Chapter 1Precious Human Life and Renunciation

The Homage

Gyalse Tokme Zangpo begins his text not with his own voice, but with a bow. The opening homage sets the tone for everything that follows: this is not an intellectual exercise, but a practice that flows from devotion and the aspiration to benefit others.

He prostrates through his three doors -- body, speech, and mind -- to his supreme teacher and protector Chenrezig (Avalokiteshvara), the embodiment of the compassion of all the buddhas. He describes Chenrezig as one who sees that all phenomena lack coming and going -- that is, who realizes the ultimate nature of reality, emptiness -- and yet makes single-minded effort for the good of living beings. This is the very essence of the bodhisattva ideal: wisdom and compassion inseparable.

In this opening gesture, Tokme Zangpo is telling us something crucial about the ground from which these thirty-seven practices arise. The teacher and the Buddha-figure of compassion are not separate. The guru who guides us and the awakened compassion we aspire to embody are ultimately one. Every practice in this text is rooted in that living connection.

He then states his purpose: since perfect buddhas arise from accomplishing the excellent teachings, and since accomplishing the teachings depends on knowing the practices, he will explain the practices of bodhisattvas. The logic is beautifully simple. You want happiness? It comes from buddhahood. Buddhahood comes from Dharma. Dharma comes from practice. So here are the practices.

Verse 1: The Precious Human Life

Having gained this rare ship of freedom and fortune, Hear, think and meditate unwaveringly night and day In order to free yourself and others From the ocean of cyclic existence -- This is the practice of bodhisattvas.

The very first practice Tokme Zangpo teaches is recognition. Before you can walk the path, you must see where you are standing.

You have a human life. Not just any human life, but one endowed with what the tradition calls the eight freedoms and ten advantages -- a life where you have the physical capacity, the mental faculties, the access to teachings, and the conditions that allow genuine spiritual practice. This is what the verse calls "freedom and fortune."

Tokme Zangpo uses the image of a ship. In the vast ocean of samsara, where beings are tossed endlessly by the waves of birth, aging, sickness, and death, you have found a vessel capable of carrying you -- and others -- all the way to the far shore. The question is whether you will actually set sail.

The method he prescribes is threefold: hear, think, and meditate. This corresponds to the classical Buddhist framework of the three wisdoms. First you hear the teachings -- you receive them from a qualified teacher or study them in a text. Then you think about them -- you turn them over in your mind, question them, test them against your own experience until intellectual understanding arises. Finally you meditate -- you internalize the meaning so deeply that it transforms your being, not just your ideas.

And note the urgency: "unwaveringly night and day." This is not a hobby. The precious human life, once lost, is extraordinarily difficult to regain. The causes that produce it -- ethical conduct, generosity, pure aspiration -- must all come together in a single stream of life, and the odds of that happening are vanishingly small.

The purpose is stated plainly: to free yourself and others from the ocean of cyclic existence. From the very first verse, Tokme Zangpo frames the entire path in terms of both self and other. This is not a selfish quest for personal peace. It is the bodhisattva's journey.

Verse 2: Leaving the Homeland

Attached to your loved ones you're stirred up like water. Hating your enemies you burn like fire. In the darkness of confusion you forget what to adopt and what to discard. Give up your homeland -- This is the practice of bodhisattvas.

Having recognized what you hold, the next question is: what environment supports your practice?

Tokme Zangpo uses three vivid images for the three root poisons of the mind. Attachment to loved ones stirs us up like water -- we are never still, always churning with hopes, fears, and longings connected to those we care about. Hatred toward enemies burns like fire -- consuming our peace and scorching everything it touches. And in the resulting confusion, we lose all clarity about what to cultivate and what to abandon.

The "homeland" here is not merely a geographical place. It is any environment where these three poisons are constantly fed, where the patterns of attachment, aversion, and ignorance run so deep that we cannot see them clearly, let alone work with them. It could be a social circle, a relationship dynamic, a career path, or a habitual way of spending your time.

This does not mean the bodhisattva becomes a hermit who cares for no one. The point is about honest self-assessment. Can you remain in your current conditions and still practice effectively? Or are the triggers so pervasive that your three poisons only increase? A good doctor first stops the bleeding before beginning the surgery.

In the context of fourteenth-century Tibet, Tokme Zangpo may have been speaking quite literally -- many practitioners left their home villages for remote hermitages. In our modern context, the principle translates more broadly: create the conditions that support your awakening. Be willing to change what needs changing, even when it is uncomfortable.

Verse 3: Cultivating Solitude

By avoiding bad objects, disturbing emotions gradually decrease. Without distraction, virtuous activities naturally increase. With clarity of mind, conviction in the teaching arises. Cultivate seclusion -- This is the practice of bodhisattvas.

This verse is the positive counterpart to the previous one. Where verse two said "leave," verse three says "arrive." And what you arrive at is solitude -- not as deprivation, but as a fertile ground for growth.

The logic unfolds in three steps. First, when you remove yourself from objects and situations that trigger disturbing emotions, those emotions gradually decrease. They do not vanish overnight, but without fresh fuel, the fire begins to die down. Second, without the constant pull of distraction, virtuous activities -- study, contemplation, meditation, compassionate action -- naturally increase. You do not have to force them. When the ground is cleared, good seeds grow. Third, as the mind becomes clearer, genuine conviction in the teachings arises. Not blind faith, but the kind of confidence that comes from direct experience: "I have tested this, and it works."

Seclusion can be physical -- a retreat cabin, a quiet room, a period of silence. But it can also be cultivated within a busy life through the discipline of reducing unnecessary stimulation, guarding the sense doors, and creating protected time for practice. What matters is the inner quality: a mind that has enough space to observe itself.

Tokme Zangpo was himself a great exemplar of this practice. After serving as abbot of Bodong E Monastery for nine years, he withdrew to Ngulchu Chodzong, where he spent over twenty years in retreat. It was in that solitude that he composed this very text.

Verse 4: Letting Go of This Life

Loved ones who have long kept company will part. Wealth created with difficulty will be left behind. Consciousness, the guest, will leave the guest house of the body. Let go of this life -- This is the practice of bodhisattvas.

The fourth practice cuts to the heart of what holds us back: our fixation on this present life.

Tokme Zangpo presents three contemplations, each one undeniable. Your closest companions, the people you have known longest and loved most deeply, will separate from you. This is not pessimism; it is the nature of conditioned existence. Every relationship you have ever formed will end, either through distance, disagreement, or death.

The wealth you have worked so hard to accumulate -- every dollar saved, every possession acquired -- will be left behind at the moment of death. You cannot take a single coin with you. As the Tibetan masters say, even a king departs naked.

And most profoundly: consciousness itself, the one you call "I," is merely a guest in the body. The body is a guest house, and the guest will eventually depart. This image is striking in its gentleness. There is no violence in it, no tragedy -- just the natural movement of a traveler continuing on their journey.

The instruction is not to become morbid or nihilistic. It is to let go of the desperate clinging that makes us treat this life's concerns as though they were permanent and all-important. When you truly internalize the reality of impermanence, something remarkable happens: you begin to use your time wisely. Every moment becomes precious, not because you are afraid of death, but because you understand the extraordinary opportunity you hold right now.

These four verses together form the foundation. You have recognized the preciousness of your situation (verse 1), created the conditions for practice (verses 2-3), and established the motivation of genuine renunciation (verse 4). Now the path can truly begin.