The Mani Man

A prayer wheel, or mani wheel, is a wheel filled with innumerable mantras and inscriptions wrapped clockwise around a central axis. Some prayer wheels are tiny, like tops; others are huge, filling an entire room, and one turns the wheel by holding its handles and walking clockwise around it. Others are attached to running streams or waterfalls so that they can harness the natural energy and spread benedictions throughout the land. The faithful believe that spinning these prayer wheels or hanging prayer flags in the wind actualizes the inscribed prayers.

The Tibetan province of Kham is akin to America’s Wild West. The people of Kham are great equestrians, and like all who ride regularly, they love their horses. Until about a century ago, Kham was carved into dozens of smaller kingdoms, each of which had its own army, raised by forcible conscription.

THERE WAS ONCE AN OLD man in far eastern Kham known as the Mani Man because, day and night, he could always be found devotedly spinning his small homemade prayer wheel. The wheel was filled with the mantra of Great Compassion, Om Mani Padmé Hung. The Mani Man lived with his son and their one fine horse. The son was the joy of the man’s life; the boy’s pride and joy was the horse.

The man’s wife, after a long life of virtue and service, had long since departed for more fortunate rebirths. Father and son lived, free from excessive wants or needs, in one of several rough stone houses near a river on the edge of the flat plains.

One day their steed disappeared. The neighbors bewailed the loss of the old man’s sole material asset, but the stoic old man just kept turning his prayer wheel, reciting "Om Mani Padmé Hung, Tibet’s national mantra. To whoever inquired or expressed condolences, he simply said, Give thanks for everything. Who can say what is good or bad? We’ll see…."

After several days the splendid creature returned, followed by a pair of wild mustangs. These the old man and his son swiftly trained. Then everyone sang songs of celebration and congratulated the old man on his unexpected good fortune. The man simply smiled over his prayer wheel and said, I am grateful…but who knows? We shall see.

Then, while racing one of the mustangs, the boy fell and shattered his leg. Some neighbors carried him home, cursing the wild horse and bemoaning the boy’s fate. But the old man, sitting at his beloved son’s bedside, just kept turning his prayer wheel around and around while softly muttering gentle Lord Chenrayzig’s mantra of Great Compassion. He neither complained nor answered their protestations to fate, but simply nodded his head affably, reiterating what he had said before. The Buddha is beneficent; I am grateful for my son’s life. We shall see.

The next week military officers appeared, seeking young conscripts for an ongoing border war. All the local boys were immediately taken away, except for the bedridden son of the Mani Man. Then the neighbors congratulated the old man on his great good fortune, attributing such luck to the good karma accumulated by the old man’s incessantly spinning prayer wheel and the constant mantras on his cracked lips. He smiled and said nothing.

One day when the boy and his father were watching their fine horses graze on the prairie grass, the taciturn old man suddenly began to sing:

"Life just goes around and around, up and down

like a waterwheel;

Our lives are like its buckets, being emptied and refilled

again and again.

Like the potter’s clay, our physical existences

are fashioned into one form after another:

the shapes are broken and reformed again and again,

The low will be high, and the high fall down;

the dark will grow light, and the rich lose all.

If you, my son, were an extraordinary child,

off to a monastery as an incarnation they would carry you.

If you were too bright, my son,

shackled to other people’s disputes at an official’s desk you would be.

One horse is one horse’s worth of trouble.

Wealth is good,

But too soon loses its savor,

and can be a burden, a source of quarrel, in the end.

No one knows what karma awaits us,

but what we sow now will be reaped

in lives to come; that is certain.

So be kind to one and all

and don’t be biased,

based upon illusions regarding gain and loss.

Have neither hope nor fear, expectation nor anxiety;

Give thanks for everything, whatever your lot may be.

Accept everything; accept everyone; and follow

the Buddha’s infallible Law.

Be simple and carefree, remaining naturally at ease

and in peace.

You can shoot arrows at the sky if you like,

My son, but they’ll inevitably fall back to earth."

As he sang, the prayer flags fluttered overhead, and the ancient mani wheel, filled with hundreds of thousands of handwritten mantras, just kept turning. Then the old man was silent.

Milarepa’s Last Word

Jetsun Milarepa is Tibet’s best-known yogi-sage as well as her most beloved bard. His The Hundred Thousand Songs of Milarepa, extemporaneously sung nine hundred years ago to disciples and followers in the snowy Himalayan wilderness, has been translated into many languages. Milarepa’s skin displayed a greenish hue, because he subsisted for many years on wild nettle soup.

