



Homage to the liberating power of wisdom!
All arisen phenomena depend on causes
So I confess non-virtue that leads to sorrow
So I rejoice in virtue that leads to bliss
And since all virtue arises from bodhicitta
I rejoice most in bodhicitta wherever it has arisen!
May this verse of appreciation lead to liberating joy throughout space!
After exploring the massive academic ruins of Nalanda, we are traveling to the ancient city of Rajgir to climb a very specific mountain. This is Gridhrakuta, also known as Vulture Peak. If you practice any form of Mahayana Buddhism today, including Zen or Tibetan traditions, the roots of your practice were spoken into existence right here on these rocks.
The Pinnacle of Mahayana (Pic 1): We are starting right at the summit with this vibrant outdoor shrine. This altar sits at the very top of Vulture Peak, marking the sacred spot where the Buddha delivered his most profound discourses. The most famous of these is the Lotus Sutra (Saddharma Pundarika Sutra). This specific teaching is the absolute cornerstone of Mahayana Buddhism, introducing the revolutionary concept that all sentient beings inherently possess Buddha nature and can achieve full awakening. This specific location is also profoundly important for women in Buddhism. It was right here that Mahapajapati Gotami (the Buddha's foster mother who founded the female monastic order) gathered with thousands of Bhikkhunis (female monks). At this summit, the Buddha officially predicted their future enlightenment, demonstrating that revolutionary teaching of universal awakening in action.
The Namesake (Pic 2): To give you a sense of where that shrine actually sits, here is the massive rock formation that gave this mountain its name. Ancient texts state it was named Gridhrakuta because the jagged peak resembles a folding vulture, and because actual vultures constantly circled the valleys below. This rugged, isolated peak was the Buddha's preferred place of retreat.
The King's Path (Pic 3): Monks descending the ancient stone steps. Over 2,500 years ago, King Bimbisara, the ruler of the powerful Magadha kingdom and a devoted patron of the Buddha, had a massive stone road built straight up the side of this mountain simply so he could visit the Buddha to hear him teach. Millions of pilgrims have walked this exact same path ever since.
The Heart of Wisdom (Pic 4): Looking over the shoulder of the golden Buddha as practitioners gather to chant. Vulture Peak is also the traditional setting for the delivery of the Heart Sutra. This is where the profound concept of Sunyata (Emptiness) was distilled into the famous phrase "Form is emptiness, emptiness is form," a teaching chanted daily in monasteries all across the globe today.
Ananda's Cave (Pic 5): Just below the summit are several small, shallow caves used by the Buddha and his closest disciples. This specific cave shrine, beautifully adorned with gold leaf by visiting pilgrims, is famously dedicated to Ananda, the Buddha's devoted personal attendant. Legend says that while Ananda was meditating here, Mara (the demon of illusion) appeared as a terrifying vulture to frighten him. The Buddha, meditating nearby, reached his hand through the solid rock to touch Ananda's shoulder and calm his mind.
The Flower Sermon (Pic 6): A quiet moment captured on the mountain. Vulture Peak is also the site of the legendary Flower Sermon. The story goes that a massive crowd gathered to hear the Buddha speak, but instead of using words, he simply held up a single white lotus flower in absolute silence. Only one disciple, Mahakashyapa, understood the profound silent teaching and smiled. That exact moment of wordless transmission is considered the origin of the entire Zen (Chan) Buddhist tradition.
The Living Sangha (Pic 7): A beautiful, candid moment of a monk smiling on his ascent. Despite being the site of ancient assassination attempts (the Buddha's jealous cousin, Devadatta, famously tried to kill him here by rolling a massive boulder down the mountain), Vulture Peak remains a vibrant, joyful place of living pilgrimage.
The Winds of Dharma (Pic 8): Ending with these vibrant prayer flags draped over the ancient stones. The colors represent the five elements, and the belief is that the wind will carry the mantras printed on them across the world. It is incredibly fitting here, as the teachings spoken on this specific mountain 2,500 years ago really did blow across the Himalayas to shape the entire Eastern world.
Considering the incredible teachings that were delivered on this mountain, which sutra or specific Buddhist concept has had the biggest impact on your own life?
