by Doug Scott
The ancient myths indicate that, at first, there was a void from which the earth was formed; then, after a passage of time, there was great flood from which land emerged. In the South of Tibet humans were born through the blessing of Chenresig, Lord of Mercy, and Dolma, his Consort. They sent their incarnations on to the earth, one as a monkey bound by the vow to be celibate and to live alone in meditation, and the other an ogress. She became lonely and so approached the monkey who at first refused her until he was overcome by compassion. He returned to Chenresig for advice, which was that it was time for Tibet to have children and that he should take the ogress as his wife. (Modern tourists can now visit the Summer Palace in Lhasa and there beautifully painted murals depict the evolution of earth and humankind.)
Humans developed from apes. The humans began to eat the fruit (fat) of the earth and the more they ate the more they lost their power and descended from light into darkness. There was, at first, enough food for all without their having to work for it, then the rot set in, with greed and subsequent theft of one another’s food. Now people had to work, organize and defend themselves. They had to work hard for others; they became ill, went hungry, lost control of their lives to administrators, fought battles and got on to the daily round of ‘Samsara’, going round in circles in a cycle of death and rebirth, so that appearances hid the reality.
Humanity was now locked into the round of suffering, the wheel of life. Shamanistic beliefs grew. Gods and spirits were seen in the rocks and trees, in the air, on the mountain tops – in everything as a means to provide answers and a way out of the confusion that now existed for the human race. Out of this grew a religion which much later came to be called Bön and which persists to this day amongst Tibetans and amongst neighbouring communities. The priests and devotees of this pre-Buddhist religion, who are known as Bönpo, recognized a hierarchy of external powers with which they attempted to come to terms. They gave offerings to the gods. Shamans took control of the religious practices that developed. They exorcised spirits which were thought to cause sickness and insanity.
During the sixth century AD, Buddhism made its appearance in Tibet and grew alongside the earlier faith. Whilst both borrowed from each other they continued to develop separately, and so whilst they have much in common they are recognized as two distinct beliefs to this day. Songtsen Gampo (557–649), whose name means ‘He who is powerful and profound’, is popularly credited to have been the first Buddhist ruler of Tibet and the person who established the Buddhist faith there; he became the 33rd King of Tibet in 634.
He first entered a phase of conquest during which he subdued rival kingdoms, and having done so he moved his capital from Yarlung westward to the centre of his newly-formed nation. He built a fort on top of ‘Red Hill’ in Lhasa, which is now the site of the Potala. From here he consolidated his gains and, looking to the future, married two Buddhist princesses – one Chinese and the other Nepalese. They were in addition to his three Tibetan wives.
As R.A. Stein points out in his scholarly Tibetan Civilization, Songtsen Gampo’s reign was the start of Tibetan history. From then on, records exist with a fair degree of accuracy. It was certainly an era of great renaissance in learning, material welfare, philosophy and religion. Stein quotes from the Thangyig Chenmo, in which Songtsen Gampo was said to have borrowed techniques from the four points of the compass: ‘In the East, from China and from Minyak he took books of technology and of divinatory calculation. In the South, from India, he translated the Holy religion. Westward in the land of the Sok and in Nepal he opened the treasuries of foodstuffs, wealth and goods. In the North, from among the Hor and Yugur, he took books of laws.’ [1]
After Songtsen Gampo’s death, Tibetan power and influence continued to spread. Military activities during the reign of the 33rd King had led to the defeat of several important regions of China and for a time China even had to pay a tribute to Tibet. With increasing contact being made with not only Buddhist China but also to the south with India and Nepal, the Buddhist nucleus, which was centred on the royal family, spread out into the towns and villages of the Tibetan Plateau at the expense of the ancient beliefs. For a time they continued to co-exist, side by side with each other without major upsets, possibly because the Bön adopted certain Buddhist precepts. Power struggles between royal relatives, however, were eventually to bring down the royal lineage.
The Indian sage Padma Sambhava was invited to spread the dharma in Tibet by King Trisong Detsan during the eighth century. Padma Sambhava was well-versed in magic and also Tantric Buddhism, which he is said to have studied in Eastern India. He used magic to great effect when confronted by the Bönpo. He too incorporated certain Bon beliefs into the Buddhist system. He was then able to further his cause without major conflict. Padma’ Sambhava assisted the King in establishing the first big monastery in Tibet, at Samye.
