Sacred Stories, Songs and Poems
This song of Milarepa’s provides wonderful inspiration for women seekers of enlightenment. It describes his meeting with Sahle Aui, who became one of the four foremost yogini disciples of the Jetsun. Here, she supplicates Milarepa for teachings:
Please listen to me,
Great Repa Yogi, the accomplished One.
When I look at human lives
They remind me of dew on grass.
Thinking thus, my heart is full of grief.
When I see my friends and relatives,
They are as merchants passing in the street.
Thinking thus, my heart is grieved and sad.
When I see goods hard to earn
They remind me of the honey
Of hard-working bees.
Thinking thus, my heart is filled with grief.
When I see my native land,
It suggests a den of vice.
Thinking thus, my heart is sad.
By day, I contemplate this truth,
At night, I think about it without sleep.
Because of my good deeds in former lives,
I was born this time a human being.
My past life drives me from behind,
Cooking and household duties pull me on.
I draw closer to death every minute.
This decaying body
At any time may fall.
My breath, like morning-fog,
At any time may disappear.
Thinking thus, I cannot sleep.
Thinking thus, my heart is sad.
Oh, my Father Jetsun,
For the sake of Dharma I visit you.
Pray bless, protect and pity me,
And grant me the holy Teachings!
With ignorant and bewildered mind
I have thought and searched.
In the depths of my heart
I have reflected on the transiency of life.
I have seen death strike down both young and old
Since first I saw the light of day.
Life is precarious and fleeting
Like dew upon the grass.
Time flies unnoticed, and then life is o’er.
I have never seen or heard of an immortal man.
I am certain beyond doubt
That I shall die one day.
I have no freedom or choice.
Of where to go when I am dead.
I am sad and fearful
When I think of the pains that I
In Lower Realms might bear.
This world is but a play –
The endless toil of housework,
The struggle for a living,
Leaving one’s gracious parents,
Giving up one’s life to one’s betrothed –
If into the Lower Realms one falls,
Progress and Liberation will be lost.
Sometimes to myself I thought,
How does it make sense –
Freely to give yourself with your parents’ goods
To someone who for life enslaves you as a servant?
At first a lover is an angel,
Next a demon, frightening and outrageous,
In the end a fierce elephant,
Who threatens to destroy you.
Thinking thus, I feel sad and weary.
Now, this maid shall devote herself to the Dharma,
Now, she will join her Vajra-brothers!
Most men are but credit-collectors;
Seldom does a gifted one appear.
First they steal your youthful beauty,
Next they snatch your food away,
Then they pull jewels from your hands.
Thinking thus, I feel sick at heart.
Now, I shall devote myself to practicing the Dharma.
Hereafter I shall foster the children of Wisdom.
Houses and temples are like prisons;
At first, they break your heart,
Then they give you an aching back,
In the end, they leave you in despair.
Thinking thus, I feel sick at heart.
This maid will now devote herself
To building a chapel for the immortal Dhyana.