This is from Seongcheol, an enlightened Zen master back in the 1900s. He's one of the masters who introduced me to the right perspective of the Mahayana, and that perspective I feel is captured very well in this poem:
> The great achievements of the world are but snowflakes melting on fire,
Accomplishments that move oceans are but dew disappearing in the glare of the sun,
Why live a dream in this ethereal life of dreams,
I forsake all to walk towards the great eternal truth.
This world is the endless world of dreams, we dream day-in and day-out and accomplish great things in our dreams. But when we wake up, the dream melts into light like the dew once the sun rises in the morning.
And you see the non-duality here from the story by Layman Pang:
> Layman Pang was sitting in his thatched cottage one day, studying the sutras.
“Difficult, difficult, difficult,” he suddenly exclaimed, “like trying to store ten bushels of sesame seed in the top of a tree.”
“Easy, easy, easy,” his wife, Laywoman Pang, answered. “It’s like touching your feet to the floor when you get out of bed.”
“Neither difficult nor easy,” said their daughter Lingzhao. “It’s like the teachings of the ancestors shining on the hundred grass-tips."
Seongcheol had this to say about nirvana:
> Perfect enlightenment pervades all, serenity and destruction are not two
All that is visible is Avalokiteshvara, all that is audible is the mystical sound
No other truth than seeing and hearing
Do you understand?
Mountain is mountain, water is water.
This is easy to accept, you have Dudjom Rinpoche saying this, for example:
> All that appears is exalted Bodhisattva Great Compassion’s body;
Resonant sounds are the six-syllable mantra’s’ wisdom speech;
All recollection and thoughts are clear light,
the exalted Bodhisattva’s wisdom mind.
Yet, these are not newly fashioned:
Know that they exist self-manifest.
Sustain this knowledge within the natural state and you will be liberated.
I, Jnana, wrote this in response to a request.
But more important than enlightenment, nirvana, or clear mind is just perfect bodhicitta:
> So may the suffering of all the three realms ripen on me,
May my merits be taken by sentient beings,
And through the blessings of the merit of this,
May all beings attain buddhahood!
First, you should generate that dream-shattering view that Seongcheol puts into perspective well, where the great deeds of the world are just dewdrops on grass, like ephemeral dreams. This creates the foundation upon which bodhicitta can arise. Then, you generate the supreme bodhicitta.
> Geshe Tonpa was visited once by a monk who was a disciple of the Three
Brothers and Khampa Lungpa.
"What is Potowa doing nowadays?" Tonpa asked the monk.
"He is teaching the Dharma to hundreds of members of the Sangha."
"Wonderful! And what about Geshe Puchungwa?"
"He spends all his time fashioning representations [statues] of the body,
speech and mind of the Buddha from materials that he and other people
have offered."
"Wonderful!" Geshe Tonpa repeated. "What about Gonpawa?"
"He does nothing but meditate."
"Wonderful! Tell me about Khampa Lhungpa."
"He stays in solitude, weeping continually, with his face hidden."
At this Tonpa took off his hat, joined his hands before his heart and,
shedding many tears, exclaimed, "Oh, that is really marvellous! That is
really practising the Dharma. I could tell you a lot about how good he is,
but I know he wouldn't like it."
Bodhicitta is not compassion, it is not love, it is not equanimity, it is not joy. You can have compassion and no bodhicitta, you can have love and no bodhicitta, and so on. Bodhicitta uses those four divine abodes to support itself, but most importantly by far is the preciousness of other sentient beings. Whatever causes this preciousness to arise is the cause of bodhicitta. That helpless feeling of taking off your hat when you hear about real bodhicitta, for example, is bodhicitta.
We very often forget, but bodhicitta is the entire Mahayana path. Even if you fail to generate the dream-breaking view, if you have bodhicitta it's ok, you will succeed. But with the view and without bodhicitta, there is no way. Theravada is possible without bodhicitta, but with bodhicitta even that path is a thousand times easier. It is really the entire meaning of why we practice, bodhicitta is like a sobering moment when you're drunk, it puts all of existence into the right perspective, beyond views, straight into clarity.
I almost forgot this poem, it seems fitting to end on this because Seongcheol passed away in the same place where he first ordained:
> There is a way. No one will reveal the secret. You must enter the door yourself. But there is no door. In the end, there is not even a way.