Although the Buddha had always advocated a middle way between extremes, he had always allowed that, for a few who were well advanced and had the perfect teacher, Tantric Yoga could be employed as a short path to enlightenment. The Buddha had, generally speaking, been addressing the broad mass of the people and not just an elite few. By following his teaching the people, instead of suffering their lot, now had the means to do something about it. As regards the elite, the man whom the Tibetans later regarded as having filled the role of the perfect teacher of the Tantric School of Buddhism was Padma Sambhava; being a very accomplished practitioner himself, he is said to have been able to create demons to defeat other demons. He also had the power of materialization and dematerialization as well as other supernatural talents. There is a common misconception that Tantric Yoga permits aspirants all kinds of bodily pleasures, including the practice of sex magic. In fact the way is through rigorous self-training and strict discipline. Only the strong and dedicated can follow this dangerous path and the followers of Padma Sambhava, when they gained great powers, could use it for one purpose only, and that was for the good of the rest of humanity.
Legend holds that the power of the Bönpo priests had been checked by Padma Sambhava, but before many years passed the pendulum again swung in favour of the Bön, and a violent conflict ensued. During the reign of the last King, Langdasma, Buddhism had to go completely underground and many of the monks fled into exile or were killed. Internecine quarrels came to a head when the King’s two sons quarrelled and the Kingdom disintegrated. Eventually, the country was reunited under the rule of the Lamas, firstly in the 13th century by the noble family of Lamas associated with the monastery of Sakya in Southern Tibet, and again much later by the Dalai Lamas from Lhasa after 1642. Whilst temporal power suffered vicissitudes too numerous to mention here, religious power and organization prospered greatly after the restoration of Buddhism in the 11th century.
Atisa (982–1054), the great reformer and conciliator of divergent schools of thought within Buddhism, led the revival. Buddhism – and particularly Tantric Buddhism – had become debased. One of his reforms was to state clearly: ‘that the Tantra should only be followed by those who had passed through the previous stage of ethical training and philosophical reflection and that the actual practice of Tantra was a purely spiritual affair in no way calling for female counterpart or the use of intoxicants and in no way permissible for the selfish goal of self-advancement.’ He also stressed the importance of welding together the physical, emotional and mental parts of man into one whole as a means to spiritual progress. Atisa founded the Kadampa Order which evolved into the Gelugpa Sect, the most powerful branch of Lamaism which has continued through to this day, for the Dalai Lamas are of this sect.
One of Atisa’s contemporaries was Marpa (1012–1096), who thought that the Tantric Yoga System had been diluted. Marpa and his pupil, Milarepa (1040–1123), laid the foundations for the Kagyü-Pa (Kargyupa) Sect. It may be confusing to the casual student of Buddhism that there are so many lineages and orders within Tibetan Buddhism. Perhaps, through following the evolution of the Kagyü-Pa Sect, more light will be shed on this; it is also very much part of the background story to Southern Tibet and the area around Shishapangma in particular.
Marpa came from the area north of Bhutan, whilst Milarepa was born under the shadow of Shishapangma. The lineage which they founded has continued to the present day and the reader is recommended to follow up this outline account by reading Chögyam Trungpa’s books The Myth of Freedom and Cutting through Spiritual Materialism, as he is of the school descending from the Marpa and Milarepa and can put the ‘flesh upon the bare bones’ of the outline that follows.
Buddhism has often been kept pure and alive not in the big monasteries but in the caves and isolated sanctuaries of Tibetan aesthetes and saints. We see parallels of this in other faiths, as with the Gnostics in Christianity, who sought inner knowledge, as opposed to the Christian Church dogma of faith and intellectualism. The Sufi sought Allah through the inner path by leading a simple, austere life rather than through reaching ‘out there’ for the prophet, as in traditional mainstream Islam. The Yogis of India play the same role amongst the Hindus. All of them sought to attain spiritual insight (Buddhahood) in their lifetime in order to help the rest of mankind to the same realization. It is not academic information that is passed on from teacher to pupil but the actual inspiration, alive as it was in the beginning. This is what is meant by the oral tradition. The guru awakens his pupil as he himself was awakened to the reality behind appearances – although the actual details of the teaching depend upon the individual requirements of the novice. All this becomes clearer through tracing the course of Milarepa’s initiation and eventual elevation to Buddhahood.
