Inviting the demon.

(Milarepa, Tibetan Buddhism)(The Shadowissue)

Judith Simmer-Brown

Parabola

Vol.22 No.2 (Summer 1997)

pp.12-18

COPYRIGHT 1997 Society for the Study of Myth and Tradition

When the young prince-turned-mendicant, Siddhartha, sat down on a seat of soft grass on the east side of a pipal tree, he vowed not to arise until he had attained full awakening. Because of his meditative experience, he knew what lay before him. He knew that in a certain way, awakening was direct and simple, a spontaneous experience of clarity and radiance, born of lifetimes of a settled discipline of mind. But he also knew that he must be strong and resolute, for he would be attacked by Mara,(1) the demon lord of death and destruction, and his awakening depended upon maintaining an open but unyielding attitude toward these attacks. Mara represented the unacknowledged or unfinished karmic tendencies, emotionality, and conceptuality inherent in Siddhartha himself and in all human experience. As he sat still, it is said that Mara attacked Siddhartha in nine great storms -- a whirlwind, a great rainstorm, and showers of rocks, weapons, hot coals, hot ashes, sand, mud, and darkness.(2) Each storm blew its its, only to become a gentle rain of flowers as it approached the compassionate prince, who remained immovable on his meditation seat. As he and Mara faced each other down, Siddhartha claimed his right to the seat of awakening, summoning the earth as his support and witness, and Mara and his hordes slunk away. From the earliest teachings of the Buddha, the practitioner has been encouraged to go against the stream of conventionality, to look at everything in experience including that which one would rather avoid or ignore. The way which the Buddha discovered was based on opening to all, including the "shadow," to see fearlessly what is there, and to integrate lost shadow material as a source of spiritual richness. A central meditative strategy of Buddhism has always been quiet sitting, allowing the unclaimed features of the inner life to arise to awareness. Then, following the specific instructions of meditation practice, these negativities, sufferings, and anxieties are recognized and allowed to dissipate on their own. This instruction is also clear in the first recorded teaching of the Buddha, that of the Four Noble Truths,(3) given in a lush grove inhabited by wild deer outside the city of Varanasi. There he instructed five bedraggled yogins, his former companions, saying that the first Noble Truth upon which his awakening was based was the truth of suffering. This teaching points to an aspect of the shadow experience, that within whatever occurs, there is an undercurrent of undesired anxiety and discontent. Duhkha, the Sanskrit word for suffering, derives from the word kha, literally, an axle-hole which must be carefully driven at the very center of the wheel in order for the fide to be smooth. Duh means bad or poor, referring to an axle-hole which is off-center, causing an uneven or bumpy ride. This word imaginatively captures the uneasiness of human existence which gives rise to our yearnings for wholeness. According to these insights of the Buddha, any attempt to escape suffering merely intensifies the experience of anxiety. Likewise, attempts to cling to suffering and to indulge in anxiety and discontent merely gives our psychological logic another twist. Our discontent solidifies into a "problem" which occupies our attention, while the real anxiety moves to another level of subtlety. The only remaining solution is that of the Middle Way, of investigating the negativity we desire to escape, seeing it clearly, and then letting it go. We must ride the tricky waves of this negativity, allowing its chameleon-like intractability. All of this is done through the medium of Buddhist meditations, in their varieties of forms. But this is most explicitly described in the tradition of Tibetan tantra, which strategically invites psychological material(4) directly into meditation practice and transforms it into wisdom. How are we to understand this "not accepting, not rejecting" way of working with the "shadow" in Buddhism? A most instructive example can be found in the life story(5) of the twelfth-century Tibetan yogin, Milarepa, who began his fife in great adversity.(6) His father, a successful and prosperous trader, died when Mila was still a small boy, leaving him and his mother and sister at the mercy of a greedy uncle. When the uncle stole their inheritance and forced them into servitude, Mila's enraged mother insisted that he avenge his family's honor. He apprenticed himself to a powerful sorcerer and learned to cause devastating hailstorms and pestilence. Returning to his village, at his mother's urging he murdered his uncle's entire family and then fled into the mountains. When he realized what he had done, he experienced great fear and regret, and sought a Buddhist teacher to repair his damaged karma. In the language of Jung, Milarepa became enmeshed in the flight from his shadow at the onset of his spiritual journey. His training with the great guru Marpa was fraught with great hardship and misguided intentions, as Marpa exacerbated his troubled student's neurosis. The most striking example came in Marpa's command that Milarepa build a series of tall stone towers with his own hands. With each