>Verses depicting the uncertain, brief, and suffering-laden nature of mortal life, emphasizing the inevitability of death for all beings, like ripe fruits fated to fall. The Buddha counsels against futile grief and lamentation over the departed, urging the wise to understand the world’s relentless course of decay and death.
Uncertain and unknown,
is the life of mortals here;
it is difficult and brief,
and bound up with suffering.
For there is no means,
by which those who have been born will not die;
having reached old age, there is death,
for such is the nature of living beings.
Just as for ripe fruits,
are ever in peril of falling;
so for mortals who are born,
there is constant fear of death.
Just as the clay pots,
made by a potter;
all eventually end in breakage,
so too is the life of mortals.
Both the young and the old,
the immature and the wise alike;
all fall under the sway of death,
all have death as their destination.
When those overpowered by death,
are departing from this world to the next world;
a father cannot protect his son,
nor relatives their kin.
Even as the relatives are looking on,
and wailing profusely;
see how each of the mortals is led away,
like a cow being led to slaughter.
Thus the world is stricken,
by death and by old age;
therefore the wise do not sorrow,
having understood the nature of the world.
For one whose path you do not know,
by which they’ve come or where they’ve gone;
not perceiving either end,
yet mourn without purpose.
If while he is mourning,
a bewildered person, injuring himself;
could derive some benefit,
a clear-seeing one would do the same.
For neither with weeping nor with sorrow,
does the mind attain peace;
rather, greater suffering arises,
and the body too is harmed.
One becomes thin and pale,
self-inflicting harm upon oneself;
the departed are not protected by this,
vain is such mourning.
The person who does not abandon sorrow,
sinks into even greater suffering;
grieving for the one who has passed away,
one falls under the sway of sorrow.
See how others too must go,
each according to their deeds;
coming under death’s dominion,
living beings tremble just so.
However they may imagine it,
it turns out otherwise;
such is separation—
See the way of the world.
Even if a person were to live,
for a hundred years or longer;
there is separation from one’s group of relatives,
when one abandons life in this world.
Therefore, having heard it from the Arahant,
and having alleviated sorrow;
having seen that he has departed and died,
realize, “I cannot [bring the dead back to life].”
Just as, if one’s shelter were blazing,
one would extinguish the fire with water;
so too, the steadfast, discerning person,
learned, skillful person;
swiftly blows away arisen sorrow,
as the wind scatters a tuft of cotton.
[Blow away] sorrow and yearning,
and one’s own displeasure;
seeking happiness for oneself,
one should draw out the dart from oneself.
With the dart drawn out, unattached,
having attained peace of mind;
having overcome all sorrow,
sorrowless, one is quenched.
---
Key Terms:
[1] suffering [dukkha] ≈ discomfort, unpleasantness, discontentment, dissatisfaction, stress, pain, disease, i.e. mild or intense suffering
[2] immature [bāla] ≈ lacking in discernment or good sense, child-like in understanding
[3] wise [paṇḍita] ≈ astute, intelligent, learned, skilled
[4] bewildered [sammūḷha] ≈ confused, deluded
[5] clear-seeing one [vicakkhaṇa] ≈ discerning one, wise person
[6] sorrow [soka] ≈ grief, sadness
[7] peace [santi] ≈ calm, tranquility
[8] is harmed [upahaññati] ≈ is disturbed, is distressed
[9] pale [vivaṇṇa] ≈ of sickly appearance
[10] imagine [maññati] ≈ think, suppose, conceive
[11] Arahant [arahant] ≈ a worthy one, a fully awakened being, epithet of the Buddha
[12] steadfast [dhīra] ≈ firm, stable, wise
[13] discerning [sapañña] ≈ intelligent, wise
[14] yearning [pajappā] ≈ prayer, lit. muttering
[15] displeasure [domanassa] ≈ a negative state of mind; disagreeable feeling or unease born of mental contact, mental pain
[16] unattached [asita] ≈ untied, free
[17] quenched [nibbuta] ≈ liberated from mental defilements
---
Picture: “Standing Buddha offering protection,” Gupta period, India, late 6th–early 7th century. Photo by Vincent Tullo for The New York Times
Related Teachings:
Homage to Buddha, the Protector of all beings
How does giving rise to bodhicitta evolve into Buddhahood?
