ང་དང་ཁ་བའི་གཏམ་རྒྱུད། (Tales of Myself and Snow)

འཆི་མེད Chimé

(Trans. Tashi Dekyid Monet and David Germano)

Abstract: In this essay, we offer a translation of the famed Tibetan contemporary poet Chimé’s poem, “Tales of Myself and Snow,” written in 2012 in twenty stanzas of traditional metric verses. The essay introduces the poem with biographical notes on the author as well as our interpretation of the poem’s key themes based upon extensive interviews with the author. We read the poem as deeply embedded in the author’s relationship with her Tibetan homeland and Palden Lhamo–a principal female protective deity of Tibet and the Tibetan people. These stanzas trace a pilgrimage across the landscape of Tibet and its seasons of life and death, as well as across the landscape of her own body and mind, with poetic creation acting as the beating heart of the pilgrim driving her forward to this goddess whose usual dark body is reimagined as white as snow.

Keywords: Chimé, winter, Palden Lhamo, spiritual protectors, Tibetan language, Buddhism

Translators’ Introduction

Chimé (འཆི་མེད།) is the pen name for Pematso (པདྨ་འཚོ།), a famed contemporary poet and Tibetan language teacher from Rebgong, Amdo. She is among the first Tibetan women writers educated in the secular schools in Tibet and is one of the most well-known Tibetan poets living today. She graduated from Qinghai Nationalities Institute in 1987 and taught in Rebgong for over three decades.  Chimé has composed many important essays in addition to her powerful books of poetry. “Tales of Myself and Snow” (ང་དང་ཁ་བའི་གཏམ་རྒྱུད།) is a poem from Chimé’s first collection of poems, Dreams of the Moon (ཟླ་བའི་རྨི་ལམ།), published in 2012 in Ziling (Xining). She published a second book of collected poems, The Youth of Water (ཆུའི་ལང་ཚོ།) in 2016, while one of her most famous poems, “The Ring” (ཨ་ལོང་།) was separately published in 2017 and subsequently translated into English and powerfully interpreted by Dr. Lama Jabb. A third book of poetry and essays was published in 2023, The World in a Copper Mirror (ཟངས་ཀྱི་མེ་ལོང་ནང་གི་འཇིག་རྟེན།), which concludes with her autobiographical reflections and thoughts on the creative process (the latter was also separately published in a bilingual edition in 2023 with English translation by Rongwo Lugyal with the same title). Her poems have been awarded the highest recognitions for Tibetan literature in China, including the 2015 Wild Yak Prize for Literature and the 2017 Annual Award for Nationalities Literature from the China Writers’ Association.

Chimé’s life has been marked by intense suffering and loss, which have left indelible marks on her poetry. She grew up in the violent chaos of the Cultural Revolution, during which her mother and family were especially brutalized as a result of their previously privileged social status. Her father was unfairly imprisoned and died as a result when she was just six. Chimé’s mother was forced to give her away when she was nine, such that she was raised as a foster child by an oldercouple. Her mother later passed away when she was seventeen. In Chimé’s adult life she has suffered as a female writer at the hands and words of a misogynist Tibetan world, including over a decade of enforced silence as an author that she alludes to in her autobiography. There have also been private sufferings at the scale of her childhood, but which are not ours to share. This is the personal context for the dark vein of suffering, loss, betrayal, and grief which runs like black quicksilver through her writing. That said, “Tales of Myself and Snow” is actually one of the more joyful of her major poems with its lovely descriptions of a vibrant natural landscape interwoven with the pervasive figure of birds embodying the compelling power of poetic creation. Despite this, her personal grief is still evident, such as in the poem’s second stanza characterizing the poem overall as words of her own sorrow, which in the next-to-last stanza transmutes into the yearnings of Tibetan souls across the plateau against the background of “these chaotic times” when “the darkness of opaque paths conceal the land which holds us.” It also manifests in her reference to the rarity of “friendship without deceit,” and her twice entertaining her own death or living death in evocative and violent images, “this desiccated cairn, a barely standing thing, a body separated from mind,” and “the terror of the body’s flesh and skin being rent asunder.”

