The Hundred Thousand Songs of Milarepa

by Tsangnyon Heruka

  An experience of this wisdom will initially appear in brief glimpses, but to bring this experience to stability, one must repeatedly familiarize with it, or recollect it. Milarepa sings:

  With this meditation, luminosity free of fixation,

  There’s the danger of straying into mere abiding.

  If wisdom does not dawn from within,

  Though you may abide stably, there is no liberation.

  Wisdom won’t develop from dullness and agitation;

  Thus, undistracted mindfulness is very important.

  What is the meditation in the context of Mahamudra? It is luminosity, free of fixation. “Luminosity” can be a misleading term. Hearing it, we might think that lights will start to shine, or some kind of holy experience will take place when we meditate. But here luminosity is a way of describing the experience of emptiness as something other than a vacuous nothingness. Notions of “emptiness” as something like the void of outer space or like an empty container are common misunderstandings of the word. Rather, the Buddhist term “emptiness” is often described as “openness,” a potential for anything to appear. Yet all of these appearances, all of the experiences we have, are only merely appearing. They are not autonomous and unchanging. These appearances have no solid core to them. They appear, yet they are empty. This is what is described in the Heart Sutra when it says:

  Form is emptiness; emptiness also is form. Form is no other than emptiness; emptiness is no other than form.

  To this point, Milarepa also sings:

  E MA! The phenomena of samsara’s three realms

  Not existing, they appear. How wondrous it is!

  Appearances cannot be separated from their empty essence, and likewise emptiness is not something separate from what appears to us. The true nature of mind has an aspect of appearing; it is alive and vivid; here this quality is called “luminous.” But we have the strong habit of seeing things in a way that they do not actually exist: as solid and permanent. It is on the basis of fixating on these luminous appearances as being truly existent that we run into trouble, giving rise to all kinds of disturbing mind states, or afflictions. We become attached to appearances, or we develop aversion toward them, and so on. Because of these disturbing mind states, in the end, we experience suffering. So the meditation here is to relax and let appearances be as they are without the interference of our conceptual labeling. This is what is meant by luminosity free of fixation.

  When practicing meditation, we generally try to allow our minds to settle peacefully and one-pointedly. When the mind settles in this way, meditation is called shamatha, or peaceful abiding. But Milarepa in this verse says that there is a “danger of straying into mere abiding.” What is the danger here? If we bring our minds to rest, that alone is not enough to bring about liberation. We could get caught up in just resting peacefully, which is not a bad thing in itself, but that resting alone does not get to the root of our problem. For our meditation to work to remove the root of our problem, wisdom, or clear seeing of the true nature of reality, must dawn from within. The experience of emptiness must be present, otherwise even if our meditation is very stable, we are only having a temporary experience of calmness. We are not cutting through the root of what binds us to suffering.

  This is not to say, however, that calm abiding is not important. Milarepa also says, “wisdom will not develop from dullness and agitation.” If our minds are agitated by thoughts and emotions, or if we fall into a dull, sleepy state, then there is no chance for our own wisdom, which is naturally present, to shine forth. We need to have stability in our minds in order for wisdom to develop. So in the ultimate meditation, we remain merely undistracted and relaxed with mindfulness of the present moment of awareness, letting whatever may appear be just as it is without fixating on it. The well-known supplication to the Dakpo Kagyu lineage states:

  Nondistraction is the body of meditation, as is taught;

  Whatever arises is fresh—the essence of realization.

  To this meditator who rests simply without altering it

  Grant your blessings so that my meditation is free of conception.

  When meditating on Mahamudra, one does not fixate awareness on any particular thing nor try to fix anything. One simply sustains “nondistraction” and allows whatever arises to be as it is.

  To rest free of any conceptual fixation while recognizing the true nature of mind in the midst of all kinds of appearances arising is not something that will happen automatically for most individuals. Only with the proper preliminaries of renunciation, devotion toward the guru, and understanding of the profound view as a foundation, followed by persistence and relaxation in the actual practice of familiarizing with the view, can this meditation become stable.

  When one does develop stability in this view and meditation, it cannot be left to formal meditation sessions alone if one wishes to achieve complete liberation. One must take the experience off the meditation cushion and into the conduct of everyday activity. Milarepa sings:

  With this conduct, the continual stream of nonattachment,

  There’s the danger of straying into improper behavior.

  If the view and meditation don’t dawn as its companion,

  Then yogic discipline becomes a friend of the eight concerns.

  Therefore being free of attachment and obscurations is very important.

  When yogis and yoginis have become proficient in sustaining the experience of the view and meditation, the nature of mind, they can practice continuously in all that they do. Yogic discipline here consists of acting in spontaneous ways for the benefit of beings. In special cases it can take the form of seemingly outrageous conduct, as was reported of Tsangnyön Heruka. But if that conduct is not properly accompanied by the ultimate view and meditation, it just becomes improper, nonvirtuous behavior. Not only is there no benefit, it even causes harm. Milarepa says such “yogic discipline” just becomes a friend of the eight worldly concerns: falling into fixation over gain and loss, praise and blame, happiness and pain, fame and obscurity. If any of these concerns are present in the mind, you can be sure that you are not practicing true yogic discipline. To practice such conduct, one must be completely free of attachment at all times and be free of the obscurations of the afflictions and of conceptual fixation.

