The Hundred Thousand Songs of Milarepa

by Tsangnyon Heruka

  Now then, supreme being of great compassion,

  Until now I have taken my enemies as enemies.

  I’ve never let a stubborn foe get away.

  On my right is this quiver of tiger skin

  With flaming stripes, which holds my arrows.

  On my left is a sheath of leopard hide;*25

  With its spots, it hides my bow.

  My sword is ornamented and etched by hand;

  It is the point where the dralha and tsen convene.*26

  When I tied my gear and sheath onto my hip,

  I’d look like a Mongol warrior dressed for banditry.

  When enemies saw it, their heart and lungs raced.

  They’d flee like grazing yaks running into rocky heights.

  I have contemplated this and now have deep regret.

  These previous deeds, I regret and purify.

  And so now I offer these three weapons to you.

  From this time forth, I make this vow:

  Lord, wherever you go, I will follow and serve.

  Although he offered in that way, again, the Jetsun did not accept. “Son, you will not be able to keep this vow. And I also do not want these weapons you’ve offered. I have a carrying pouch that is even better than yours,” and in reply he sang this song of realization:

  Son, listen here, you unrivaled champion.

  At the watchtower of confusion—the misco­ncept­ualiz­ation of objects—

  The foe—the bandit of the five poisons—violently advances.

  If, now, you don’t blend victory and defeat,*27

  Later, there’s a danger you’ll be thrown in the inescapable prison.

  This yogi wages battle upon such foes.

  Outer appearances are my striped tiger-skin quiver

  The inner self-luminosity, without fixation, is my leopard-skin sheath.

  Upon the sword of great prajña

  And its belt of the expansive path of union

  Is the hand-sewn embroidery of the signs of accomplishments’ qualities.

  These are the hidden inner gear.

  In the bow of emptiness, the unborn reality,

  Is loaded the arrow’s notch of bodhichitta—the means.

  When the arrow of the four immeasurables is shot,

  It will repel the attack of the enemy—the five poisons.

  It will block the battalion of afflictions and karma.

  That is how this yogi subdues the enemy.

  I do not want your carrying pouch.

  Benefactor son, happily go to your home.

  When the Jetsun had sung that song of realization, again the young man spoke, “Exalted Jetsun, though you don’t accept my three weapons, since there is no way I could go without thanking you for your kindness, please accept this cloth belt and dagger.” Supplicating Milarepa to accept him with compassion, he sang this song:

  Lord, yogi nirmanakaya, please listen:

  Though many know dharma, there are few who practice,

  And only few among hundreds will show signs of accomplishment.

  Is not the Father Nirmanakaya Repa such a one?

  I don’t receive teachings from many who know dharma:

  So your genuine dharma that comes from undergoing hardship

  I dare not request empty-handed.

  This cast iron from the center of Nepal

  Is decorated with etchings of waves and clouds.

  This sharp iron dagger with a lion on the grip

  Has a white iron sheath with silver lattice.

  It has a chain of carved white iron

  As well as a chain of gold and bronze.

  When it’s tied to my waist, I look majestic and handsome.

  It’s a great accessory for all young men.

  Please accept this gift I offer with devotion;

  With it I request a few words about meditative experience.

  Making this petition in song, he took his belt and dagger in his hands and offered them to the Jetsun. Then Milarepa said, “Right now, it is not suitable for me to share my meditation experiences. I also have no desire for your offering. I have a belt and dagger that are better than yours.” Then he sang this song of realization in reply:

  Son, unrivaled youth, listen here!

  I, a lion that wanders in snow mountains,

  Have a milk that’s like a nourishing elixir.

  I’d never pour it into any container

  Other than a ladle made of gold.

  On my waist that is straight and movement-free

  Is bound my belt of intense motivation—the base.

  Etched on it are waves of the mind free of deceit.

  For my prajña, a dagger that’s pointed and sharp,

  Is the iron sheath of three measures of confidence and experience.

  Both the iron chain of faith

  And the golden chain of diligence

  Are great adornments for all dharma activity.

  Through great fear of the punishment of the dakinis

  I’ve never before sold the dharma for wealth,

  Nor will I now accept your gift.

  Young man, go onward to your home.

  When the Jetsun had sung this, the young man said, “Jetsun yogi, if you will not accept any service of material offering, I shall offer you a monastery. Please accept it and stay there.” Then he offered this song:

  Lord with yogic conduct and discipline,

  Since you’re action-free and have reversed attachment,

  You’ve turned your back on the prison of your homeland.

  You wander the lands of humans with no fixed direction.

  You’ve cut the elaborations of body’s pleasure and pain.

  Now, staying in a single place, may your realization and experience flourish!

  This monastery is built on the edge of mountain and plain.

  On a pure and naturally arisen column

  Shines the sun and moon’s illuminating light.