Chimé’s poems are also deeply spiritual in character but engage enduring Buddhist themes in compelling ways that are uniquely personal rather than simple evocations of Buddhist terminology and themes as articulated in the classical literature. Thus, her evocation of suffering and grief in “Tales of Myself and Snow” echoes the first noble truth of suffering, a primordial concern to which Buddhist meditations endlessly return. This pattern is also exemplified in the entire poem being cast as a prayer and supplication to the Tibetan goddess and protectress Palden Lhamo (དཔལ་ལྡན་ལྷམ་མོ།, literally “Glorious Goddess”) in the context of a deep meditation on grief, solitude, Land, and the nature of art itself. The poem weaves seamlessly through her own life, the Tibetan people, and the vast Tibetan landscape with its swirling storms of snow. In interviews with Chimé in the summer of 2022, she related that the inspiration for the poem occurred in a dream in the winter of 2010. That night she dreamed of a snowfall and woke up to find it was indeed snowing outside, which she interpreted as a sign of Palden Lhamo communicating with her. The poem is thus centrally concerned with Tibetan place-based relationships and the role of Tibetan more-than-human communities in Tibetan lifeways and ways of knowing.

Pelden Lhamo, never explicitly named in the poem but rather addressed primarily by Chimé simply as protectress (བདག་མོ།), is one of the most important female divinities in Tibet, as well as its most famous spiritual guardians, regardless of gender. She was, and is, also closely associated with the Tibetan people and their protection as a people. Her typical iconographic representation is a dark blue figure with fierce appearance, including a crown of five skulls and often holding a skull cup full of blood. While the title represents a category of tantric female divinities who can take many visual forms, including at times being white or red in color, the overwhelming majority of depictions are fierce in demeanor and dark blue in bodily color. Indeed, Chimé’s earliest relationship with Palden Lhamo emerged in the context of nightmares she had as a teenager, in which she was chased by a fierce dark nomadic woman, who whistled and tried to paint her black with charcoal but never caught her. A tantric teacher told her that the nightmares were indicative that Palden Lhamo was seeking a relationship with her, and after Chimé began offering juniper incense and chanting to the goddess, as well as later performing visualizations and meditations centered on her, the nightmares ceased and gave way to a life-long relationship and inspiration.

Of particular importance in the present context is that Palden Lhamo is often considered to be a fierce emanation of the goddess Sarasvatī (དབྱངས་ཅན་མ། དབྱངས་ཅན་ལྷ་མོ།), the goddess of knowledge, music, and poetry with a deep and enduring relationship to speech and artistic inspiration, as well as secondary associations with healing and protection. In Tibet, she is also identified as “Melodious Savioress” (Tibetan དབྱངས་ཅན་སྒྲོལ་མ།, Sanskrit tārā sarasvatī), identified in some enumerations as one of the twenty-one forms of Tārā, the most important of all female divinities in Tibetan Buddhism and also a goddess closely connected to the protection and sustenance of the Tibetan people and Land. Chimé in fact understands her own poetic vocation, as well as her life-long relationship with Palden Lhamo, to be fundamentally linked to a ritual initiation to Sarasvatī which she received as a college student many years ago from a famous Buddhist lama, who oddly summoned her to the initiation without explanation (only later did Chimé come to recognize the relationship of Sarasvatī and Palden Lhamo). The relationship between Sarasvatī, Palden Lhamo, and her own art has thus been a topic of deep reflection for her entire adult life. These reflections, and poetic meditations, have also been interwoven with a life-long concern for the agency and rights of Tibetan women, coming to terms with her own grief at unimaginable losses, and her deep love of the Tibetan language, people, and Land.

This is the backdrop for the poem’s evocation of the protectress, who Chimé reimagines as a goddess of snow, hence as white in color as the blizzards of snow descending upon the Tibetan Land as she sleeps. She also evokes the goddess as present in white bones, imaging the bones of a frozen winter landscape animated by her divine spirit. Overall, the poem explores Tibet as a people and a Land, with the Protectress intimately intertwined with a Land that she both blesses and of which she herself is an expression. We discern in it a recasting of the primordial Tibetan story of the Tibetan plateau as a fierce female demoness who must be violently tamed by temples and the constant reiteration of Buddhist esoteric rituals of subjugation. Here the Tibetan landscape, blanketed by snow in the dead of winter, merges with Palden Lhamo, such that her typical dark blue body is now the uncharacteristic whiteness of Tibetan snow, also imaged as the whiteness of bone and conch shells. Thus in the poet’s repeated beseeching of Palden Lhamo, the protectress, we would suggest she is also implicitly evoking the Tibetan Land as divine, thereby undoing the original subjugation of a female gendered Tibetanness, as well as the Buddhist fissuring of Land as the subjugated subject of Buddhist ritual mastery. Instead, the female, and Land, are the divine, who she implores for a vision, for a relationship, and for acknowledgement throughout the poetic meditation. The whiteness may also evoke Palden Lhamo’s inner core as the goddess of poetry, Sarasvatī, who is typically painted and visualized as white, and who is here clearly present as Chimé explores the intimate connections of Palden Lhamo to the act of poetic creation and inspiration.