  In the general view of Buddhism, “fruition” is a term used to describe the final result of traversing the path, namely buddhahood, or enlightenment. But here, fruition is presented in a slightly different way. Milarepa sings:

  The fruition that is nakedness free of stains

  Has the danger of being clothed in the garments of characteristics.

  If confusion doesn’t collapse from within,

  You’ll just meditate with a mental aspiration; it’ll be of little meaning.

  Therefore the collapse of confusion is important.

  In the beginning of this song, the ultimate view was described as “primordial wisdom, which is empty.” This is another way of describing the basic nature of mind, also called buddha nature. This nature of mind, the wisdom inherently present in our minds, is also the fruition. The Vajrayana is sometimes referred to as the fruitional vehicle; this approach takes the fruition, the recognition of one’s own buddha nature, as the path. “Nakedness” here means that there is nothing that ultimately blocks or obscures the nature of mind. There are no stains such as afflictions, concepts, or labels inherently present keeping one from being able to see and experience that inherent basic nature.

  However, there is a danger that we may think highly of ourselves or our seemingly lofty attainment and give it a label such as “the nature of mind,” “enlightenment,” “buddha nature,” or even “special.” Conventionally we speak about it in this way, but these labels are not the actual true nature: they are just conceptual overlays, or, as Milarepa calls them, the “garments of characteristics.” The ultimate reality of mind is naturally naked and free of any stains. But in order to see it that way, our confusion must “c
ollapse from within.” Generally we think of confusion as something we need to get rid of, something to abandon, and wisdom as something to adopt or acquire in some way from the outside. But from the ultimate viewpoint, there is nothing that we need to do; confusion simply needs to collapse from within us. How does that happen? The traditional example illustrating this is mistakenly believing a coiled rope to be a snake. When we think the rope is a snake, we develop fear, and all kinds of disturbing emotions arise from that confusion. However, as soon as we know that the snake is actually a rope, our confusion just naturally subsides, without any outside intervention. We don’t need to turn a “confused snake” into an “unconfused rope.” Simply seeing the situation—our mind—as it truly is and without altering anything, is all we need to be free of confusion. Once we have certainty that the “snake” is actually a rope, there is no way that confusion will return: it collapses for good.

  In this sense, seeing the true nature of reality is analogous to seeing the nature of mind. When we see it as it is, without altering it in anyway and without the overlays of our concepts, then confusion simply collapses. From the ultimate standpoint, the mind of buddhahood is taught to be something that is naturally present and not something that can be created or found somewhere else. All of the confusion we experience is not something that needs to be gotten rid of. Once we see things the way they are, we also see that confusion is completely made up. We don’t need to do anything more to it; it collapses naturally. Milarepa points out that if confusion doesn’t collapse from within and we think to ourselves, “I will now do the ultimate practice of Mahamudra to become enlightened,” or, “By working hard at this meditation I will achieve something special,” such thinking will just be a mental aspiration and a meaningless attempt at the real practice. This is why, Milarepa says, it is so important for confusion to collapse from within.

  In all of his teachings and songs of realization, Milarepa speaks from a single point of view: his own experience. All of his songs can serve as commentaries for each other. In the song quoted above, Milarepa presents clear points about the ultimate view, meditation, conduct, and fruition, but he has much more to say on these topics elsewhere. The Collected Songs is a great tapestry of teachings interweaving the whole range of dharma topics from different approaches and angles. When studied and contemplated as a collection, Milarepa’s Songs can give practitioners much practical insight on how to work for the benefit of themselves and others on the spiritual path.

  A NOTE ON THE TRANSLATION

  The language used in Tsangnyön Heruka’s Life and Songs is unlike that of most Tibetan Buddhist literature. While the dharma terminology is generally familiar to Tibetan-language students of Buddhism, the text also includes a significant amount of colloquial language. This gives it a “down-to-earth” feel for native speakers, but, because Tibetan does not have a standardized, interregional colloquial language, nonnative translators and even native speakers often struggle with pinning down the exact meaning of certain passages. The unique language found in the Collected Songs is generally identified as that of the Tsang region of Central Tibet dating back to the fifteenth century C.E. or before. Understanding it is a challenge due to a combination of obscure regionalisms and age, at times akin to trying to read Chaucer’s Middle English writings without the aid of glossaries and footnotes benefiting from centuries of scholarship.

  Much of the Life and Songs can be understood immediately, but attempting to translate each word as it was meant in the original language has required a great deal of consultation and research. Editions of both The Twelve Great Sons and The Black Treasury were compared for clarity, as many of the passages are drawn from these texts nearly verbatim with only slight word discrepancies. Whenever possible, native Tibetan speakers and scholars were consulted to bring clarity to more difficult passages. Despite these efforts, a number of passages remain obscure. These have been translated as carefully as possible and marked, with the original Tibetan terms appearing in endnotes. Where a Tibetan scholar was available for consultation, that individual’s input has been indicated by their initials following the passage in question. These notes are all technical, likely only of interest to readers of Tibetan, and have been placed as endnotes to ease readability. To the same end, additional information that is more generally helpful, including explanations of obscure references and background relating to certain Buddhist topics, appears in footnotes at the bottom of the page.