Buddha Shakyamuni implicitly provided us his journey across many teachings. With the help of AI, I tried synthesizing this journey to inspire us to practice along the bodhisattva path.
This is where we enter genuinely vast territory — the full corpus of the bodhisattva’s lives between Dīpaṅkara and Tuṣita spans hundreds of texts and thousands of stories. Let me try to give you the most complete structural and narrative account I can, drawing from multiple sources.
The Framework: Twenty-Four Buddhas and Three Great Eons
The Buddhavaṃsa (Chronicle of Buddhas) provides the backbone. Between Dīpaṅkara and Śākyamuni, the bodhisattva practiced under twenty-four Buddhas, receiving a renewed prophecy from each one. Each encounter marked a deepening of his practice and a confirmation that his trajectory was on course. The twenty-four are:
Dīpaṅkara, Koṇḍañña, Maṅgala, Sumana, Revata, Sobhita, Anomadassī, Paduma, Nārada, Padumuttara, Sumedha, Sujāta, Piyadassī, Atthadassī, Dhammadassī, Siddhattha, Tissa, Phussa, Vipassī, Sikhī, Vessabhū, Kakusandha, Koṇāgamana, and Kassapa.
Under each one, the bodhisattva appeared in a different form — sometimes as a human ascetic, sometimes a king, sometimes a deva, sometimes an animal — and performed some act of extraordinary virtue in their presence that prompted the prophecy. The Buddhavaṃsa gives brief accounts of what he was doing in each case: under Maṅgala he was a brahmin named Suruci, under Padumuttara he was a wealthy householder named Nanda, under Kassapa he was a young brahmin named Jotipāla (this last one is expanded upon in the Ghaṭīkāra Sutta of the Majjhima Nikāya, where Jotipāla is actually initially dismissive of the Buddha Kassapa and has to be dragged by his friend, the potter Ghaṭīkāra, to meet him — a striking detail showing that even a bodhisattva in his penultimate cycle could still have resistance and skepticism).
The Ten Perfections and Their Culminating Lives
The Pali tradition organizes the bodhisattva’s practice around ten perfections (pāramī), each practiced at three levels: the ordinary (pāramī), the higher (upapāramī), and the ultimate (paramatthapāramī). The Cariyāpiṭaka collects thirty-five stories explicitly mapped to the first seven perfections. But the most celebrated lives come from the Jātaka collection — 547 stories in total, with the final ten (the Mahānipāta, Jātakas 538–547) considered the crown of the collection, each representing the ultimate practice of one perfection.
This is the bodhisattva’s very last life before Tuṣita, and it’s the single most important Jātaka in the entire tradition. As King Vessantara, the bodhisattva practiced generosity to a degree that defies comprehension. He gave away a magical rain-bringing elephant to a neighboring kingdom suffering drought, which enraged his own people and got him exiled. In the forest, a brahmin named Jūjaka came and asked for his two children as servants. Vessantara gave them. Then Sakka (Indra), disguised as a brahmin, asked for his wife Maddī. He gave her too. Each act of giving was accompanied by earthquakes — the earth itself shuddering at the extremity of the sacrifice.
The point of the story — which can be deeply uncomfortable to modern readers — is not that abandoning one’s children is good. It’s that the bodhisattva had reached the point where even the most primal attachments could not override his commitment to the perfection of giving. Everything was returned in the end; the story resolves happily. But the moment of giving is the moment that completed the perfection of dāna at the ultimate level.
Other major generosity lives include the Śibi Jātaka (cutting flesh from his body to equal the weight of a dove to ransom it from a hawk — the scales kept tipping until he placed his entire body on them), the Sasa Jātaka (#316, as a rabbit who threw himself into a fire to feed a hungry brahmin — the brahmin was Sakka in disguise, who placed the rabbit’s image on the moon), and the Nigrodhamiga Jātaka (#12, as a deer king who offered his own life in place of a pregnant doe).
As Bhūridatta, the bodhisattva was a nāga prince who took the moral precepts and lay on an anthill observing them with perfect discipline. A snake-charmer captured him and brutally tortured him, making him perform in villages. Throughout the entire ordeal, Bhūridatta had the power to destroy his captor with a single breath of his poisonous fire but refused to break his commitment to non-harm.