While the opening two stanzas portray the immediate context of the poem in a snowstorm in the dead of winter, it isn’t until the fourteenth stanza that winter reemerges in the specter of Palden Lhamo’s white bones. In between, the Land of Tibet is evoked in lovely and joyful terms outside of winter (stanzas three, four, seven, nine, ten, and eleven). Once winter returns with those white bones, it is next described as a delightful emissary of Palden Lhamo (stanza fifteen), but then immediately is imaged as the conch-white protectress contrasted to a reference to the poet’s own violent death (stanza sixteen), after which it concludes in stanzas eighteen and nineteen with a silent, possibly ominous dark winter landscape at nighttime with “massive mountains in natural alignment, draped by snow” and “souls roaming across the four regions of Tibet.” This poem thus begins with the death of winter, returns to vibrant life, and concludes with a fervent prayer across a still winter landscape. Across this changing landscape of Tibet, two threads weave a tapestry of reflection—the nature of poetic creation and the intense hope for a vision of Palden Lhamo. The first two stanzas self-consciously refer to the process of writing as “tales of myself and snow” described as “words of my own sorrow” that she offers as “sustenance for the winds so intimate with snow.” The fifth stanza imagines poetic creation as the supreme goddess unraveling her natural freedom from within her body, which becomes “designs falling to the surface of a mirror” (stanza six) and melodies stemming from “the exquisitely blissful vast matrix of body and speech” (stanza eight). She brings forth two exemplars of Tibetan female poets from ancient times, each vividly evoked with colored landscapes of turquoise and red copper respectively, who this time constitute “tightly woven knots of composition in naturally free speech” (stanza nine). She then images the poets as “a feathered flock” flying through a forested landscape with song and dance (stanza eleven), before returning to the image of poetry as sketches upon the mind’s crystal mirror (stanza twelve) that constitute her gift, though people understand her inspired words in a hundred ways due to divergent karma (stanza thirteen). She then in the final verse (twenty) vividly describes speech blossoming into the mind’s seeds via letters at her fingertips, asking Palden Lhamo to witness the moment.

Palden Lhamo herself appears first implicitly in the images of snow falling in the first two verses but then is explicitly evoked in verses four and five as the protectress of all life and the inspiring muse behind Chimé’s own poetic capacities. Verse eight addresses the goddess directly, linking her to the stirring of melodies within the poet, and in a dramatic image asks her for inspiration, even if the poet is just “this desiccated cairn, a barely standing thing, a body separated from mind?” (stanza ten). The protectress is then addressed in every stanza from the twelfth to the final, twentieth stanza in an intensifying crescendo, as the poet      asks her to acknowledge her own poetic acts (twelve), inquires as to when a personal vision will be forthcoming (thirteen), requests a presence in the naked white bones of winter beyond all guile and betrayal (fourteen), asks how snowfall could be anything but emissaries of the protectress’s impending arrival (fifteen), claims that even death would be nothing in the face of such an embrace (sixteen), requests her to come this moment in a blaze of flames (seventeen), plaintively asks if she thinks of we Tibetans as the winter landscape sleeps in the dead of night (eighteen), supplicates for a collective encounter for all Tibetans (nineteen), and then concludes by asking her to witness with joy the poet’s own poetic acts of transmutation.