  A few words in the text have been left as phoneticizations of the original Tibetan. These words are used frequently, and have become common parlance among English speakers who are familiar with Milarepa’s life story and the tradition from which he comes. The first of these is the honorific title most commonly used when referring to Milarepa, “the Jetsun.”*54 This is a compound word consisting of “je” (pronounced “jay”), which can mean “lord,” “king,” or “majesty”; and “tsun,” which refers to someone who is without flaw in their conduct, and thus is to be revered. In the Tibetan, this second syllable is pronounced “tsün,” but the umlaut has been omitted for simplicity. “Jetsun” could be literally translated as “noble or respectable lord,” but the Tibetan honorific has become so closely associated with Milarepa that it was left untranslated in this work.

  The word repa*55 means “cotton-clad one,” with re meaning “cotton cloth” and pa signaling one who does or is associated with the preceding syllables. Repa generally refers to yogic practitioners of chandali (or “tummo” in Tibetan).*56 Through this practice, intense heat is produced internally, making it unnecessary to wear heavy clothing even in the coldest of climates. Thus, repas wear a single cotton cloth to signify their accomplishment in chandali and as encouragement to maintain diligence in their practice.

  Another word left untranslated is “tendrel.”*57 This is a contraction of “ten ching drelwar jungwa,”*58 used by Tibetans to translate the key Buddhist concept of “interdependent origination” (S: pratītyasamutpāda). In the Vajrayana tradition—the context of this work—the meaning of interdependence takes on a special significance. A central practice of the Secret Mantra tradition is “pure vision,” or sacred outlook: seeing the entire world and all beings within it as fundamentally pure and sacred. When this view is applied, all phenomena of the relative world take on a symbolic meaning and interactions with them become significant in one’s path to awakening. Interactions between the guru and disciple are particularly important on the Vajrayana path. Tendrel, in the Vajrayana context, can take on the meaning of “omen.” One appreciates the interdependent play of the world by paying attention to one’s mind and environment.

  The back matter of the book provides a few additional resources for readers. A summary of Tsangnyön Heruka’s Life of Milarepa is available in appendix 1 to provide background for those unfamiliar with Milarepa’s story. For students of the Tibetan language, appendix 2 lists Tibetan equivalents for the proper names of places and people appearing throughout the work, and appendix 3 gives the chosen English words for key Tibetan terms. Appendix 4, as mentioned above, provides a list of the many songs that have been translated elsewhere under the guidance of Khenpo Tsultrim Gyamtso Rinpoche along with where they can be found in the text. Finally, a glossary containing many Sanskrit and Buddhist terms and proper names provides more background.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First, I would like to express my deepest gratitude to all of the lineage masters who have come before us, dedicating their entire lives and working tirelessly to allow this generation to access the story of Milarepa and his profound and beneficial teachings.

  I am grateful to His Holiness the Seventeenth Gyalwang Karmapa, Orgyen Trinley Dorje, for personally blessing the translation and publication of this work. May his activity in the world be completely unimpeded, allowing his presence to transform and shape the minds of beings, bringing peace and well-being to everyone.

  I am also grateful to Khenpo Tsultrim Gyamtso Rinpoche, a master of Buddhist scriptures and t
reatises as well as of the profound practices that Milarepa taught, whose entire embodiment and life’s teachings have been a transmission of what Milarepa can mean to people living today. I am fortunate to be able to access his teachings in various media and through his many Tibetan and Western students.

  Above all I am grateful to my own root guru, Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche, whose personal example, integrity, and sheer mastery of the teachings continues to inspire and amaze me. Without his initial suggestion and subsequent support and encouragement, I would never have dared to embark upon such a large and intimidating project. Rinpoche sacrificed many hours of his time reviewing long passages with me word by word. As he does with all of his students, he continues to show his kindness by devoting his personal attention in training me as both a Buddhist practitioner and a quality human being.

  I am grateful to have had the opportunity to listen to Khenpo Sherap Phuntsok’s explanations of the Life of Milarepa while I was studying at the Vajra Vidya Institute in Nepal. In the earliest stages of this translation, Khenpo Sherap serendipitously decided to hold a side class in the shedra for any monks or lay people who wished to attend. Acharya Tashi Wangchuk and Acharya Lhakpa Tsering both helped significantly in early stages of the translation, and I thank them both. A thank you goes to Acharya Kelzang Wangdi for helping clarify a couple of obscure references. And a special thank you goes to Tenzin Namdak, a native Tibetan and enthusiastic reader of the songs of Milarepa, who helped me understand many cultural idiosyncrasies in the text.

  David Karma Choephel, Andrew Quintman, Elizabeth Callahan, Karl Brunnhölzl, Scott Wellenbach, Chungdak, and Peter Alan Roberts, all accomplished translators, have given their kind and very helpful assistance throughout the project.