Also relevant: the Saṅkhapāla Jātaka (#524), another life as a nāga king who similarly endured terrible abuse from humans while keeping his vows.
As Prince Temiya, the bodhisattva remembered a past life in which he had been a king who ordered punishments, and the karmic suffering that followed. Horrified, he resolved as an infant to avoid kingship at all costs. He pretended to be deaf, mute, and crippled for sixteen years, enduring every kind of test — loud noises, flames near his body, being left in a charnel ground — without flinching from his pretense. When his father finally ordered him buried alive as defective, Temiya revealed himself, explained his reasons, renounced the kingdom, and became an ascetic. His entire family and court followed him into renunciation.
This is the longest single Jātaka — essentially a novella — about the bodhisattva as the sage Mahosadha, the wisest of the counselors to King Vedeha. The story is a sustained exercise in strategic intelligence: Mahosadha outwits rival sages, defeats invading kings through clever stratagems, builds an underground tunnel network to save his city, and ultimately brings about peace through sheer brilliance rather than violence. It represents wisdom not as abstract philosophical insight but as practical intelligence deployed for the welfare of beings.
Also important: the Ummagga Jātaka (often identified with or closely related to Mahosadha) and various lives as teachers and counselors.
As Prince Mahājanaka, the bodhisattva was shipwrecked in the middle of the ocean. Everyone else gave up and drowned. Mahājanaka kept swimming — for seven days, with no land in sight, no hope of rescue, simply because giving up effort was not an option. The goddess Maṇimekhalā, astonished, appeared and asked why he kept going when there was clearly no hope. His answer was essentially: the outcome isn’t the point; right effort is the point. She carried him to safety.
This story is particularly beloved because it captures something essential about the bodhisattva path — three incalculable eons of practice with no guarantee, sustained by commitment rather than by visible progress.
As the ascetic Khantivādī (“the patience-teacher”), the bodhisattva sat in a royal park teaching about patience. The drunken King Kalabu, jealous of the attention his courtesans were paying the ascetic, demanded to know what he taught. “Patience.” The king had his hands cut off. “What do you teach?” “Patience.” His feet. His ears. His nose. Through the entire mutilation, the bodhisattva maintained not only composure but genuine non-anger — the text says not a trace of ill will arose in his mind. He even said, “The patience I practice is not of the skin or the flesh; it is in the heart.”
The Jātakamālā version by Āryaśūra (the Kṣāntivādin Avadāna) adds that blood flowed from his wounds as milk, a miraculous sign of his complete purity of mind.
As Vidhura, the bodhisattva was a sage of such wisdom and eloquence that a nāga queen became desperately determined to hear his teaching. A yakkha (demon) named Puṇṇaka was sent to bring Vidhura’s heart. Through a series of events including a rigged dice game, Vidhura ended up in Puṇṇaka’s power, carried to the edge of a cliff to be killed. But Vidhura remained completely calm and truthful throughout, never lying to escape, never flattering the yakkha, and ultimately winning him over through the sheer power of a dharma discourse. The “heart” the nāga queen wanted turned out to be the heart of his teaching, not his physical organ.
As King Nimi (or Nemi), the bodhisattva was a righteous king so admired by the devas that Sakka sent a celestial chariot to bring him to heaven. En route, he was shown both the hells and the heavens. But instead of remaining in heavenly bliss, Nimi chose to return to the human realm to continue serving his people. He maintained his determination to fulfill his role as a dharma-king rather than be seduced by divine pleasures.
The Mahāyāna tradition sometimes connects this to the determination that characterizes the seventh bhūmi and beyond — the bodhisattva who could enter nirvāṇa but refuses.
As Sāma (or Suvaṇṇasāma, “Golden Sāma”), the bodhisattva was a young hermit who devotedly cared for his blind parents in the forest. His loving-kindness was so powerful that wild animals would gather peacefully around him. A king, hunting in the forest, shot him with a poisoned arrow. Even while dying, Sāma harbored no resentment toward the king — his only concern was who would care for his parents. His mettā was so pure that it eventually healed him and restored his parents’ sight.