tower's completion, Marpa insisted that Milarepa tear it down and return the stones to their original spots. Throughout this, Milarepa experienced great devotion, but never understood the great agony of the tasks his master set forth for him. Finally, as Milarepa contemplated suicide, Marpa gave him the teachings he sought and sent him to the remote and desolate caves of southwestern Tibet to do a lifelong retreat. Through this retreat, Mila successfully met his own shadow and reclaimed its offerings. While Milarepa dwelt in the Eagle Tower caves of Red Rock Jewel Valley,(7) he went out one day to gather firewood in the nearby valley. There a great storm arose, with strong and penetrating wind which blew the wood away as quickly as he could pick it up and which threatened to tear off his meager robe. Frustrated, he thought, "What is the use of practicing Dharma if one cannot subdue ego-clinging? Let the wind blow my wood away if it likes. Let the wind blow my robe off if it wishes!"(8) And so saying, he fainted. Upon reviving, he found the storm had abated and his ragged robe fluttered in a nearby tree. Eventually he returned with firewood to his cave, and found it invaded by five horrific demons with eyes as large as saucers. Shocked, Milarepa politely introduced himself and asked them to leave. At this, the demons became menacing, surrounding him while growling, grimacing, and laughing maliciously. Milarepa was alarmed and attempted the most powerful of exorcism recitations, to no avail. The demons became even more threatening. Next, the yogin tried with great compassion to pacify them with Buddhist teachings, but they still remained, more vivid and horrible than before. Finally Milarepa realized that his approach was mistaken, and that he needed the most direct means possible. Supplicating his teacher Marpa, he acknowledged that the demons, and all phenomena for that matter, were of his own mind, which is of the nature of luminosity and emptiness. The demons were his own projections, and seeing them naively as external demons served as an obstacle to his practice. At the same time, their malicious nature was actually radiant and transparent, no different from awakening itself. If he could respond to them appropriately, he could reap great spiritual benefit. Milarepa then applied his guru's instructions and sang one of his famous dohas, or songs of realization. In it he proclaimed his lineage of wakefulness and the mastery of his own mind. He prayed to Marpa, who had himself conquered the Maras, referring to him as a queen snow lioness, a golden Garuda (intrepid master of all birds), and as the king of fishes. Then, professing himself as Marpa's son in each of these forms, he proclaimed his meditative maturity and unshakable fearlessness, leaping from the snowy precipices, flying in the lofty heights of the sky, or swimming the thundering waves of the ocean. Finally, he spoke of himself as a Buddhist meditator, son of his guru's lineage. Faith grew in my mother's womb. A baby, I entered the door of Dharma; A youth, I studied the Buddha's teaching; A man, I lived alone in caves. Though demons, ghosts, and devils multiply, I am not afraid .... I, Milarepa, fear neither demons nor evils; If they frightened Milarepa, to what avail Would be his realization and enlightenment?(9) Having proclaimed the fearlessness which he had discovered in his practice, Milarepa followed the training given him by his guru. He invited the demons to stay with him and to receive his hospitality. He also challenged them to a friendly contest of teachings. Ye ghosts and demons, enemies of the Dharma, I welcome you today! It is my pleasure to receive you! I pray you, stay; do not hasten to leave; We will discourse and play together. Although you would be gone, stay the night; We will pit the Black against the White Dharma, And see who plays the best. Before you came, you vowed to afflict me. Shame and disgrace would follow If you returned with this vow unfulfilled.(10) We may notice that when Milarepa invited the demons, he displayed several moods successively. This can be understood in terms of the Tibetan tantric expression of four enlightened stages of skillful, appropriate action, called the four karmas. These karmas are the strategies employed by the realized yogin when working with intractable situations, whether they be in practice or in daily life.(11) These methods are based on "not accepting, not rejecting" in the sense that the most threatening situations are excellent opportunities for practice. The first karma is "pacifying," in which one opens fully to negativity, with the line "I welcome you today!" When we open to the shadow in this way, we reverse the habitual tendency to ignore or hide it. Next, the yogin inspires the unacknowledged aspects with confidence by creating an atmosphere of celebration, free from aggression, in an action called "enriching" ("It is my pleasure to receive you!"). Taking the attitude of enriching, we affirm the power of the shadow rather than discounting it as we usually do. Then, with the third karma of "magnetizing," the yogin draws the negativity toward him or her with an actual invitation: "Do not hasten to leave; we will discourse and play together ... stay the night." In this way, the shadow is charmed into relationship and its power is harnessed. The last