As we read the poem, we began to think of it as a contemporary version of a Buddhist scripture, a sūtra or a tantra which always begin with a narrative frame (གླེང་གཞི།) that lays out the sublime teacher, retinue, teaching, place, and time framing the ensuing dialog in which an interlocutor asks a Buddha questions, and the Buddha responds. Just so, the poet begins by detailing a place (Rebgong in Tibet) and a time (the dead of winter), while the teacher is Palden Lhamo and the retinue is the same as the interlocutor, namely Chimé herself, who poses six questions and requests to Palden Lhamo. In a distinctively modern inversion, however, her questions are unanswered, left lingering on the page, chasms of uncertainty compared to the confident, lengthy sermons that usually ensue in Buddhist scriptures when questions are posed. The teaching itself is explicitly about the interweaving of Land and person, betrayal and suffering, the hope for redemption, and the process of poetic inspiration and creation. Indeed, Palden Lhamo clearly functions in part as a poetic muse for Chimé, inspiring her poetry and acting as a religious subject of veneration. The English word muse ultimately derives from the Greek word mousa, which literally means song or poetry, as well as nine sister goddesses of knowledge and the arts. Such      connection of divinity to inspiration for composition is a long standing one in Tibetan Buddhism, as visions of Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, and Goddesses might inspire a composition or revelation, while in the Tibetan revelatory treasure (གཏེར་མ།) tradition, historically concealed and later revealed scriptures were mediated by various male and especially female guardian spirits tasked with protecting and then facilitating recovery of the texts in question. The preponderance of such texts was in fact in verse, such that divinely-inspired Buddhist poetry has a long history in Tibet. Indeed, the treasure tradition is pervaded by accounts of the deeply symbolic and mysterious processes of revelation, which can be interpreted in terms of accounts of a poetic process of inspiration and creation.

The poem’s fifth stanza on unraveling knots of blockage in the body resulting in spontaneous songs of creativity and freedom are a long-standing theme in terms of subtle body meditations unleashing spontaneous compositions of esoteric songs. The ninth stanza then beautifully inverts this by imaging poetic compositions by historical Tibetan women as “tightly woven knots of composition in naturally free speech,” suggesting the specificity of their experience constitute intricately woven knots of value in their poetic expressions, not obstacles to be dissolved. The poem then concludes with a lovely image of mind running like a dark ink through letters, speech, fingers, and pen to become a poem, transforming her grief into a redeeming vision of the protectress, and of the very soul of Tibet and Tibetans. These twenty stanzas then, are a pilgrimage across the landscape of Tibet and its seasons of life and death, and the landscape of her own body and mind, with the act of poetic creation constituting the beating heart of the pilgrim driving her forward to this goddess with a body white as snow. Unlike a Buddhist scripture, the questions and pleas to the Buddhist divinity are never answered, and the poem concludes with two requests posed to Palden Lhamo, asking that she rejoice and witness the Tibetan poetic process that flows through Chimé in the very act of poetically invoking the protectress. Yet, in a sense, Palden Lhamo has been talking throughout the poem, manifesting in the medium of the Tibetan Land’s vibrant agency present stanza after stanza, as well as internally as the dynamic force that stirs within the poet to give rise to the poem itself.