Marpa was born at Lhotrak, an area to the north of Bhutan and south of Lhasa and the Tsangpo River. It is one of the more fertile areas of Southern Tibet where his parents owned both agricultural and pasture land. Marpa’s parents took good care of their son and were wealthy enough to send him away to the guru Drogmi’s school, partly to cure him of his bad temper, which he later conquered in a positive fashion in his efforts to enlighten Milarepa. He went to India, where he furthered his studies. He stayed there for several years and then returned home for more gold to finance further education and to bring back books and ancient manuscripts from India to Tibet. He became known as ‘Marpa the Translator’, and returned once again to set up as a wealthy farmer and to rear a family.
In fact he married several wives and, to all outward appearances, was simply a translator of ancient religious documents and a farmer expanding his land and property. But during his time in India Marpa, after sustained periods of study, had received an initiation from Naropa, the great Indian guru, who in turn had been initiated by Tilopa. There is no record of any earthly teacher having enlightened Tilopa who, therefore, is said to have received the secret teachings by divine intervention. The teachings are so powerful that the disciple who receives them orally is sworn to secrecy. An act of faith was obviously required on the part of the pupil. Marpa tested the faith of his pupils, and of Milarepa in particular, to the limit. He was neither in appearance nor manner conventional, being corpulent, bad tempered, sometimes drunk and generally unsaintly, choosing to go against fundamental Buddhist laws when it suited him. All this was but a disguise of the enlightened Marpa.
Whilst Marpa was seeking initiation as a young man of 28, Milarepa was born in the village of Kya Ngatsa (or Koronsa) which, according to W.Y. Evans-Wentz,[2] is situated in the Province of Gungthang, on the Tibetan frontier of Nepal, a few miles east of the modern Kyirong, about 50 miles due north of Kathmandu. Approximately, then, his home was some 300 miles west of that of Marpa and on the flanks of the Shishapangma massif – the area that Heinrich Harrer and Peter Aufschnaiter were to find so attractive 900 years later.
His parents were comparatively rich and influential in the area and all went well for Milarepa until he reached the age of seven, when his father died, leaving all his possessions: ‘herds – yaks, horses and sheep – at the head of the valley; fields at the bottom of the valley; cattle-cows, goats and asses on the ground floor of the house; and upstairs furniture and utensils, gold, silver, copper, iron, turquoise, silk, and the corn loft.’ [3] The father left all this in the care of his younger brother, as was the custom, and the brother would then hand it over to Milarepa when he achieved manhood. The uncle, however, abused the trust placed in him. For the next seven years, recalled Milarepa: ‘In summer, when the fields were cultivated, we were my uncle’s servants; in winter when the wool was carded, we were my aunt’s servants. They fed us like dogs and worked us like donkeys.’
When he was 15, Milarepa’s mother invited all her relatives to a feast and asked that Milarepa’s land and property now be restored to him. Milarepa’s uncle and aunt were consumed with avarice and stupidity and refused to part with anything. In turn, Milarepa’s mother was filled with anger and hatred and determined to destroy her brother-in-law and his wife. She had just enough money to send Milarepa off in search of a sorcerer so that he might learn the black arts to reap vengeance upon the wicked relatives. After finding one teacher unsatisfactory, Milarepa found another who initiated him into the black arts after intensive study. He went back to his village and there, on the day of the wedding feast of his uncle’s son, Milarepa worked his magic and the roof collapsed on to the wedding guests. Later, he brought hail down on to the crops of the villagers who were angry at Milarepa’s mother for encouraging her son to bring about the deaths of 35 of their neighbours!
Sometime later, Milarepa experienced a conversion, rather like Saul on the road to Damascus and, like him, Milarepa now brought into the cause of good all the power that he had previously devoted to evil. ‘I was filled with remorse for the evil I had done by magic and by hailstorms. My longing for the teaching so obsessed me that I forgot to eat. If I went out, I wanted to stay in. If I stayed in, I wanted to go out. At night sleep escaped me. I dared not confess my sadness to the lama or my longing for liberation. While I remained in the lama’s service I asked myself unceasingly and passionately by what means I might practise the true teaching.’ [4] Eventually, Milarepa was directed to go out and seek the teachings from Marpa.