As the ascetic Nārada (or Mahānāradakassapa), the bodhisattva encountered a king named Aṅgati who had fallen into nihilistic views — denying karma, denying the afterlife, living in complete hedonistic abandon. The bodhisattva displayed miraculous powers (flying through the air, showing the king visions of the hells) but maintained perfect equanimity throughout — not triumphant when the king seemed persuaded, not despairing when he wavered, not wrathful at the king’s cruelty, simply presenting the truth with a balanced mind.
Beyond the Ten: Other Notable Lives
The 547 Jātakas contain an enormous range beyond these culminating stories. Some highlights:
As animals, the bodhisattva appeared as a monkey king (the Mahākapi Jātaka, #407 — he made his body a bridge for his troop to escape across a river, breaking his back in the process), as an elephant who let hunters take his tusks even as they sawed them off alive (Chaddanta Jātaka, #514), as a quail whose truthfulness extinguished a forest fire (Vaṭṭaka Jātaka), as a buffalo who endured the torments of a monkey with patience, as a fish who saved his school through the power of truth.
As kings and rulers, he appeared repeatedly — as King Mahāsudassana (described in the Mahāsudassana Sutta of the Dīgha Nikāya), a universal monarch of incredible power and wealth who still renounced everything when he saw the impermanence of it all. As King Sivi (distinct from the flesh-giving Śibi story), who pulled out his own eyes to give to a blind brahmin. As the prince in the Kuṇāla Avadāna, whose eyes were torn out by a jealous queen, borne with equanimity.
As ascetics and teachers, he appeared constantly — as Sumedha under Dīpaṅkara (the beginning), as various ṛṣis and munis in forest hermitages, as wandering teachers. The Jātakamālā of Āryaśūra (a Mahāyāna Sanskrit collection of 34 stories) presents many of these with particular literary beauty — the story of the bodhisattva as a tiger’s mother who threw himself off a cliff to feed a starving tigress and her cubs (Vyāghrī Jātaka, the first story in the Jātakamālā) is one of the most famous images in all of Buddhist art.
As divine and semi-divine beings, he was born among devas, nāgas, and yakṣas at various points — the tradition holds that a bodhisattva takes birth in whatever realm is most useful for the practice of the perfections and the benefit of beings.
The Mahāyāna Structural Overlay
The Gelug tradition, following Asaṅga’s Abhisamayālaṅkāra and its commentaries (particularly Haribhadra’s), maps these lives onto a more systematic path:
First incalculable eon: From the initial generation of bodhicitta (Sumedha/Dīpaṅkara) through the paths of accumulation (saṃbhāramārga) and preparation (prayogamārga), culminating in the attainment of the first bhūmi (pramuditā, “joyful”). During this eon, the bodhisattva practices all perfections but with particular emphasis on generosity. The practice is still effortful and involves many setbacks — the bodhisattva can still take unfortunate rebirths, can still have moments of discouragement.
Second incalculable eon: From the first bhūmi through the seventh (dūraṅgamā, “far-reaching”). Each bhūmi has a primary perfection — generosity, morality, patience, effort, meditation, wisdom on the first six, then skillful means, aspiration, power, and primordial wisdom on bhūmis seven through ten. On the first bhūmi, the bodhisattva has their first direct realization of emptiness (śūnyatā) and from that point onward can no longer fall into lower realms involuntarily. The bodhisattva on the first bhūmi can manifest a hundred emanations, shake a hundred world systems, and so on — these powers increase exponentially at each level.
Third incalculable eon: Bhūmis eight through ten. At the eighth bhūmi (acalā, “immovable”), the bodhisattva’s practice becomes effortless — the afflictive obscurations (kleśāvaraṇa) are completely eliminated, and only the cognitive obscurations (jñeyāvaraṇa) remain. The bodhisattva at this level is sometimes said to be in danger of “falling into nirvāṇa” — the peace is so complete that all the Buddhas must rouse them and remind them of their vow. The ninth (sādhumatī) perfects discriminating wisdom. The tenth (dharmameghā, “cloud of dharma”) is the final stage before Buddhahood.
