In July 1997 I obtained a cassette recording of Chagdud Tulku, one of the great Tibetan Buddhist masters of the present time, delivering two chants of the Vajra Guru mantra, om ah hum vajra guru padma siddhi hum. I produced transcriptions that crudely reproduced the original chants, and also 'sanitized' Westernized versions which placed the words more logically and clearly and were simpler, which could make clearer polyphonic textures.
I understand that the Tibetan pronunciation of the mantra is
approximately om ah hung benza guru péma siddhi hung;
I have
no strong feelings about whether it is pronounced as spelled or in
Tibetan mode. In either case the letter u in hung is
pronounced as in the vowel of book, not buck (in standard southern
English). Incidentally, I noticed that Chagdud Tulku pronounced vajra
as approximately 'baja', with the soft 'j' as in the French language.
What I had not properly understood until late in 2004 was that for
this work, like various others of mine, I had actually been tapping a
very deep and ancient source within my consciousness, and so I
eventually changed its title from the original one of Mandala
Dance for Padmasambhava.
The two short chant melodies are the sole material of the piece, though both are often used upside-down, which effectively produces a different melody, and also half-speed versions of either form appear. Also, I use the two versions of each chant from my original transcriptions. Actually I do something interesting and important with the chants. In various Eastern traditions seemingly endless repetition of mantras is considered a highly desirable thing to do, as it functions like very intensive use of meditation in stilling the mind and opening up high spiritual connections. However, as I now understand, such practices used regularly are highly problematical.
I have a very different approach to the use of mantras, in which their repetition is fundamentally a creative force instead of just a quietening and stilling force. My use of repeated mantras in fact reflects the creative force of the creator consciousness itself, in manifesting as waves and peaks of expansion interspersed by phases of contraction and looking into the central core, only to expand again.
The orchestration is mostly very sparing, the choir getting most of the attention. The work is in three sections, which are played without a break.
The first uses solely what I think of as the 'galloping' chant, in its simpler, Westernized version. It is so fast that the choir will have some difficulty in articulating the first three syllables, OM AH HUNG, but that truly is the speed of the work and of the original chant; any attempt to slow it down will destroy its dance character. Priority should be given to articulating the dotted rhythm correctly, even if that precludes the AH being heard clearly. The basses of the second choir get a lot more work than the rest, as for much of the time they sing the mantra at the low pitch of the original chant to form the foundation of the various soaring and vaulted structures of sound that unfold from the rest of the choir.
The middle section brings in the less fast and more plainsong-like chant, with a crude imitation of the melismata (ornaments) of Chagdud Tulku's chant; however, the simpler version of the chant without the melismata is used in the denser polyphonic passages for the choir, to avoid undue confusion of sound. This chant is soon worked in with the galloping chant. The speed of this section is that of the original plainsong-like chant, which requires the galloping chant to be rendered a little more slowly than previously in order to fit properly (sighs of relief from choir!).
The final section is a somewhat expanded and more intense repeat of the first section, using the original, non-Westernized version of the 'galloping' chant, in which the words are placed illogically, in such a way that choirs singing the work will find them very tricky to articulate at the required speed. The chanting builds up into a rapturous intensity that has about it an air of cosmic craziness in its polytonality -- throwing to the winds the humdrum limitations of unenlightened existence. The ending of the work is a nonsense, an illusion, just to satisfy non-enlightened Western sensibilities: the wise listener will understand that the music, the rejoicing, like the enlightened state, really has neither beginning nor end. At least I've tried to make a little sense of it by having the choir finish on the joyful cry 'Emaho!', which is a Tibetan exclamation meaning approximately 'Wonderful!'.
Ancient Chants of Enlightenment is a multitudinous celebration of the enlightened state and the whole of Creation, the chants building into great edifices of rejoicing splendour. May it bring forward the full enlightenment of all who perform or even just hear it!