ང་དང་ཁ་བའི་གཏམ་རྒྱུད།

1. མེ་ཏོག་ཟེ་བ་ལྡེམ་མེ་དབྱར་གཞུང་གི །

ཡིད་འོང་དུས་ཀྱི་རྣམ་པ་མི་མཐོང་བའི། །

གྲང་རླུང་གངས་ཆར་དཀྲིགས་པའི་དགུན་དཀྱིལ་ནས།

ང་དང་ཁ་བའི་གཏམ་རྒྱུད་འདི་ལྟར་བྲིས། །

2. ལྷབ་ལྷུབ་འཕུར་བའི་ཁ་བ་ལེབ་མོའི་ཚོགས། །

དོ་ནུབ་བདག་གི་སྒེའུ་ཁུང་འགྲམ་དུ་བབས། །

རིག་བྱེད་གཏམ་རྒྱུད་མིན་པའི་སྐྱོ་སྨྲེང་འདི། །

ཁ་བའི་རུམ་ལ་ལྷགས་པའི་ཟས་སུ་འབུལ། །

3. གནས་གཡང་ཆགས་ཀྱི་རེབ་གོང་གསེར་མོ་ལྗོངས། །

གོས་ངུར་སྨྲིག་གི་རྒྱལ་མཚན་བསྒྲེངས་པའི་ཡུལ། །

གནས་ལྔ་རིག་གི་ཡུལ་དབུས་མ་ག་ངྷ། །

དུས་ད་ལྟའང་ངོ་མཚར་བཀོད་པས་ཕྱུག །

4. སྣོད་རི་ཆུ་ལ་གཡང་གི་རེ་ཁཱ་བཀྲ།

བཅུད་སྐྱེ་རྒུ་ལ་བདག་མོས་དངོས་གྲུབ་བསྩལ། །

དཔལ་མཛེས་སྡུག་གིས་གླིང་བདུན་ཐིག་ལེར་བཟླུམས། །

ཡིད་མཚོ་གླིང་ལ་སྨོན་པའི་རླབས་རིས་འགྱུ། །

5. སེམས་སྟོང་དབྱིངས་ནས་བསྒོམས་པའི་ལྷ་མོ་མཆོག།

ལུས་དྲོད་ལམ་མེ་གྲེ་བར་བསྐྱིལ་པ་ན། །

ངག་རང་གྲོལ་གྱི་མདུད་རྒྱ་ལྷོད་ཤིག་གེར། །

སེམས་མ་གོམས་པའི་འཇིག་རྟེན་སྣང་གླུར་ཐལ། །

6. དངུལ་མེ་ལོང་གི་ངོས་སུ་བབས་པའི་རིས། །

གསོན་མི་ཡུལ་གྱི་གཏམ་རྒྱུད་མི་གཙང་བ། །

ཡིད་དུང་དུང་གིས་བརྗོད་པའི་དོ་ནུབ་ལ། །

གནོང་བག་མེད་ཀྱི་བྲེད་ཤ་མི་མངོན་ཙམ། །

7. རི་གངས་དཀར་གྱི་ཅོད་པན་ཐོད་ལ་བླངས། །

སྤང་གཡུ་མདོག་གི་ས་གཞི་གདན་དུ་བཏིང་། །

ཤེལ་རྫ་ཆབ་དང་ནགས་ཆུ་ཧུབ་ཀྱིས་མིད། །

གྲོགས་འདབ་ཆགས་ལས་མེད་ཀྱང་སྐྱིད་སྣང་ཆེ། །

8. ངའི་འཇིག་རྟེན་གྱི་བདག་མོ་ངོ་མཚར་མ། །

ཡིད་སྣང་སྲིད་ཀྱི་ཁམས་ལ་ཉམས་རོལ་པའི། །

གནས་ལུས་ངག་གི་ཀློང་ཡངས་བདེ་ཆེན་ནས། །

གདངས་མཐའ་མེད་ཀྱི་རྩོམ་རྟོག་བདག་ལ་བརྙེས། །

9.ལྷོ་གཡུ་མཚོ་ཡི་ངོགས་སུ་སད་མ་ཀར། །

ཟངས་མཁར་དམར་གྱི་རི་ན་ལབ་ཀྱི་སྒྲོན། །

ཡིད་རོ་མཉམ་གྱི་མགུར་གླུ་སྙན་ལྷང་ལྷང་། །

ངག་རང་གྲོལ་ལ་རྩོམ་མདུད་དམ་སེ་བཞུགས། །

10. གྲོང་རི་གསེབ་ནས་འཁྱོམ་པའི་རྣམ་ཤེས་ལ། །

དྲོད་བདེ་དཀྱིལ་ནས་སྩོལ་བའི་བདག་མོ་ལགས། །

ལུས་སེམས་བྲལ་གྱི་བེམ་པོ་མ་འགྱེལ་ཙམ། །

ཐོ་སྐམ་པོ་ལ་དངོས་གྲུབ་ག་རེ་གནང་། །

11. ནགས་ལོ་འདབ་ནས་འཕུར་བའི་འདབ་ཆགས་ཁྱུ། །

མགྲིན་དབྱངས་བདུན་གྱི་འགྱུར་བ་སྣ་ཚོགས་ཤིང་། །

ལུས་སྤུ་སྡུག་གི་གཤོག་ཟུང་མཁའ་དབྱིངས་སུ། །

གར་སྟངས་སྟབས་ཀྱིས་སྒེག་པ་ཡི་གར་འོང་། །

12. དེ་སྒྲིབ་མེད་ཀྱི་སྣང་བརྙན་མངོན་གསལ་བའི། །

ཡིད་དྭངས་ཤེལ་གྱི་མེ་ལོང་ངོས་གཉིས་ལ། །

ངག་རིག་བྱེད་ཀྱི་རི་མོ་བྲིས་པ་ཡིས། །

དོན་བདག་མོ་མཆོག་བསུ་བ་དགོངས་ལགས་སམ། །

13. ལས་འོ་སྐོལ་གྱི་བསྐོས་ཐང་མི་འདྲ་ལ། །

བརྒྱ་ཁ་གཅིག་གིས་ཐོས་པ་མི་འདྲ་ཡང་། །

དུས་བདག་མེད་ཀྱིས་བདག་ལ་བསྩལ་པ་སྟེ། །

