The songs of Milarepa
High up in the desolate mountains,
resides the great yogis,
spitting at the face of name and fame,
their hearts filled with true renunciation.
They consider this one life as truly rare and precious,
an opportunity to be used wisely,
to practice the dharma beyond mere words.
Their minds not being fettered by plans and schemes,
upon which joyful discipline is naturally maintained.
Constantly thinking about the sufferings of beings,
they are said to cry their hearts out day and night.
From such true devotion and genuine compassion,
the ultimate wisdom is borne.
The union of primordial space and innate wisdom,
The wisdom that is embodiment of nature of everything,
the wisdom in which self and other dissolves,
the wisdom stopping the cycle of birth and death.
The glories and riches of great yogis,
are said to be beyond comprehension by likes of me.
They might happily prefer the life of a destitute,
a lowly servant or a beggar,
or anything that maximises the benefit,
for they can merge into the ways of the world soo well.
As I was told.
If we might meet a yogi, he will be the most ordinary,
and they can be anywhere, in any forms.
We might never know.
We can't know.
For we even don't know
ourselves.
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