Milarepa

“I’ve already introduced you to seeing all phenomena are like nirmanakaya. You will realize sambhogakaya and dharmakaya yourself; there’s no need to rely on my instructions!”

“I have no desire for wealth or possessions, so I have nothing. I experience neither the initial suffering of accumulating possessions, the intermediate suffering, guarding and preserving the possessions, nor the suffering in the end of losing the possessions.”

“When you practice Mahamudra, do not busy yourself in practicing your daily rituals of virtuous deeds with body and speech, lest the wisdom of non-distinction vanishes. Son, rest in the unfabricated innate nature of mind! Do you understand this, monk from Ü?”

At the Belly Cave in Nyanang, Milarepa saw the Lion-Face Dakini as the sun was rising.

“Milarepa,“ she said, “the Indian Padampa Sangye is going to Tongla. Won‘t you go see him?“
When they met, Milarepa sang a song and Padampa Sangye in turn sang about Easing Suffering. The Jetsün listened to Dampa Sangye with keen pleasure. Absorbed in the song, he‘d been sitting with his penis freely exposed. Dampa Sangye now exclaimed, “Look at you! That‘s the one place you really should keep covered up. I wonder if you‘re not a bit mad.” So the Jetsün sang the Song of the Madman:

• "Homage to the holy Lamas!
  I take refuge in your kindness.
  Please dispel obstacles and lead me the right way.
  
  People ask themselves, isn’t Milarepa a bit mad?
  In truth, I think I am, and here‘s the method to my madness:
  
  Mad father, mad son!
  Madness is passed on.
  Great Vajradhara is mad, my ancestor, the excellent Tilopa, is quite mad,
  And my grandfather, Naropa, is definitely mad.
  Mad is my old father Marpa, and I, Milarepa, why, I‘m mad too!
  This Vajradhara transmission of four enlightened bodies is madness.
  Tilopa’s Mahamudra is an absolute madness.
  Naropa‘s ascetic awareness is mad, mad, mad!
  My father, Marpa Lotsawa, is crazed by the demons of the four classes of tantra.
  I, Milarepa, know mind and energy!
  Most certainly a madness.
  
  Mad is the view that holds no favorite, mad the meditation that refuses references,
  Mad the conduct that hides no agenda, mad the result that preys on neither hopes nor fears,
  Mad the promises kept honestly.
  
  I‘m more than mad, I’m a raving lunatic!
  I drive demons mad with the lamas’ instructions.
  I turn witches mad with the dakinis’ blessings.
  I dement the happy demented with ultimate absorption.
  I craze she-demons of realization with games of enjoyment.
  
  I’m more than a raving lunatic, I’m really sick!
  I’ve got backaches from Mahamudra and chest pains from Maha-Ati.
  I’m weak from vase breathing, feverish with wisdom from above,
  Chilled by meditation from below, hot and cold from bliss and emptiness.
  I vomit - oh-uh, there’s the oral instructions.
  Then reality arouses me, and I lie back.
  
  I’m beyond sickness, I’m a dead man!
  In the view, which is vast, I died along with my prejudices.
  In meditation, which is spacious, I died along with my ups and downs.
  In conduct, which is extensive, I died along with my moral claims.
  In fruition, which is inclusive I died along with my hopes and fears.
  In samaya, which is universal, I died along with my pretenses.
  I, the yogi, died in the planes of enlightenment.
  
  Am I to die tonight? No shrouds for my body then:
  Rather, the subtle perceptions of external appearances.
  No strings for me:
  Rather, the rope of the central channel.
  No maudlin relatives:
  Rather, the child-disciple of awareness.
  For this yogi’s body, no gray funeral:
  Rather, the path to enlightenment.
  
  Guided by the dakinis,
  Led by the Kagyü Lamas -
  No meadow on a hill for my corpse:
  Rather, the peak of Samantabhadra.
  No cemeteries visited by foxes:
  Rather, the pleasure grounds of wisdom and skillful means.
  Yes! Vajradhara’s own grave!"
   

Dampa Sangye was tickled. “I get your kind of madness!” he grinned. ”What would you say if we performed a feast offering?”Milarepa responded. ”You’re the host here,“ said Dampa Sangye, ”why don’t you set it up?”

So Milarepa split his own skull and took out his brains. He chopped off his neck and both his legs, these served to form the fire pit. Next, he blazed flames from the Tummo Inner Heat at his navel, setting his skull on fire brightly. Now Dampa Sangye turned his body into seven replicas, each sitting on a stalk of grass. Milarepa transformed into seven mandalas of Khorlo Demchog, complete with eight gates, and settled on seven grass stalks as well, sated with feast offerings. After a time, they each returned to their own home.

Milarepa sent word that all who had known him and had faith in him, and those who wished to meet him, should come.
For many days Milarepa held a discourse on the law of karma and the nature of reality. To everyone present, all kinds of phenomena appeared, all heard exquisite music, wonderful odors filled the air and rainbows arched the clear blue sky. A great happiness pervaded the whole assembly. His sangha asked him in which pure land he wanted to go so that they know in which direction they should prostrate after his passing away. He smiled and said that the direction doesn’t matter because he will be with them everywhere. Surrounded by his disciples Milarepa entered a deep state of meditation. With this, he passed away at the age of eighty-four.