On the day before Milarepa’s arrival, Marpa had a prophetic visitation by Naropa. Marpa’s wife had a complementary dream which caused Marpa to think to himself: ‘ “These dreams are very much in accord,” and his heart was filled with extreme joy but to his wife he only said: “I do not know the meaning since dreams have no source. Now I am going to plough the field near the road. Prepare what I need. ” ’ [5]
Milarepa was surprised to find Marpa ploughing the field:
a tall and corpulent monk, with large eyes and awesome look … I had scarcely seen him when I was filled with unutterable joy and inconceivable bliss. Stunned for a moment by this vision, I remained motionless. Then I said: ‘Master, I have heard that the learned Marpa the Translator, personal disciple of the glorious Naropa, dwells in this region. Where is his house?’
For a long time he looked at me from head to foot. Then he said: ‘Who are you?’
And Milarepa went on to tell him what a great sinner he had been. Marpa agreed to Milarepa’s request and took him on as a student, provided he first atoned for his sins. Then began an ordeal which has caught the imagination of the Tibetans and everyone else who has heard of it.
Marpa instructed Milarepa to build a round tower. When it was half-finished, and after great labour, Marpa told him casually to tear it down again and put the stones and earth back to their places of origin, because he had not really thought the matter out properly. Then he told Milarepa to build a semi-circular tower on the crest of a mountain and again, when it was half-finished, Milarepa had to tear it down, replacing all the earth and stones, for Marpa said that the other day he was drunk and had not given the right directions. Then Milarepa was instructed to build a triangular tower which, again, had to be pulled down, for Marpa asked Milarepa who had told him to build it in the first place, for he had not.
Marpa’s wife, Dakmena, was Milarepa’s spiritual mother throughout these trials and she herself gave him certain teachings known as the Mahamudra. Milarepa then had to build a square tower, nine storeys high, Marpa promising him again that on completion he would give him the teachings for which he craved. Milarepa entreated Marpa to confirm this before witnesses, which he did before his wife. And so Milarepa began building the square tower but then, when he reached the second storey, Milarepa noticed a large boulder in the foundations and, because he had received the help of Marpa’s other three disciples, Milarepa had to remove the stone. After demolishing the building he took the rock back to its place only to be told by Marpa to fetch it again and put it back as the corner stone. On completing the tower he went to the Lama and asked for the initiation and instruction which he had promised. At this Marpa lost his temper and slapped him, grabbed him by the hair and threw him out.
Next morning, after the Lama’s wife had consoled him, Milarepa was put to work by Marpa, building a covered walk at the base of the tower. Just as he was about to finish this he was called away to receive the teachings. On seeing that the initiation gifts that Milarepa had brought were, in fact, his own property, being furnished from his own household by his wife, Milarepa was cursed and kicked and thrown out once again. And so it went on, building and abuse, until the open sores on his back became infected and he was sent back to work with a pad to protect his wounds from the rocks. Milarepa was now in complete despair. He still had ‘faith in the Lama and I have not a single word in rebellion; on the contrary I believe that I am in darkness on account of my sins. I am the author of my own misery.’ He wept.
After more trials Milarepa was ready to kill himself, hoping that he would be reborn with a body worthy of religion. He had reached rock bottom. Not only had he atoned completely for his sins, he had also surrendered all expectations and ambitions in life, and it was at this point that Marpa now gave him the necessary initiations and instructions on the secret path.
Is it not the same for us all? At some point along the way we have to come to terms with the fact that our aspirations and plans may prove fruitless. In a minor way I can see that this happened before I climbed Everest and Kangchenjunga, as well as before climbing other peaks and certainly before Shishapangma, when all the indications led me to believe that circumstances counted against us.
I have so often had to let go of my expectations completely – yet almost immediately afterwards there have followed a series of incidents and events which have allowed me to proceed to the summit of these mountains with great confidence and also humility. One of the few times when I did not let go but pushed hard throughout to reach my goal, I ended up with two broken legs! My approach and attitude on that occasion had been far from humble and I went for my objective oblivious to the dangers – as happens when ambition outstrips ability.