Milarepa is famous for having attained perfect awakened Buddhahood in a single lifetime through decades of solitary meditation in mountain caves, dressed only in white cotton robes. His example as a spiritual practitioner has been the inspiration for countless generations of lamas, from the eleventh century until today.

Milarepa’s guru was Marpa the Translator, who spent seventeen years studying and meditating in India and brought the Mahamudra (Great Symbol) teachings to Tibet; Milarepa’s own disciple was Gampopa. Gampopa sought out Milarepa after being blessed by a vision of a green yogi who flicked spit in his face.

Tibetan beer, called chang, is distilled from fermented barley. In tantric initiations, a consecrated skullcup (a chalice fashioned from a skull) full of alcoholic spirits is often used symbolically to transmit the elixir of gnosis.

ON THE VERY FIRST OCCASION when the physician-monk Gampopa met Milarepa, his predestined master, Milarepa offered him a skullcup full of chang. Gampopa protested that to drink alcohol was against his vows.

Milarepa, the Laughing Vajra (Diamond), smilingly assured him that the highest spiritual precept is to obey the master’s command. At that, Gampopa unhesitatingly drained the vessel; then Milarepa knew the monk would be his spiritual heir.

After years of solitary meditation in a cave, interspersed with visits to Milarepa, Gampopa finally completed his training and was ready to leave his master. Milarepa placed both bare feet upon Gampopa’s head as a benediction.

Gampopa asked the singing yogi for final instructions. Milarepa, however, simply said, "What is needed is more effort, not more teachings." And he would say no more.

Gampopa set off and had already crossed a narrow stream when Milarepa shouted to attract his attention one last time. The guru knew that he would not see Gampopa again during this lifetime.

I have one very profound secret instruction, Milarepa said. It is far too precious to give away to just anyone.

Gampopa looked back. Milarepa suddenly turned around, bent over, and pulled up his ragged robe, displaying buttocks as calloused and pockmarked as a horse’s hoof, hardened from so many long years of seated meditation on bare rock.

That’s my final instruction, heart-son! he shouted. Do it!

Better Seek Yourself

ONCE THE BUDDHA WAS SITTING in meditation in a dense forest near Uruvela when a band of villagers chanced upon him. The company was composed of thirty married couples, plus one well-to-do young bachelor.

The night before, while the young man slept, his favored courtesan had found the money hidden beneath his bed and had made off with it. When the theft was discovered, all his friends and neighbors had set off in pursuit, finally stumbling upon the Enlightened One deep in the jungle.

After they had recounted their sad tale to the sage, the Buddha asked, Instead of roaming around in this dangerous jungle seeking a woman and money, wouldn’t it be far better to seek your true self?

Buddha’s peaceful, shining countenance and simple allegorical insight made such an impact on the young householders that they forgot their chase and became his followers. The young bachelor later became a monk and a sage.

Crossing to the Other Shore

Dakinis are enlightened female energies, which are personified as deities. Appearing in any number of forms, they are sometimes called sky dancers because they represent the uninhibited dance of awakened awareness within the radiant, skylike expanse of emptiness. Vajra Yogini is the queen of the dakinis.

ONE DAY TWO TIBETAN MONKS who were on a pilgrimage came to a rushing river. There on the bank sat an ugly old leper, begging for alms.

When the monks approached, she asked the priestly pair to assist her in crossing the river. One monk felt an instinctive revulsion. Haughtily, he gathered his flowing monastic robes about himself and waded into the water on his own. Once on the other side, he wondered if he should even wait for his tardy friend. Would the latter abandon the leper or bring her along?

The second monk felt sorry for the helpless hag; compassion blossomed spontaneously in his heart. He picked up the leprous creature and gently hoisted her onto his back. Then he struggled down the riverbank into the swirling current.

It was then that an amazing thing happened. Midstream, where the going seemed to be most difficult, with muddy water boiling about his thighs and his water-logged woolen robes billowing out like a tent, the kindly monk suddenly and miraculously felt his burden being lifted off his back. Looking up, he beheld the wisdom deity Vajra Yogini soaring gracefully overhead, reaching down to draw him up to the dakini paradise where she reigned.

The first monk, greatly chastened—having been directly instructed in the nature of both compassion and illusory form—had to continue on his pedestrian pilgrimage alone.

The Miraculous Tooth

Faith is like a ring, a grommet; the Buddha’s compassion is like a hook, or shepherd’s crook. The two can connect and Buddha’s blessings can enter wherever there is openness to such grace.