karma, "destroying," is the final resort for an accomplished yogin like Milarepa. Often the shadow material does not require this final step, for its ferocity has rested primarily on our denial of it, and the inviting nature of the first three karmas removes its threatening qualities. However, when negativities are entrenched in conceptual justifications and defenses, we must employ "destroying," in which we challenge and threaten the crystallized, residual negativity with extinction. Milarepa did this with the challenge, "we will pit the Black against the White Dharma, and see who plays the best." Here he was referring to the black magic and sorcery of his past training, his central shadow, directly confronted by the white magic of Buddhism, which can accommodate and purify the black. Having challenged the demons, Milarepa arose and rushed with great confidence directly at them. They shrank in terror, rolling their eyes and trembling violently, and then swirled together into a single vision and dissolved. With this, the destroying was completed, and Milarepa the black sorcerer was reclaimed by Milarepa the white sorcerer.(12) It is important, however, to understand that in Buddhism the motivation to reclaim the shadow can never be in service to the ego, or fulfilling only one's own personal potential. The "white sorcerer" Milarepa was the great Buddhist yogin who harnessed the powers of the destructive magician, who was interested only in egocentric ends, and brought them into the service of the Dharma, the egoless aspiration for the awakening of all beings. In his practice, following the tantric instructions, Milarepa transformed the power of his passions into blazing devotion to his teacher, dedicated service, committed retreat practice, and blissful realization. The intensity of these transmuted passions can be seen in the legacy of realization songs he left for his students. He summed it up in this song: Previously, I was confused by delusion, And staying in the dwelling of ignorant confusion, I perceived gods who help and demons who harm as real. Now, through the kindness of the jetsun siddha, I understand there is no samsara to stop, no nirvana to accomplish. Whatever appears arises as mahamudra. With the realization that confusion is groundless, The water that reflects the moon of awareness is clear of murkiness. The sun of luminosity, free of clouds, Clears away the darkness of ignorance from the edges. Deluded confusion disappears. The true nature arises from within. The precious thought that perceives demons Is the wonderful clarifier of the unborn bias.(13) With this, Milarepa acknowledged that perceiving external demons is a precious opportunity to open our minds to direct experience of things as they are. The Red Rock Jewel Valley vignette closes with the explanation that the great Obstacle-Maker, the demon-king Vinayaka, had caused these apparitions and the storm preceding them. Blessing his guru, Milarepa acknowledged that Marpa's protections and instruction had kept him from harm. And, the biographer finally concludes, "after this, Milarepa gained immeasurable spiritual progress."(14) NOTES (1.) Mara, a cognate of "mortal," refers to death, pestilence, and most explicitly in Buddhism, vulnerability to the passions. The Lord of the Maras was depicted as leader of an army of denizens, a kind of demon in his own right. Maras are four, according to the Dharmasamgraha; skandha-mara, klesha-mara, devaputramara, and mrtyu-mara. These are detailed in many texts of the Tibetan tradition. (2.) There are many versions of this account, but this is taken from Jataka I.68.5. (3.) Dhammacakkappavattana-sutta, Samyutta-nikaya LVI.11. (4.) It must be acknowledged that this is Western psychological terminology which is described in the Tibetan tradition as merely one aspect of the mind. Nevertheless, it has been exceedingly helpful in contemporary psychology to study Tibetan Buddhism for its sophisticated understanding of the emotions, the unconscious, and conceptuality. (5.) Namthar, literally "liberation story" in Tibetan, a classic literary form which uses hagiography as a way of presenting the potent teachings of Vajrayana Buddhism without the obscuration of philosophy or logic. (6.) Sources in translation on the life and songs of Milarepa include The Life of MIlarepa, Lobsang P. Lhalungpa, tr. (new York: E. P. Dutton, 1977); The hundred Thousand Songs of Milarepa, Garma C. C. Chang, tr. (Boulder, Colo.: Shambhala Publications, 1977); Selected Song of Jetsun Milarepa, Khenpo Tsultrim Gyamtso and Elizabeth Callahan, trs. (Cupertino, Calif.: Marpa Foundation, 1995); Drinking the Mountain Stream: New Stories and Songs by Milarepa, Lama Kunga Rinpoche and Brian Cutillo, trs. (Novato, Calif.; Lotsawa, 1978); even a classic comik book by Eva Van Dam, The Magic Life of Milarepa, Tibet's Great Yogi (Boston: Shambhala, 1991). (7.) This is drawn from "The Tale of Red Rock Jewel Valley," Chapter I of Chang, op. cit., pp. 1-7. (8.) Ibid., p. 1. (9.) Ibid., p. 7. (10.) Ibid. (11.) For a brief but accessible presentation of the four karmas, read Chogyam Trungpa, Rinpoche, The Myth of Freedom (Boston: Shambhala Publications, 1976), chapter IV, pp. 73-82. (12.) Marpa continued to call Milarepa "Great Sorcerer" throughout his life, referring to these qualities. (13.) Gyamtso and Callahan, p. 3. (14.) Chang, p. 7.