The legendary Tibetan saint Milarepa could bring peace and happiness to anybody. He could look right through people’s bravado, bluster and bloviation and read the stories in their hearts. He lived in a cave way up in the Himalayas where he meditated and studied ancient texts about secrets in the human heart.
Angry, hurt and sad, people from all corners of the world sought Milarepa’s help. He welcomed those brave souls who made the hard trek up the steep cold mountain trails to sit with him beside a warm fireplace and talk about their problems.
Many lesser saints told 
bitter, unkind and untrue stories about Milarepa because they were jealous of his skill and popularity. But Milarepa never responded to their vitriol. All he ever said was, “Don’t you see? People come to me crying, and go home smiling. That is all that matters.”
Nobody paid attention to the lesser saints’ criticism, which made them even angrier. One very cold winter they hatched a plot to expose chinks of fear and anger in Milarepa’s heart. They performed incantations that turned them from human men and women into vicious demon rakshasas. Huge and black with breaths of fire and claws of ice, they made the trek up the mountain to Milarepa’s cave home.
They found him sitting quiet and warm by his fireplace brewing tea. Their plan was to taunt and lure him out into the cold where he would be vulnerable.
“Milarepa! Come out and fight, you silly little man! We are many demons and will take your cave for ourselves. Everyone will know our mighty anger is strong and your smiles are weak!”
They screamed and shot arrows of ice and fire through the entry of Milarepa’s cave. They made hot wind scorch his hair and robes. To their chagrin, he just smiled and calmly invited them into the warmth of his cave, “Oh, you must be freezing! Come in and share some tea.”
The lesser saints grew furious at Milarepa’s invitation. They said more incantations and grew blacker and more demonic. Fat, red rakshasa eyes bulged from their heads, and the horny spikes on their long tails whipped at Milarepa’s head and shoulders. Milarepa said, “You better come in soon before the tea gets cold. I welcome you in.”
The rakshasas refused and Milarepa went peacefully to sleep. All day and all night the rakshasas hurled bolts of stone and fire, but Milarepa just slept with a smile on his face. Finally the lesser saints got tired of doing the incantations that kept they morphed into rakshasas. They started to argue among themselves and decided to go back down the mountain to rest.
The greatest of the lesser saints was Ravana. 
He didn’t care about anyone or anything but himself and his ideas. He was the first malignant narcissist in Tibetan history. He vowed to make Milarepa come out and fight.
He encouraged all the other lesser saints to do the incantations and climb back up the mountain.
“I will be 1,000 feet tall with bloody fangs like razors. I will scare Milarepa so badly he will spill his tea. Then I will grab him and lash him to a post and drag him back down the mountain where everyone will see how much smiling is left in him then,” Ravana boasted.
When Ravana and his gross-looking army reached Milarepa’s cave again, they were shocked and stood still and could not even speak. Milarepa had prepared a beautiful table of delicate gold and silver teacups and bowls. A handsome pot of tea steamed above a bed or glowing coals. Milarepa had strung garlands of rare mountain orchids around the entry to his gave and covered the ground with a thick soft bed of fragrant pine needles.
“Help yourself, Ravana. And your friends too. I am so glad you came back to see me,” Milarepa said with a smile.
### for AK, 12/14
About Michael Hoffman
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