ཁྱེད་ནམ་ཞིག་ལ་བདག་གིས་དངོས་སུ་རྙེད། །

14. གྲོགས་བསླུ་མེད་ཀྱི་བདེན་པ་མཐོང་དཀའ་བ། །

དུས་ད་ལྟའང་ད་དུང་འཚོལ་བཞིན་ཡོད། །

ཀེང་རུས་དཀར་གྱིས་འགྲེང་བའི་བདག་མོ་ལགས། །

གནས་ཕྱོགས་ཆ་ཙམ་བདག་ལ་གཡར་བར་ཞུ། །

15. གངས་དཀར་པོ་ཞིག་བདག་གི་སྙེས་འོག་ཏུ། །

ནམ་མཚན་དཀྱིལ་ལ་འཛུལ་བ་ཨ་རེ་སྐྱིད། །

འདི་བདག་མོ་ཡི་ཕོ་ཉའི་འགྲོ་འོང་སྟེ། །

སྐུ་དངོས་མཇལ་གྱི་ཉེར་བསྡོགས་ཅི་ལ་མིན། །

16. ཡིད་མཁའ་དབྱིངས་ནས་འོད་དཀར་འཛུམ་དམུལ་ལེ། །

དུང་བདག་མོ་ཉིད་ག་ལེར་བཞུད་གྱུར་ན། །

ལུས་ཤ་པགས་གཉིས་ཕྲལ་པའི་འཇིགས་སྣང་གིས། །

གསོན་མི་ཡུལ་ལ་ནམ་ཞིག་གྱེས་ཀྱང་ཆོག །

17. གསུང་ངོ་མཚར་གྱི་དཔལ་མོ་ཡིད་འོང་མ། །

སྐུ་སྲིད་གསུམ་གྱི་བདག་མོ་ཌ་ཀི་མ། །

ཡིད་མེ་རླབས་ཀྱི་ཀློང་ཡངས་མཆོད་པའི་མཐིལ། །

དུས་སྐད་ཅིག་སྤྱོན་ནོ་བརྩེ་ལྡན་མ། །

18. གྲལ་མ་བསྒྲིགས་པའི་ལྷུན་པོ་གངས་ཀྱིས་གཡོགས། །

དྲི་མ་རེག་པའི་ཟླ་དཀར་དབྱིངས་ན་འཛུམ། །

ལམ་མི་གསལ་བའི་མུན་པས་འཛིན་མ་བཀབ། །

ངག་བསླུ་མེད་ཀྱི་བདག་མོས་དགོངས་ལགས་སམ། །

19. གནས་རུ་བཞི་ན་རྒྱུ་བའི་རྣམ་ཤེས་ལ། །

དཔལ་འགྱུར་མེད་ཀྱི་རྡོ་རྗེའི་ལུས་གསོལ་ཏེ། །

གནས་བསིལ་ལྗོངས་སུ་ཉུལ་བའི་དགོས་དོན་ཉིད། །

སྐུ་དངོས་མཇལ་གྱི་སྐལ་བར་སྨོན་པའོ། །

20. ཡིད་འཕྲིན་ལམ་དུ་འཕོས་པའི་ངག་གི་དཔལ། །

སོར་སྨྱུག་རྩེ་ནས་བཞད་པའི་ཟློས་གར་ལ། །

ཐུགས་མཐིལ་གཏིང་ནས་དགྱེས་སམ་བདག་མོ་མཆོག །

སྤྱན་ལན་གཅིག་ལ་གཟིགས་སམ་བདག་མོ་མཆོག།།

Tales of Myself and Snow

1. Mid-summer flowers with swaying anthers,

colors and shapes of lovely times no longer visible,

enveloped by deep winter’s freezing winds and blizzards,

I write these tales of myself and snow.

2. Waves of snowflakes undulating

in descent before my window tonight,

I offer words of my own sorrow rather than some ancient fable

as sustenance for the winds so intimate with snow.

3. The golden lands of Rebkong form a sacred site

where the victory banners of the saffron robes fly,

a central region for the five fields of knowledge, ancient Magadha embodied,

abundant even now in displays of wonder.

4. Sacred lines adorn mountains and rivers, the vessel,

the protectress grants spiritual attainments to all life, the elixir,

their glory and beauty encircle the seven continents,

rippling waves of prayer flow in the ocean island of my mind.