This is illustrated by the tale of the old woman who attained spiritual awakening with the help of a dog’s tooth. The faithful have always venerated the teeth and bones of saints as sacred relics; these remains are thought to have become imbued with spiritual presence.

ONCE THERE WAS AN OLD woman whose son was a trader. Often he joined a caravan and went to distant India on business. One day his mother said, Bodh Gaya in India is the place where the perfect Buddha was enlightened. Please bring me a blessed relic from there, a talisman I can use as a focus for my devotions. I shall place it on the altar, pray and bow to it as a material representation of the Buddha’s blessed body.

Many times she repeated her request. However, each time her son returned from a business trip to the holy land of India, he realized that he had forgotten his mother’s fervent plea. For several years he failed to bring what she had asked for.

One day, as he was getting ready to depart yet again for India, his mother said to him, Son, remember my words on your journey. This time, if you do not bring me a relic from Bodh Gaya to use for my prostrations, I shall kill myself in front of you!

He was shocked by her unexpected intensity. Vowing to fulfill his mother’s wish, he left.

At last, after many months, his business affairs were completed and he approached his homeland. Again he had forgotten to acquire for his dear old mother a genuine relic of the Buddha. It was only when he approached his mother’s house that he remembered her words.

What am I going to do? he thought. I haven’t brought anything for Mother’s altar. If I arrive home empty-handed, she’ll kill herself!

Looking around in dismay, he spotted the desiccated skull of a dog lying by the roadside. Hastily he tore a tooth from the jaw and proceeded to wrap it in silk.

Reaching home, he reverently presented this package to his mother. Here is one of the Buddha’s canine teeth, he said. I acquired it in Lord Buddha’s native land, India. You can use it as a support for your prayers.

The old woman believed him. She had faith in the tooth, believing it to be from Lord Buddha himself. She constantly offered prostrations and prayers to it as the veritable embodiment of all the Buddhas. Through such practices she found the unshakable peace of mind she had long sought.

Miraculously, from the dog’s tooth emanated countless tiny translucent pearls and swirls of rainbow light. All the neighbors were delighted to find such blessings free for the taking at the old woman’s altar, where they gathered daily. When the old woman finally met death, a canopy of rainbow light surrounded her, and everyone recognized in the beatific smile on her wizened face that she had attained spiritual exaltation.

Although a dog’s tooth in itself contains few blessings, the power of the woman’s unswerving faith ensured that the blessings of the Buddha would enter that tooth. Thus a mere dog’s tooth became no different from an authentic relic of the Buddha, and many were uplifted.

A Statue Speaks

Kongpo, the home of the central figure in this story, is a southern Tibetan province whose people are renowned for piety rather than intellect.

The Jokhang in Lhasa is the holiest temple in Tibet. Inside is the renowned ancient statue of the Buddha cast in the form of a prince, called Jowo Rinpoche (Precious Lord); it was brought from China more than a millennium ago as part of the dowry of a Chinese princess betrothed to the king of Tibet. In the Tibetan tradition, it is customary to bow to the floor three times before entering a temple, shrine, or grand lama’s presence.

BEN FROM KONGPO HAD LONG aspired to visit the Jokhang and Tibet’s most holy statue. At last the day arrived when the intrepid pilgrim put on his traveling boots and set off on foot for distant Lhasa.

When Ben arrived, he walked the streets in wonder, for there, right before his eyes, was the glorious City of the Gods…. What a delight! There was the towering Potala Palace, where dwelt Lord Chenrayzig in the form of the Dalai Lama, surrounded by an endless queue of pilgrims circumambulating the palace on the ring road. There was the divine sovereign’s summer palace, Norbu Lingka—what a sight for Ben’s devout eyes! There, right before him, were the Sera Monastery and mighty, awe-inspiring Drepung—the two largest monasteries in Tibet—where piety and learning had for centuries reigned unrivaled. How lucky to be alive! thought the overwhelmed wayfarer.

He entered the Jokhang, the central temple situated in the heart of Lhasa like a diamond embedded in the center of a jeweled diadem. And there! There at last was the great smiling Jowo Rinpoche, the fabled Buddha statue, towering above him in sublime splendor.

Prostrating himself before the statue with renewed energy, the weary pilgrim doffed his dusty cap and removed his worn-out boots, placing them in the Jowo’s lap for safekeeping. Keep an eye on these, Kongpo Ben said, before performing his ritual obligations.