  On the azure floor with its Chinese ink,

  A mandala is drawn with mineral paint.

  There too, are arranged lovely bouquets of flowers.

  Outside, a protective trench surrounds it.

  The support beam ornaments are made of wood,

  And eight stupas ornament it beautifully.

  This support for devotion of us worldly ones,

  I offer as a seat for the father Jetsun:

  Please remain here relaxed and at ease.

  The Jetsun did not accept his offering and said, “I have no desire for a monastery to own, and I do not know about conforming with the customs of worldly people, so listen to this song of mine.” Then, in reply, he sang this song of realization:

  Now, strong youth decked with ornaments,

  In this life all is impermanent, merely an illusion.

  When Yama, the Lord of Death, arrives,

  You rich men cannot make a ransom of your wealth;

  There’ll be no place for a hero to strike with his sword;

  And the cowardly fox will have no place to run.

  When that time comes, the flesh turns to dust.

  For fear of that, I’ve seized the fortress

  Within the monastery of the inner unborn mind:

  In the middle, beam ornaments are made from the unmoving prana;

  The column of reality’s changeless base is raised;

  The sun and moon of creation and completion’s path shine.

  On the floor of the heat of shamatha

  Is drawn the mandala with the ink of vipashyana.

  Bouquets of bliss, clarity, and nonthought, too, are placed.

  The beautiful eight stupas of the ten virtuous deeds

  Are surrounded by the protective trench of emptiness.

  That is this yogi’s monastery.

  I have no desire at all for your monastery.

  Benefactor son, happily go on home.

  Thus Milarepa sang without accepting the monastery the young man offered. Again, the young man spoke: �
��Lama, though you won’t accept this retreat, since the body is illusory, it is a basis for illness. I offer my capable sister. She is one of faith and can be your consort. Please do not be irritated, and accept her.” Then he offered this song:

  Lord, yogi who roams in mountain retreats,

  Because you’ve seen the hidden faults of women,

  You are free of a lustful mind. And yet,

  Since this body is illusory, it is a basis for illness.

  It is fine to have a close, dear companion.

  The only sister of three brothers and me,

  A daughter descended from excellent paternal lineage

  And born from a wise mother, a magical lady.

  Among crowds of devas and humans, she’s an enchanting beauty,

  A suitable queen for a regal king.

  She wears a goddess’s clothing of silk

  Patterned with waves and flashing rainbows.

  On the braid of gold and turquoise upon her head

  Is a garland of alternating onyx and agate gems.

  This wondrous lady, who is lovely as a painting,

  Has had many suitors, but we’ve consented to none.

  Today, nirmanakaya, I offer her to you.

  Please don’t be irritated; accept this gift.

  Though he offered in this way, the Jetsun did not accept. “Son, don’t speak like this. I have abandoned the households of samsara. I don’t have any desire at all for a self-centered wife. My present happiness comes through being spontaneous. If you give your sister to an old beggar like me without any nobility or lineage, later, all the neighbors in your land will mock you. Son, you will surely regret it. I will not be your sister’s groom. However, I have a far superior wife.” In reply, he sang this song of realization:

  In the lineage of the noble and wise

  In general, women are a cause of desire

  And a qualified awareness-consort is extremely rare.

  Traversing the messenger path is wondrous,

  But since there’ll be praise, blame, and mocking of your sister,

  To rely on her as a mudra would be difficult.

  My lady is emptiness, free of attachment;

  She’s a beauty with the radiance of compassion.

  Her loving smile is so enchanting.

  Her various clothes of red and white

  Are swathed in the silk of the nondual meeting.

  She wears the halter of equal taste’s conduct.

  Upon her braid of the four joys

  Lies a garland of the multiplicity as being of one taste.

  She’s a beauty who realizes innate reality, the base.

  That’s the female companion of this yogi here.

  I have no desire for your samsaric householder life.

  Now, benefactor you go back to your home.

  Thus the Jetsun sang, refusing to accept the offering. Again the young man said, “Jetsun, even though such a wondrous being with realization as you doesn’t have any concepts about embarrassment, since worldly ones like me will generate misgivings, please, you must accept these trousers.” So he offered the trousers with this song:

  Lord yogi, you with nothing to hide,

  Who sleeps naked with the conduct of yogic discipline,

  Your male jewel you expose wherever you please.

  Since your confusion has been dismantled from within,

  You have no dread or apprehension at all.

  Worldly ones like me have embarrassment and shame.

  Your realization is high, indeed, you’re a buddha,

  But if your conduct conformed with humans that would be excellent.

  These trousers that this young man wears

  Are made from a ewe’s softest wool.

  It was spun by my very own sister and mother,

  And my wife skillfully strung the loom.

  It was then woven together by my neighbor’s daughter,

  And my uncle lovingly stitched them up.

  It’s clothing for worldly ones with shame like us.