5. The supreme goddess contemplated from the expanse of an empty mind,

gathers in my throat as vivid warmth spreads through the body

the knot blocking speech’s natural freedom unravels,

passing into world-imagining songs beyond the mind’s ken.

6. Designs falling to the surface of a silver mirror,

impure tales of life in the human realm,

tonight my passionate expression

just barely evades fears of being shameless.

7. Taking the crown of white snow mountains to my head,

laying the ground of turquoise meadows as a seat,

drinking fully the waters of crystal slate and forest streams,

how happy, even if winged birds are my only companions.

8. Wonderful protectress of my world,

from the exquisitely blissful vast matrix of body and speech

where my mind enjoys the realm of all that appears,

the composition of melodies endlessly falls to me.

9. Queen Sadmakar at the banks of the southern turquoise lake,

and Saint Labkyidrön at the mountain of the red copper fortress:

vivid melodies of the same flavor of mind are present,

tightly woven knots of composition in naturally free speech.

10. My protectress, who has bestowed warmth and bliss via the heart

to this soul wandering through mountain villages,

what spiritual attainments will you grant to this desiccated cairn,

a barely standing thing, a body separated from mind?

11. A winged flock flying through a forest’s canopy,

diverse songs modulating in seven melodies,

pairs of lovely feathered wings in the sky’s expanse

rhythmically dancing, graceful and exquisite.

12. On the two surfaces of the mind’s bright crystal mirror,

such images shine vividly without obscuration,

and I sketch designs of poetic knowing

to welcome you, supreme protectress —do you understand?

13. Though a hundred people will hear different things

given our distinct karmic trajectories,

these chaotic times have bestowed to me this gift,

and yet when will I meet you in person?

14. Still searching even now for this rarity,

the truth of friendship beyond deceit,

I request that you lend to me a mere sliver of it,

protectress who stands in naked white bones.

15. White snow slipping in under my pillow

in the middle of night, how delightful!

How could these visits of the protectress’s emissary

not be preparations for a personal encounter?

16. Should the conch protectress slowly approach,

luminously white and smiling from the sky expanse of my mind,

I would be content even if torn from the realm of the living

with the terror of the body’s flesh and skin being rent asunder.

17. Exquisite glorious lady with awe inspiring Speech,

sky dancing protectress of the three realms with your Body,

please come this very moment, loving lady,

to my heart’s offering of a vast space of blazing flames.

18. A natural array of massive mountains draped in snow,

the stainless white moon smiling in the expanse,

the darkness of opaque paths concealing the land which holds us,

do you think of us, protectress who never deceives?

19. I request glorious, unchanging, adamantine bodies

for the souls roaming across the four regions of Tibet,

I pray that our very purpose of wandering in these cool lands

be fulfilled in the fortune of meeting you in person.

20. The glories of speech transferring mind through letters,

this drama blossoming from my fingers and the tip of a pen,

supreme protectress, are you pleased from the depths of your Heart?

supreme protectress, will you read it this one time with your Eyes?

Chimé (འཆི་མེད།) is a famed contemporary poet and Tibetan language teacher from Rebgong, Amdo. She has published two books of collected poems, Dreams of the Moon (ཟླ་བའི་རྨི་ལམ།) and The Youth of Water (ཆུའི་ལང་ཚོ།) in 2012 and 2016 respectively. A third book of poetry and essays, The World in a Copper Mirror (ཟངས་ཀྱི་མེ་ལོང་ནང་གི་འཇིག་རྟེན།), was published in 2023. Her poems have been awarded the highest recognitions for Tibetan literature in China, including the 2015 Wild Yak Prize for Literature and the 2017 Annual Award for Nationalities Literature from the China Writers’ Association.

Tashi Dekyid Monet (མོ་ངེ་བཀྲ་ཤིས་བདེ་སྐྱིད།) is a Tibetan scholar and author of children’s literature. She has recently completed her PhD degree from University of Virginia. Her dissertation, Knowing with Indigenous Land: Rekindling the Embers of Tibet’s Ancestral Knowing in Education, explored how Tibetan Land and place-based traditions constitute a vital, ancient, and dynamic Indigenous Land education and ways of knowing.

David Germano is a professor of Tibetan and Buddhist studies at the University of Virginia, where he also directs the Generative Contemplation Initiative and the Tibetan and Himalayan Library. He has spent many years living all over the Tibetan world in Asia, including extensive activities supporting Tibetans in documenting and understanding contemporary forms of knowledge and expression.