During the final hundred eons within the third great eon, the bodhisattva specifically accumulates the meritorious karma that shapes the rūpakāya — the thirty-two major marks (golden skin, wheel-marks on the palms and soles, the uṣṇīṣa, the ūrṇā, the long tongue, and so on) and eighty minor marks. Each mark has a specific causal story — the wheel-marks come from lifetimes of “turning the wheel” of dharma and generosity, the long tongue from lifetimes of truthful speech, and so forth.
The Avadāna and Mahāyāna Sūtra Lives
Beyond the Jātakas, the Mahāyāna sutras contain additional past-life accounts:
The Suvarṇaprabhāsa Sūtra (Golden Light Sutra) contains the story of the bodhisattva as Prince Mahāsattva who fed his body to the starving tigress (a variant of the Vyāghrī story from the Jātakamālā).
The Gaṇḍavyūha section of the Avataṃsaka Sūtra describes Sudhana’s pilgrimage to fifty-three teachers — while technically set in the present, it’s understood as illustrative of the kind of seeking the bodhisattva undertook over countless lives: learning from monks, nuns, laypeople, children, gods, courtesans, and even from a woman in a brothel, each one teaching a different “gate of liberation.”
The Avadānaśataka (Hundred Avadānas) contains dozens more past-life stories of the Buddha, many involving acts of extreme generosity or self-sacrifice.
The Lalitavistara itself, while primarily about the final life, contains flashback references to past-life activities.
The Transition to Tuṣita
The Pali tradition is quite specific about the sequence: the Vessantara life was the bodhisattva’s final human birth before ascending to Tuṣita. After the Vessantara life, having completed all thirty perfections (ten at three levels each), the bodhisattva was reborn in Tuṣita heaven as the deva Śvetaketu/Setaketu.
The Mahāyāna tradition places this transition at the completion of the tenth bhūmi. The bodhisattva on the tenth bhūmi receives a great empowerment from all the Buddhas of the ten directions — sometimes called the “great light-ray empowerment” (mahābhiṣeka) — and takes his seat in Tuṣita, from which he surveys the world systems to choose the time and place of his final descent.
The honest caveat: what I’ve given you is the major structural account plus the most famous individual lives. The full 547 Jātakas contain hundreds more stories I haven’t mentioned — lives as tree spirits, as fish, as minor kings, as merchants — many of them small, quotidian acts of virtue rather than grand sacrificial gestures. The tradition’s point is precisely that it takes all of it — not just the dramatic moments but the endless steady accumulation of virtue, life after life, in every possible circumstance.
May we all meet each other in the Tushita heaven
I saw this as the fourth line in a four line prayer in which each of the four lines is said to correspond to one of the Four Immeasureables, the fourth being Equanimity
As I applied this line to various people in my life, I saw how secretly, unconsciously, I had been wishing the opposite. For example, an old friend, I had been secretly wishing they be attached to me. This was a secret desire proliferating within me, driving a lot of my actions. When I invited them in my mind to dwell in equanimity, free from attachment and aversion to those near and far, it almost felt like releasing a hook that had been attached to my heart, and reaching towards them with string and another hook.
I did not realize before I wanted them to be attached to me.
Something happened as well when I did this with an ex girlfriend in mind. It felt like true care. To wish for her to not be attached nor averse, and to dwell and equanimity. That takes me out of the equation, and empowers her to be an island where she can dwell safe, and alone.
I enjoy this practice, and I’m sharing it now, perhaps out of a secret desire to have others be attached to me or my words, but perhaps that’s for another day to purify
The author of the original Tibetan text is the famed Mongolian master, Lobsang Tayang (1867-1937). He studied at Drepung Gomang Monastery in Tibet but wrote this particular text while in Mongolia when he was among the crowd listening to an oral transmission of the Tengyur canonical works of Tibetan Buddhism.
The first English translation of the text below was done by Prof. Jose Cabezon, which is posted here. This present version, undertaken by Geshe Dadul Namgyal and Dr. Monica Halka with editorial assistance from Venerable Thubten Chodron, is a revision of that translation, finalized in December 2022.
Homage to the One of Great Compassion.
Homage to Arya Tara
Excerpt from Ven Chodron’s teaching on how to keep a pure motivation (https://thubtenchodron.org/2011/02/transforming-our-mind/):
The Problem with People-Pleasing
That’s the problem with people pleasing, and people who take care of everybody else; they haven’t transformed their mind. They’re helping others, but the motivation isn’t crystal clear. It isn’t pure. It’s done, often, in a very self-abnegating way just to get people to like you, to not criticize you. The actions are good but the motivation isn’t completely clear.