After his initiation into the Tantric mysteries, Milarepa, full of love and veneration for his master and his wife, parted company with his guru. He now entered the meditative period of his life, living in isolated caves in the region lying between Shishapangma and Mount Kailas. How difficult it is for us to imagine how Milarepa could spend more than half his lifetime in solitude, denying himself nearly all the worldly comforts that we take for granted. But then Milarepa had seen earlier on in life the misery and suffering which people had to bear and he discovered an effective means to achieve permanent peace, drastic though it was. This is the advice he gave to his followers:[6] ‘The nature of samsara is such that wealth which has been accumulated is dispersed, houses that have been built are destroyed, unions are broken, and all that is born must die. Since inevitably one suffers from one’s acts, one must abandon worldly aims and give up accumulating, building, and uniting. The best remedy is to realize the ultimate truth of reality under the direction of an enlightened lama.’ In his Myth of Freedom,[7] Chögyam Trungpa suggests that:
We may appreciate this desolation if we are an occasional tourist who photographs it or a mountain climber trying to climb to the mountain top. But we really do not want to live in those desolate places. It is no fun, it is terrifying, terrible.
But it is possible to make friends with the desolation, to appreciate its beauty. Great sages like Milarepa relate to the desolation as their bride. They marry themselves to a desolation, to the fundamental psychological aloneness … They do not need physical or psychological entertainment … Ultimate asceticism becomes part of your basic nature, we discover how samsaric occupations feed and entertain us. Once we see samsaric occupations as games then that in itself is the absence of dualistic fixation, nirvana. Searching for nirvana becomes redundant at that point.
It was in his cave that Milarepa confronted the gods – pleasant emotions and perceptions – and the demons – painful emotions and perceptions. He did not do this blindly, in any kind of self-righteous way, nor did he try to put a lid on them. It was only when he saw them for what they were that he could let go of them and transmute the energy behind them. Gradually, stage by stage, he was able to see the world as it really is. Surely this is what we all do. After years of repeating errors, discovering – usually by accident – that to let go of our ambition, of our anger and hatred of those who stand in the way, of our accumulating power, is a way to avoid a lot of pain and further suffering. After the expedition we have to let go of our anger and frustration about what others have said and written about us by feeling our way to the source of such negative emotions, owning up to them if necessary and finally watching them evaporate, transmuting them into love – at which point feelings of happiness and contentment well up from a source never previously suspected.
Sad to say, we will never reach the heights to which Milarepa took this discipline and save ourselves a lot of hard slogging and suffering intense cold by flying through space as he flew to the cave of the ‘evil shadow’ where he meditated until ‘an intense power of Tumo radiating warmth and bliss’ arose within him ‘immeasurably superior to any such experience [he] had in the past’. However, his life is an inspiration at least to take a step in his direction. Milarepa’s spiritual development is a ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’ where, like Christian, he is often tempted from the path. At one point his former tutor’s son congratulates him and suggests that now he is doing well as a religious devotee why carry on – why not settle down, repair his house and marry Zessay, the girl he was betrothed to in his youth? And Milarepa at another time sees a vision of Marpa and yearns to be with him and his wife. In the same vision, Marpa in typical fashion tells him in no uncertain terms to get on with his job, reminding him why he became his pupil and took the religious path. This is exactly what we have to do on Himalayan climbs when the going gets tough, with storms raging, supplies diminishing and worries about the unknown difficulties ahead; inwardly we have to steel ourselves and be reminded why we came to the mountain in the first place. If we went down when there is still a margin of safety because of our fear of discomfort and the uncertainties above, without taking ourselves to the limit, what agonies we suffer for having never known the experience and value of commitment and the strength and peace that may follow. Even though this is often short-lived how important it is, as the great American climber Willi Unsoeld suggested, to keep it going and let it infuse our daily lives.
Milarepa was able to let go of the need for a personal guru by realizing the universal nature of the guru and seeing guru or Buddha in all things. As an example of Milarepa’s compassion at this time, he was able to thank his uncle and his aunt for starting him out on the path of liberation. He prayed unceasingly for their enlightenment ‘as a token of my gratitude’. He came to realize that his worst enemy was really his best teacher. To let go of our resentment and anger at what some other equally ambitious climber has said or written, even if it is only on one occasion, is enough to understand Milarepa’s ‘gratitude’.
Months and years passed by as Milarepa spent his time in solitude, moving from one cave to another whenever the people in the valleys below began to impinge on his isolation and distract him from his meditations. There were many occasions when they sought to tempt him from his path, but he seems to have resisted them all easily. His sister, Petta, entreated him to give up the life that had reduced him to skin and bone. Zessay paid him a visit. She was horrified at his appearance and said: ‘I have never seen a religious devotee like you. You look even worse than a beggar. What kind of Mahayana is this?’