  I offer these trousers to you.

  I beg you not say that you won’t accept them.

  After he had offered the trousers in this way, the Jetsun replied, “Son, you don’t understand the difference between shameful and unshameful. You laugh at how I leave my appearance relaxed at ease, but when we first came from the mother’s womb, we were naked with no clothes. In the end, when we die, consciousness leaves the body naked and goes on its way. Now, too, I do not practice fabricated conduct; I leave my conduct naturally like this. I know the shame that contrived ones have. Therefore, son, listen to this song.” Thus in reply, he sang this song of realization:

  So, young man, with such fine gifts,

  You’re ashamed about things that are without any shame.

  This here is just a natural male organ,

  I don’t have the shame that is contrived.45

  But you don’t avoid those things that are truly shameful:

  Toward those who engage in negativity and hypocrisy

  You have no shame or heedfulness;

  However, I do have this kind of shame.

  The material, the soft wool of bodhichitta,

  Is spun by the ripening paths’ four abhishekas.

  It’s strung on the loom of samadhi, the path of liberation,

  Then cleaned and scrubbed through pure aspirations.

  The maker who remembers the one who is kind

  Sews the trousers of heedfulness and shame.

  This garment that protects one’s shame perfects the benefit of other.

  I have no desire for your trousers there,

  Benefactor, go back to your own home.

  When he had sung this, the young man thought, “Whatever service I offer to this great being, he doesn’t accept it. I need to figure out where he’s going and where he will stay; I should invite him to my own home.”

  Then he said to Milarepa, “Holy Jetsun, you will not accept any of my service or offerings to you. However, there must be some place you intend to stay along this path on which you are traveling. Therefore please don’t keep it secret, you must tell me.”

  The Jetsun replied, “Son, there is no secret here. I’m going to Dingri to beg for alms during the harvest. When the harvest is threshed, I will go over to Nyanang. Then in the winter, I will stay in a remote valley called Lachi.”

  Then the young man thought again, “I must dissuade him and invite him to come to my home for a few nights. If he accepts and I request the dharma, I wonder if he will teach.” Then he sang this song:

  Incomparable Nirmanakaya Lord,

  Although you intend to go to Dingri

  And beg for alms in the practice of equal taste,

  That land is without any good qualities.

  In Dingri, a land with expansive sky,

  The people’s virtue is less than a mustard seed’s worth.

  Their fists are tighter than temple doors.

  The tsampa is rarer than precious gold;

  And on the rare occasion you find some, it will make you sick.

  That land is a city of famine.

  And then if you go in the direction of Nyanang

  The pass of Tongla Ngonmo is a terrifying place.

  Bandits who rob the locals roam there.

  It’s a place where lepers wander at night.

  The hiding places for ambush are countless.

  One dare not travel except with a hundred companions.

  To go even three steps you’ll need a guide.

  That land is called Nyanang, the Dark Valley.

  It lies at the border of Nepal and Tibet:

  The upper region is the snowy land of Tibet.

  Whether summer or winter, it always snows.

  Day and night a great icy wind blows,

  And the people there are dumber than cows.

  Then the rivers flow to Mön in the south:

  The lower region is a hot land with ravines

  With tight treache
rous bridges where your life is endangered,

  And Nepali fever will threaten your life.

  In the south, the people speak differently, in a Nepali tongue,

  And the trees there are like stiff human corpses.

  Lord, that land is no place for you to go;

  I beg you, don’t go now, please delay your journey.

  Though you refuse to be my permanent object of veneration,

  For half a month I can offer you food.

  I beg you to come to this young man’s home.

  Lord, out of compassion please come with me!

  Thus the benefactor sang. Then Milarepa said, “In general, I don’t appreciate benefactors who are self-centered. Son, I will not go to your home. I know Nyanang and Dingri better than you do. Listen, here, to my song.” Then he sang this song of realization in reply:

  O young man with determination,

  Son, listen to this with unwavering faith:

  A land where all ten virtues are present

  And the people are faultless with good qualities

  Is difficult to find, for times have changed.

  This yogi acts with whatever comes to mind.

  I’ve never fallen under the authority of others.

  It’s true that tsampa is rare in Dingri,

  But for me, with food, there’s no clean or dirty.

  Outwardly, I enjoy the five amritas.

  I’ve never been attached to delicious food.

  Thus, I’m a yogi of the untouchable class.

  Inwardly, I eat the food of nonconceptual samadhi.

  Therefore, I have little concern for food.

  Famine, you may do as you please!

  Though the pass of Tongla is a fearsome place,

  I supplicate the lord endowed with blessing.

  The three jewels of refuge are an excellent support

  And the three worlds’ dakinis come to be my guide.

  Bodhichitta, my friend, accompanies me

  And the eight classes of devas and rakshasas come to welcome me.