the latter, as often as not, will be the presiding lama of their school) to locate his spirit; as a result of this, the lama, though he does not return in person, confers his blessing upon the one who is to carry on his teaching; the person thus designated for the task will then reincarnate the departed master in the sense of perpetuating his spiritual influence.
  Multiple incarnations, of which an example was given above, most frequently occur in fives, of which one in particular will embody the visible presence of the departed lama, another his powers of speech, and yet another his powers of thought; again, one will represent his activities and another his qualities.
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