Milarepa replies: ‘It is the best of all. It throws the Eight Worldly Reactions to the winds in order to realize Enlightenment in this lifetime. This appearance of mine conforms with that tradition.’ [8] She asked him why he could not study religion as others do. Milarepa replies: ‘First of all, those who can only think of worldly goals are content with studying a few religious books. They rejoice in their own success and in the failure of others. In the name of religion they amass as much fame and wealth as they can. They take holy names and put on yellow robes. I turn away from them and always will.’ He tells her that they can never marry but that he will pray for her salvation.
Milarepa decides to repair to a more remote cave at Chuwar, near the Nepalese border. As he is getting ready to go he breaks a pot, his only possession apart from the tattered remnant of cloth that is tied around his body. It was the pot in which he cooked his nettle broth.
I consoled myself that all composite things are impermanent. Understanding that this too was an exhortion to meditate, I first marvelled at it; then becoming certain, I sang:
At the same moment I had a pot and I did not have a pot.
This example demonstrates the whole law of the impermanence of things. In particular, it shows the human condition.
If this is so I, the hermit Mila, will strive to meditate without distraction.
The precious pot containing my riches
Becomes my teacher in the very moment it breaks.
This lesson on the inherent impermanence of things is a great marvel.[9]
As he was singing several hunters arrived and commented upon his melodious singing and marvelled at his body so thin and green. They attempted to stop his work.
Milarepa replied: ‘In your eyes I may seem exceedingly miserable. You may not know that there is no one happier and more sensible than I in the world.’
For everyone who comes to tempt him off the path he has only compassion – for his aunt, his sister, for the woman he was betrothed to, to the hunters and other laymen that happen to find him in his sanctuaries – and offers prayers for their deliverance.
Mountaineers, especially, may identify with his need for solitude. Is it not one of the great joys of expeditioning, where our lives are less cluttered and more simple, where we can rest in the present, content that at least for a time the future will take care of itself and the past seems not so important? In our task of climbing the mountain, with all its inherent dangers and hardships, we concentrate the mind and stop it wandering. The higher we go the less we carry the less we have to worry about as we climb, grateful to be there on the mountain. All this is possible providing we are not blinkered by blind ambition and imagined rewards. This is how Milarepa put it:[10]
Selfish desires stir up the five poisons.
Temporal desires separate the dearest of friends.
Self-glorification evokes resentment in others.
Keeping silent about oneself will prevent conflicts.
By maintaining tranquillity and avoiding distraction,
In solitude you will find your companion.
Humility leads to the highest goal.
He who works with care will quickly achieve results.
Renunciation brings great fulfilment.
If, in adopting – even for a short time – some of the ascetic practices of the hermits such as Milarepa we can quieten our minds and find in the space between thoughts more love and compassion than we knew formerly, because we are so grateful to be alive and full of life, and if we can then bring this home with us, our climbing is not entirely selfish – not if we have renewed our zest and enthusiasm for life.
In his splendid book The Way of the White Clouds Lama Anagarika Govinda poses the question about religious ascetics: ‘Whether such tremendous effort and achievement would not have benefited the world more if the hermit had returned to the haunts of man and propagated the wisdom which he had acquired.’ Then he goes on to say that this is not the hermit’s way and yet he may be just as effective as those spiritual leaders who did go out into the world to propagate their wisdom. He gives us an example how the Gomchen of Lachen, to the north of Sikkim, did propagate his wisdom through his chella (pupil) who was none other than the famous Western scholar, Orientalist and explorer, Alexandra David-Neel. After putting her through three years of hardship and isolation he imparted to her the profound knowledge that she, in turn, related to the West through her books. She arrived at the profound understanding of the visionary nature of the guru’s work: ‘Mind and senses develop their sensibility in this contemplative life made up of continual observations and reflections. Does one become a visionary or rather is it not that one has been blind until then.’
This visionary or mystical experience is not just the property of the ascetic but is something which occurs spontaneously to many people. Indeed, it may happen to everyone to some degree. For those that are given a glimpse of a ‘separate reality’ it often means a profound change in their lifestyle. Sir Francis Younghusband, towards the end of his successful military expedition to Tibet in 1904, had a profound mystical experience on a mountainside above Lhasa:
I was naturally elated at having brought to a successful issue a most difficult and dangerous mission. I was naturally full of goodwill, since my former foes were converted into stalwart friends. But now there grew up in me something infinitely greater than mere elation and goodwill. Elation grew to exultation, and exultation to an exultation which thrilled through me with overpowering intensity. I was beside myself with untellable joy … And henceforth life for me was naught but buoyancy and light.
