I’ve had a deep immersion in both Tibetan Buddhism and Feminism, even winning a scholarship prize in college for a paper I wrote called Buddhism and Feminism: Strange Bedfellows. I’ve noticed that many Western Dharma Practitioners go to bat for Feminism as an integral part of the Dharma by citing examples of female Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, Tara being one of the most famous, as it is claimed that she vowed to be a champion for the value of the feminine and inspire beings all the way to enlightenment, while remaining in a female body. The Dakini is another example. Dakini’s are a slinky bunch! They are alternately examples of our own wisdom/feminine nature, a kind of spiritual muse and a sexual consort. Sounds like it might be a more holistic approach then say, Mother Mary as your image of the Divine Feminine, but wait, there’s more! The dakini is part of the esoteric school of Buddhism called Vajrayana, that is meant to use every experience we have as the spiritual path. Nothing gets left out.
Well, nothing in theory.
The concept is useful, but the form is problematic. I am also a poet and psychotherapist and know the power of imagery. Whether visual or metaphoric, images speak directly to our bodies and souls.
Buddhism rooted and spread from Eastern Patriarchal cultures. When they were added to the Petri dish of the West, its multiplicities and growth yielded some unexpected results. In spite of the fact that the Tibetans came to America somewhat like missionaries, I was the one who always felt like the bumbling immigrant. It took a while to get my footing, let alone understand how to undress the panolopy of teachings’ (often quite beautifully, frequently puzzling) layers of cultural clothing in order to reach the naked spiritual truths.
Most unexpectedly to me, was the realization that the “working” face of dakini, does not provide an adequate mirror for my lived experience. I have had many conversations about this with many western women dharma peeps. Most are somewhat shy about admitting they might feel the same way. Others are only too happy to elevate the “exotic other” over their own heritage, and let wisdom live in a Tibetan form. I’m not one of them.
Feminist Film Theorist Laura Mulvey’s discussion of what she describes as The Male Gaze - is a way of perceiving the world literally through the lens of male filmmakers and metaphorically through how we all turn this gaze upon ourselves and inadvertently normalize this veil - separating ourselves from what is real even when it does not tally with our lived truth. (ie: I wanted to BE Brad Pitt ‘Tristan’ riding his horse in Legends of the Fall, NOT be fucked by him and then die, like his wife in the film). The Male Gaze has so penetrated and infiltrated our perception of the world through art, media, literature, film, religion, education, etc. we convince ourselves that what we are experiencing is true, even when it’s not.
Easier said: here is a poem I wrote many years ago, and read at a Buddhist Retreat. After, my teacher, Gelek Rimpoche came up to me and gave me a big silent hug. Though we don’t agree on everything, on this point, he seemed to understand what I was complaining about.
Why I Don’t Want to Be the Dakini
for Chris McCall, who also does not want to be the Dakini
I used to think being the dakini was like being a movie star only better. Like being a cosmic movie star. Right? You get to fly in the sky, all empty and open, that wise sky. The open mind sky is where you fly. Wisdom witch fly around all pretty and, well… “fly.”
Fly on the wall, might be a dakini is disguise. Cause they also hide. That’s one good part; you get to trick them as a hag. You hag-ify your sinuous body, thin, a flitting uncatchable whim.
Your sinuous body is the draw, let’s face it. What else will get the phone ringing? What else will magnetify them to you? And then you’re over qualified for satisfying with the arts of “love.” You know so many arts and you really only need a couple. Now a daka, they might need to learn a few more. 64 is drop in the bucket. Dakas to be take note: Bone up on your arts of “love.”
The dakini isn’t attached though. There’s no attachment at all. Sex, without attachment, right? She’s just a slip of a woman hovering and gyrating in the sky, ready to pow-y wham you with bliss.
“All women are the dakini.” says the dharma books.
Except, how do they gyrate in space when they gotta go change a diaper? I’ve never seen a picture of a dakini mother and her dakini babies. I’ve never seen an image of a pregnant dakini. I know, she is supposed to be uniting with my mind. What kind of birth control do dakinis use? Oh, I forgot, they’re magic.
Dakinis don’t seem to have kids though. They just fly and reflect, fly and reflect. Be you your mind mirror. Reflect, test, hide. Be a hag, have some sex. Fly. Let’s face it - male defined. I don’t want to be the dakini. Nope, never mind.
The dakini is supposed to be a powerful image of woman. Right? Supposed to be what aspiring minds want to know. Lovely, winged, wise and… thin. Did I mention that they are thin? They are sinuously thin. Sound familiar? Women, tell me, do you want to be thin? Have you ever in your life wished you were thin? Thinner than you are? Sinuously thin? Do I hear a sigh?
So a fat blob doesn’t flit or have wit. Right? You can pat the Big Buddha Belly, ha ha ha but if you are a woman, well, you wear a crop top and jewels on your tits. I think that might hurt. Don’t you? And your waist is stinging wasp thin. That’s the look of love, is what I have understood. Ladies, who feels empowered now? Yes, the perfect body, perfect face, perfect clothes and perfect jewels rubbing your tits raw are supposed to reflect your perfect mind. Does it seem that way, to you? I’m just asking.
Personally, I don’t want to be the dakini.
So I’m talking to Chris and I say, “He called me a dakini” and she goes, “Oh barf!” And I’m like, “I know.”
I make that foot crook drum beat gesture and I try to imagine this is as an ecstatic dance of bliss void indivisible. The blood drinker’s ball. I know, it’s symbolic. It’s just an image. Don’t take it so literally. Its not very sophisticated of me to complain about the dakini. You don’t have to chide. I’m just saying, this isn’t helping me. It isn’t stoking my wisdom fire. I’m not stoked, and for god’s sake, I’m not the dakini.
But if I were… I would tell you this:
I’m no wispy wise reflector to see yourself in. I have my own side, and I don’t fly around in your mind.
I don’t want to hide, but I don’t think you can see my inside.
The glamorous movie stars have all died.
If I ever thought I wanted to be the dakini, well, I lied.
If you think we are going to fly around together,
then you better catch another ride.
I am still looking for the real moon tide.
And there, I will abide.
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