As Ben circumambulated the great gold icon, he found rows of brightly glowing golden butter lamps arranged upon the altar, along with long lines of the cone-shaped barley offering cakes called tormas. Thanking the omniscient Buddha for his hospitality and warmed by the benevolent Jowo’s intimate presence, Ben proceeded to eat the consecrated cakes, neatly dunking them in the melted butter of the votive lamps illumining the shrine.

In return for this unexpected reception, Ben decided to invite the Jowo to dinner at his own humble home in Kongpo, imagining that his wife would gladly slaughter the fattest pig in their pen—what did he know of the compassionate Buddha’s non-violent doctrine?—and would prepare an opulent feast for their honored guest. The innocent peasant had no doubt that Jowo Rinpoche would accept his invitation.

Suddenly, in the midst of Kongpo Ben’s fervor, bright sunlight flooded the dimly lit shrine: the hunchbacked old temple caretaker had arrived. The door flew open, as if by its own power…. Had the caretaker been magically summoned to the scene of the crime by some self-righteous invisible force?

For one long moment the venerable elder stared at the once neatly arranged oblations, now in total disarray, and at the ragged hat and boots ensconced in the Buddha’s golden lap. Imagine his dismay!

The outraged monk reached up to snatch the pilgrim’s dirty boots from their perch, but as he did so, a deep imperious voice boomed from the smiling Jowo, saying, Hands off! Those belong to my disciple from Kongpo.

The old monk staggered in astonishment. What could he say? Orders are orders, and those who serve also know how to obey.

He prostrated himself three times on the stone floor before the statue and begged forgiveness. Reflecting piously about this miracle in the holy of holies, he left. Ben simply continued his wholehearted devotions, his faith vindicated, his boots out of harm’s way.

Eventually, Ben returned to Kongpo. The news of the miracle had preceded his return; rumors had spread throughout central and southern Tibet that the Jowo statue in the central temple had spoken. But no connection between this marvelous event and Ben himself had yet been made.

Regarding the rumor of the speaking statue, Ben merely said to whoever happened to inquire, One never knows what to believe these days.

It is said that the Buddha did, in fact, accept Ben’s naive invitation to dinner. One day Ben beheld the Jowo’s golden face among some rocks at the bottom of a clear spring near his humble abode. He reached into the water and tried to carry the statue home, but its great weight proved too much for him. When Ben dropped the smiling Jowo, it became embedded in the earth in the form of a huge rock.

To this day, the faithful folks of remote Kongpo—many of whom have never been to far-off Lhasa—still circumambulate and prostrate themselves at that blessed rock. Lhasa’s central temple may be far away, but they know that the glorious Jowo resides nearby.

Glue Stew

In fertile southern Tibet, simple folk love to ridicule the polite city dwellers of Lhasa. They say that Lhasans use stringy yak hides as stewing beef, while fortunate southern Tibetans can afford to boil tender sheep’s hide just for glue.

ONE DAY A TAILOR FROM Lhasa who was visiting southern Tibet was called upon to do some fine stitchery. His needle flying, he sat cross-legged all day on a handwoven woolen carpet. He could not fail to notice, however, the enticing odor of mutton stew emanating from a nearby room. The family was preparing a succulent stew to reward him for his labors!

All day long, a teenage girl carried sheepskins in and out, whetting the greedy tailor’s appetite. Dusk fell finally—but there was no delicious stew!

He held his tongue, slyly observing where the young girl stored the remains of the huge stew pot, which had been simmering throughout the day.

Having been graciously invited by the owner of the house to spend the night (in Tibet, hospitality to a traveler is mandatory), the tailor said that he would set out in the morning, and quietly retired for the night. He waited until midnight, when the entire household was asleep and the small herd of sheep sequestered beneath the upraised house had also settled down…

Silently, he stole into the dark storeroom, uncovered the stew pot, and stuffed his sturdy yak-skin shoulder bag with warm, gooey stew. Shouldering his load, he crept out into the night.

A few miles down the road, however, when the dishonest tailor greedily plunged a hand into the bag, seeking meat, he withdrew only great gobs of thickening glue.

Liberating Creatures

AN OLD LAMA LIKED TO sit in meditation on a large flat rock overlooking a placid pool. Yet every time he began his prayers and devotions in earnest, just as soon as he had crossed his legs and settled down, he would spot an insect struggling helplessly in the water. Time after time, he would lift up his creaky old body and deliver the tiny creature to safety, before settling down again on his rocky seat. So his contemplations went, day after day….

