MILAREPA
"A Pot and Hunters"
Now Milarepa understand how little lasting earthly things were, and sang a song:
"The pot of clay once existed, but now it does not.
This is how all things must pass sooner or later.
Therefore I shall carry on.
The pot was all I owned.
By breaking into a thousand pieces, it has become my guru (teacher)."
While he was singing, some other hunters passed by. They tried to get a meal at the cave, and said:
"Oh, how green and thin you are!"
They asked him for food, and while they ate, the youngest of them said, "Well, you appear to be strongly built, so why undergo such troubles and privations and denying yourself almost everything? If you take up a worldly career, you might be riding a horse, sting like a thorn-bush in combat, and subdue your enemies. By accumulating wealth you would be protecting your affectionate kindred, and you would be happy. Or you could get rich and happy from trading. At worst you could be a servant and get good food and clothing, and would be far better off than this. You don't seem to have known these things earlier. So set about it now."
One of the old hunters said, "He seems to be a very good devotee, and it is not likely that he will mind our worldly counsel. Better keep quiet." He turned to me: "Please sing us a song which will do good to our minds."
Milarepa answered, "You all seem to think me very miserable. But no one in the whole wide world is as happy as I am. And no one can boast of a nobler life. Listen," he said, and sang:
From a hymn by Milarepa (a rendering) ...
"This body owns my own altar: it is the chest.
There, within the alerted heart I see a triangle.
The mind's a horse in that inward land; it prances about and moves like the wind.
A lasso must be used to catch this horse,
Use "singleness of purpose" as that lasso.
Tie it, when caught, to the post of meditation.
Feed it with suitable teachings when it is hungry.
When it's thirsty, give it the stream of consciousness to drink.
When it's cold, keep it in the enclosure of sunyata.
Use the will for its saddle and intellect for its bridle.
Tie it to a fixed purpose.
Strengthen its vitality.
Its rider is keen watchfulness.
Mahayanic altruism is his helmet.
Learning and deep meditation are his coat of mail.
On his back he carries the shield of patience.
He holds aims in his hand like a long spear.
The sword by side is being astute and intelligent.
Lack of hate and wrath are his slim arrows,
And intellect made keen are their arrowheads.
Spiritual wisdom is the pliant bow.
Arrows that are shot forth, fall down among the nations.
They strike the faithful ones and slay [stupid, insolvency-bringing] selfishness.
Thus are our kindred protected.
This horse courses along the plain of happiness.
Its goal is to attain the Buddha state.
By running such a race, I'm carried on to Buddhahood.
I don't covet worldly happiness."
FROM: THE 1,000 SONGS
"The pot of clay once existed, but now it does not.
This is how all things must pass sooner or later.
Therefore I shall carry on.
The pot was all I owned.
By breaking into a thousand pieces, it has become my guru (teacher)."
While he was singing, some other hunters passed by. They tried to get a meal at the cave, and said:
"Oh, how green and thin you are!"
They asked him for food, and while they ate, the youngest of them said, "Well, you appear to be strongly built, so why undergo such troubles and privations and denying yourself almost everything? If you take up a worldly career, you might be riding a horse, sting like a thorn-bush in combat, and subdue your enemies. By accumulating wealth you would be protecting your affectionate kindred, and you would be happy. Or you could get rich and happy from trading. At worst you could be a servant and get good food and clothing, and would be far better off than this. You don't seem to have known these things earlier. So set about it now."
One of the old hunters said, "He seems to be a very good devotee, and it is not likely that he will mind our worldly counsel. Better keep quiet." He turned to me: "Please sing us a song which will do good to our minds."
Milarepa answered, "You all seem to think me very miserable. But no one in the whole wide world is as happy as I am. And no one can boast of a nobler life. Listen," he said, and sang:
From a hymn by Milarepa (a rendering) ...
"This body owns my own altar: it is the chest.
There, within the alerted heart I see a triangle.
The mind's a horse in that inward land; it prances about and moves like the wind.
A lasso must be used to catch this horse,
Use "singleness of purpose" as that lasso.
Tie it, when caught, to the post of meditation.
Feed it with suitable teachings when it is hungry.
When it's thirsty, give it the stream of consciousness to drink.
When it's cold, keep it in the enclosure of sunyata.
Use the will for its saddle and intellect for its bridle.
Tie it to a fixed purpose.
Strengthen its vitality.
Its rider is keen watchfulness.
Mahayanic altruism is his helmet.
Learning and deep meditation are his coat of mail.
On his back he carries the shield of patience.
He holds aims in his hand like a long spear.
The sword by side is being astute and intelligent.
Lack of hate and wrath are his slim arrows,
And intellect made keen are their arrowheads.
Spiritual wisdom is the pliant bow.
Arrows that are shot forth, fall down among the nations.
They strike the faithful ones and slay [stupid, insolvency-bringing] selfishness.
Thus are our kindred protected.
This horse courses along the plain of happiness.
Its goal is to attain the Buddha state.
By running such a race, I'm carried on to Buddhahood.
I don't covet worldly happiness."
FROM: THE 1,000 SONGS
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