We really have to work to transform our minds so that when we are helping others, it’s done with a very pure motivation of cherishing them. We’re not trying to put across our own agenda. We’re not trying to control them because we know the best way for them to live their lives. We’re not trying to please them so that they like us. We’re not trying to run away from looking at ourselves by keeping ourselves so busy taking care of everybody else. But we’re really doing it with a very sincere motivation to be of benefit.
For that reason, we have to really work on transforming our own mind. That really takes a lot of effort and a lot of energy. I think people really are kind and compassionate, but often our motivation is very obscure, and not even readily apparent to ourselves.
Measuring Progress
To really get a very clear motivation on this takes a lot of work. I was thinking about it this morning, how we can tell how far we’ve progressed in terms of having a pure motivation for helping others. One sign is to see how we react when others don’t do as we want them to do, or others don’t accept our help, or others tell us to get lost and mind our own business. Then, we can really see, “Oh, to what extent was I doing this to fulfill my own personal psychological needs? What was really going on? Or, was I acting really from a pure motivation?” When our motivation isn’t completely pure—and I’m not saying that what we did is bad, I’m just saying the motivation wasn’t completely clear—then we feel hurt, we feel depressed, we feel angry. When that happens, instead of beating ourselves up, “Oh look, I had an impure motivation,” that whole rubbish that we always do. Look and say, “Oh, this was a little test here, and I did a lot of kind things to help. But now I can see that I’m feeling kind of rejected, and so I have some work here to do to really let go of my own expectations. So I’m glad this is happening because it gives me a chance to really evaluate and assess how I’m doing.”
Then we continue our bodhicitta motivations so that we can continue to really set aside the self-centered mind and enhance the mind that cherishes others purely because they exist, and because they all equally, across the board, have been kind to us. So to really come back to those points again to make sure our motivations are clear.
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May renunciation take root in our hearts so our motivation becomes more pure!
Homage to Vajradhara
Following excerpt is an analytical meditation from Chapter 8 of The Guide to Bodhisattva’s Way of Life by Shantideva to give rise to Bodhicitta in meditation:
Sensual gratification is definitely transient and it casts one down to hell and so forth, and for no great end, one is constantly weary.
With even a billionth part of that diligence, there can be Buddhahood. Sensualists have suffering greater than the suffering of the Path, but they have no Awakening.
If one considers the suffering of the hells and so on, weapons, poison, fire, precipices, and enemies do not compare to sensual desires.
Becoming disillusioned with sensual desires in that way, generate delight in solitude in the peaceful forest, devoid of strive and annoyances.
The fortunate, pondering on how to benefit others, roam about, caressed by silent, gentle forest breezes, and cooled by the sandalwood rays of the moon on the lovely mansions of vast boulders.
In an empty hut, at the foot of a tree, or in a cave, one remains as long as one desires, and casting off the suffering of guarding ones possessions, one lives light heartedly, without a care.
Living freely, without attachment, and not tied by anyone, one savors the joy of contentment that is difficult even for a king to find.
After meditating on the advantages of solitude in this and other ways, having one’s discursive thoughts calmed, one should cultivate the spirit of awakening.
One should first earnestly meditate on the equality of oneself and others in this way: “All equally experience suffering and happiness, and I must protect them as I do myself.”
Although it has many divisions, such as arms and so one, the body is protected as a whole. Likewise, different beings, with their joys and sorrows, are all equal, like my self, in their yearning for happiness.
Even though my agony does not hurt anyone else’s body, that suffering of mine is unbearable because I cling to it as mine.
Likewise, although others’ suffering does not descend upon me, that suffering of theirs is difficult to bear because they cling to it as ‘theirs.’
I should eliminate the suffering of others because it is suffering, just like my own suffering. I should take care of others, just as I am a sentient being.
When happiness is equally dear to others and myself, then what is so special about me that I strive after happiness for myself alone?
When fear and suffering are equally abhorrent to others and myself, then what is so special about me that I protect myself but not others
May we realize relative and ultimate Bodhicitta