His brother monks, dedicated meditators who also went off daily to sit alone in the rocky ravines and caves of that desolate region, eventually became aware that the old lama hardly ever managed to sit still but actually spent most of his meditation sessions plucking insects out of the tiny pool. Although it certainly seemed fitting to save the life of a helpless sentient being of any kind, large or small, some of them occasionally wondered if the old monk’s meditations might not be greatly furthered if he sat undisturbed elsewhere, away from such distractions. One day they finally mentioned their concern to him.

Wouldn’t it be more beneficial to sit elsewhere and meditate deeply, undisturbed all day? That way you would more swiftly gain perfect enlightenment, and then you could free all living beings from the ocean of conditioned existence? one asked the old man.

Perhaps you could just meditate by the pool with your eyes closed, another brother suggested.

How can you develop perfect tranquillity and deep, diamondlike concentration if you keep getting up and sitting down a hundred times in each meditation session? a young scholarly monk demanded, emboldened by the more tactful queries of his senior brethren…. And thus it went.

The venerable old lama listened attentively, saying nothing. When all had had their say, he bowed gratefully and said, I’m sure my meditations would be deeper and more fruitful if I sat unmoved all day, brothers, as you say. But how can an old worthless one like myself, who has vowed again and again to give this lifetime (and all his lives) to serving and liberating others, just sit with closed eyes and hardened heart, praying and intoning the altruistic mantra of Great Compassion, while right before my very eyes helpless creatures are drowning?

To that simple, humble question, none of the assembled monks could find a reply.

Prostrations to an Enlightened Vagabond

Dza Patrul Rinpoche was the greatest turn-of-the-century Dzogchen (Great Perfection) master. A popular teacher, poet, and author, he traveled anonymously throughout eastern Tibet, dressed in a nomad’s full-length, handmade sheepskin coat. Few recognized this revered lama whom all were eager to meet.

ONCE PATRUL RINPOCHE CAME UPON a band of lamas who were on their way to a great gathering, and he joined their party. He was so raggedly outfitted, so self-effacing, that he was treated as an ordinary mendicant practitioner. He had to help make the tea, gather firewood, and serve the monks of the party while they traveled through a remote region of Kham in eastern Tibet.

One day, the group heard that an important lama was nearby giving a major transmission, a Vajrayana (Diamond Vehicle) empowerment and teaching, and the party hastened to attend. When they arrived, all the lamas and important ecclesiasts and monks were decked out in full monastic regalia, with hats, crowns, and pendants; ornamental saddles and festoons decorated their gaily caparisoned mounts. Long horns, conch shells, and brass trumpets offered a veritable symphony of celestial sounds. Each revered lama was seated on a throne, its height set according to the lama’s official rank…. Then the rituals and initiations commenced.

At the end of the initiation, all went forward to present offerings to the presiding master and receive the blessing of his hand upon their heads. Patrul, who had been sitting quietly at the back of the throng the entire time, stood at the end of the long line waiting for a blessing. As the queue slowly proceeded, person by person prostrated before the grand master’s throne, offering a white silk scarf and receiving a benediction.

At first the lama touched each on the head with his hand. Then, as the throng was so great, he began simply to touch each one with a long peacock feather. So it went, until at last the ragged vagabond stood before him. The presiding master’s eyes widened with astonishment: this bedraggled figure was none other than the living Buddha, the supreme Dzogchen master Dza Patrul!

Stepping down from his throne, the grand lama bowed low to the ground. While the assembled masses gaped, he offered Patrul the peacock feather and prostrated himself again and again before the gently smiling sage.

Perfecting Patience

Not all dedicated Buddhist practitioners are monks in monasteries. There is a great tradition of Tibetan yogis who live as hermits, meditating and praying alone. Others wander free and unattached, anchorites without possessions or social status, looking like mere beggars or vagabonds but actually being more akin to the divine mad mystics of yore, the siddhas of India.

Patrul Rinpoche was renowned for his earthy life-style, iconoclastic behavior, and unpretentious appearance as well as for his immense erudition and spiritual accomplishments. Deeply concerned with keeping practitioners focused on the essence of spirituality rather than on formal observances, he never hesitated to deflate pomposity or pretense.

ONE CENTURY AGO, THE ENLIGHTENED vagabond Patrul Rinpoche was wandering as an anonymous mendicant when he heard of a renowned hermit who had long lived in seclusion. Patrul went to visit him, entering the monk’s dim cave unannounced and peering about with a wry grin on his weathered face.

Who are you? asked the hermit. Where have you come from, and where are you going?

"I come from behind my back and am