[This document can be acquired from a sub-directory coombspapers via
 anonymous FTP or COOMBSQUEST gopher on the node COOMBS.ANU.EDU.AU or
 ANU Soc.Sci.WWW Server at http://coombs.anu.edu.au/CoombsHome.html]
 The document's ftp filename and the full directory path are given in
 the coombspapers top level INDEX files]
 [This version: 23 March 1994]
 TITLE: In Praise of the ACIP CD-ROM: Woodblock to Laser
 AUTHOR: GELEK Rinpoche (Nyagri Khentrul)
 SOURCE: "ACIP: Tibetans in cyberspace" e-mail Erik Davis
  to buddha-l@ULKYVM.LOUISVILLE.EDU 23 Mar 1994.
 NOTES: A poem that an old lay Tibetan master named Gelek Rinpoche
 (Nyagri Khentrul) wrote Nov. 8, 1993 in praise of Geshe Lobsang
 Tharchin and the computerised Asian Classics Input Project at the Sera
 Mey monastery in Karnataka
 (trans. Michael Roach)
 Great friend of mankind,
 Your intellect [Lo] is deep and vast
 Born of the hundred thousand
 Good and wonderful [sang] deeds
 You've accomplished.
 I bow down and salute you,
 King of scholars,
 For your surpassing [Tharchin]
 And courageous efforts
 To share the precious knowledge
 Of our snowy land
 Throughout the countries of the world.
 The light of the disk
 Is endless
 Like the light of the disks
 Of the sky,
 Sun and moon;
 The generosity of your gift
 Is endless
 We are attracted to it
 And caught,
 Like fish in a net;
 The lands of the globe
 Are endless
 Where the goodness
 Of your contribution
 Will spread;
 The people you reach
 Are endless,
 And what your do
 Is of ultimate value.
 You are like
 A far spreading cloud
 In the sky,
 And the showers of your kind work
 Pour down on us.
 Your deeds seem
 Almost effortless,
 Like a rain that falls
 Down to sustain
 The rest of us.
 Who else could do
 What you have done,
 Master of master scholars,
 King of rivers,
 Flowing down
 To feed the ocean
 Of the intellect
 Of those with the fortune
 To be fed.
 Like a mother
 You sent the sunlight
 Of care and compassion
 To instruct
 That very lucky
 Man of the race
 Of the yellow hair
 And feed him the sweet
 Nectar of honey,
 The knowledge of the classics
 Of Asia,
 And your rays of light
 Opened in him
 A thousand petals
 Of knowledge.
 This again
 Is proof
 Of your kindness,
 And your mastery
 Of knowledge.
 Your deeds are pure,
 And white,
 A moon in the sky
 That lights
 Our great books;
 The rays come down
 From you
 And open the night flowers,
 Fulfilling our every wish,
 For you are
 A real Lamp of Alladin.
 You light up the path
 That leads to the door
 Of the house
 Of the ultimate ends of knowledge;
 And there you march
 Carrying high
 The golden flag
 Of wisdom, intellect, and ethics.
 A hundred thousand
 Mirrors of the disk
 Hold the great classics
 Of authors
 Beyond counting.
 No longer
 Do we need
 To wander amilessly
 In the pages of catalogs
 Beyond counting.
 This magical invention,
 In it shine
 The works of Kangyur
 And the Tengyur, almost
 Beyond counting.
 It is a thing of wonder;
 With a single switch
 We bring up whatever words
 We seek to find,
 Beyond counting.
 They say
 Theat the most precious
 Of all jewels
 Come from the depths
 Of the ocean;
 And so from deep
 Below the vast sea
 Of our ancient books
 With a single push
 Of our finger
 On a button
 We pull up the shining gems
 Of citations,
 Of text and commentary,
 Whatever we seek;
 This is something
 Beyond dreams.
 It could only have been yourself,
 Master of our ancient schools,
 Who took this new invention
 And turned it to a precious
 Jewelled vase, jammed to the brim
 With the treasure of the knowledg
 Of our Himalayan lands.
 It was a feat
 Merely to assemble
 In one place
 The woodblock prints
 Of our ancient authors
 Until all these keys
 To the ancient knowledge
 Were complete in a single
 Precious treasure chest;
 But you went further,
 And spread the disk
 All throughout
 The entire world;
 A feat
 More amazing still!
 I throw to you
 A thousand  petalled blooms
 Of congratulations,
 And I rejoice
 In the kind deed you have don,
 Which I know
 Will satisfy the wishes
 Of people throughout the world.
 May you good activities
 Spread to wherever
 The earth spreads,
 And there too
 May the praises
 Of your deeds be sung.
 --Gelek Rinpoche, Nov. 8, 1993
 end of file