Such experiences are only too rare; and they are all too soon blurred in the actualities of common life. Yet it is in those fleeting moments that God is made real to us. We glimpse the true reality of things. In those moments we really live. Each is worth a life time. Those who are thus privileged are convinced forever of the utter worthwhileness of life, however hard it may be. To them all life is sacred. What hurts one hurts all.’ (Francis Younghusband pp. 248–9.) (He went on to found the World Congress of Faiths. He had seen Buddha in all things and now attempted to bring the different religions together.)
Finally, Milarepa’s earthly race with time was won and he spoke to his disciples: ‘Men of Nyanang (Nyalam) and Dingri and all benefactors and followers, prepare a ritual feast and gather round me, let all other men in the region who have not seen me and wish to meet me come also.’
Milarepa was now in his 84th year and his disciples and followers and many other people gathered at Chuwar, on the southern slopes of the Himalaya near the Tibetan/Nepalese border. At Drin there was a rich and influential Lama named Geshe Tsakpuhwa, who tried to cross swords with the Master. He hoped to challenge Milarepa with his learned arguments but was unable to do so. Out of jealousy he poisoned the Master. Milarepa began to show the ill-effects of the poison over the next few days.
The Geshe refused to acknowledge that he was the source of Milarepa’s illness until Milarepa transferred half of his pain and suffering to the Geshe, at which point he collapsed in pain, paralysed and choking. He was on the verge of death when Milarepa removed the affliction, at which point the Geshe became a ready convert and sincerely begged for forgiveness, which he was given.
The Repas [Milarepa’s followers] asked: ‘Can we engage in an active life if it proves beneficial to other beings?’
The Master answered: ‘If there is no attachment to selfish aims, you can. But that is difficult. Those who are full of worldly desires can do nothing to help others. They do not even profit themselves. It is as if a man, carried away by a torrent, pretended to save others. Nobody can do anything for sentient beings without first attaining transcendent insight into Reality. Like the blind leading the blind, one would risk being carried away by desires. Because space is limitless and sentient beings innumerable, you will always have a chance to help others when you become capable of doing so. Until then, cultivate the aspiration toward Complete Enlightenment by loving others more than yourselves while practising the dharma.’ [11]
Milarepa continued to let the poison run its course, refusing to save himself or to receive medicines offered by his disciples. As he passed out of his earthly form, ‘There appeared in the firmament above them an inconceivable variety of offerings from the gods, such as rainbows and five-coloured clouds, forming themselves into parasols, banners, canopies, bunting and billowing silk’ [12] and the Master passed into Nirvana.
Milarepa is a key figure in the history of Buddhism in Tibet. His importance is summoned up in the words of Lobsang P. Lhalungpa: ‘Never, in the 13 centuries of Buddhist history in Tibet, has there been such a man, who not only inspired an intellectual elite and spiritual luminaries, but also captured the imagination of the common people … Throughout pre-Communist Tibet, Milarepa was held in universal veneration. It was so in the past and is still so among the thousands of refugees in the settlements of northern India, Bhutan and Sikkim.’ [13] Milarepa’s compassion for fellow human beings is reflected even today in the extraordinary love and devotion they give to his memory.
The turbulent times that followed the renaissance of the 11th and 12th centuries may be followed elsewhere, for we are only concerned here with the characters that have predominantly affected or passed by the area around Shishapangma.
1. Tibetan Civilization, p. 52[back]
2. Tibet’s Great Yogi Milarepa, ed. W. Y. Evans-Wentz (Oxford, 1982), p. 52[back]
3. Tibetan Civilization, p. 114[back]
4. The Life of Milarepa by Lobsang P. Lhalungpa, p. 41[back]
5. ibid., p. 44[back]
6. ibid., p. 163[back]
7. The Myth of Freedom, p. 151[back]
8. The Life of Milarepa, p. 111[back]
9. ibid., p. 130[back]
10. ibid., p. 172[back]
11. The Life of Milarepa, p. 171[back]
12. ibid., p. 173[back]
13. ibid., p. vii[back]