The Pot Inside the Pot by Cristina
Designer - Photographer - Film Maker
We are both standing beside the wood bench, me and my Soul Guide, Milarepa.
The mist is still surrounding us, we can hear a nearby waterfall. A grey pervasive and neutral light is filling this space.
We both are wearing a mantel made of light grey wool it is soft and warm. A wood walking stick in our left hand.
He is leading, and we start our journey with a gentle climb. As we go up I try to look around I am still surrounded by the mist I only can feel I am surrounded by mountains.
I don’t know how long we walked. I can’t perceive the transition point, but now we are surrounded by light. We are standing on top of the mountain and I can see the blue sky and the valleys that surround us.
I have been here before. I know how much I love this place... I recognise the three lakes with their own distinctive colour. Turquoise deep blue grey-blue. We are so high that there are no trees a bare landscape with grass and rocks ... I can feel the wind and my face is facing the sun. It feels nice and warm.
I take a deep breath and I try to fill my whole body with the energy of this sacred space. I rejoice in coming back here.
He is beside me and has gift. It is a big medallion with a pentacle embossed on it on a long chain. As I hold it in both of my hands I feel how precious this moment is and know this gift is for me.
From the ridge of the mountain we are getting ready to leave. I wish I could channel all my senses to absorb the energy, the majesty of this place. I wish to have a memory of this moment: here in the presence of my guide.
As we walk down we part ways. He is a wanderer, I knew that we would separate. This must be the right place and time to do it.I am now sitting on a rock just by the small lake where the yaks come to drink and bathe. I can see them approaching; they are curious and want to know who am I.But I am here waiting for someone to manifest. So I look around. I am surrounded by a green landscape it seems to be a plateau, a gentle hill and that the mountains are guarding this space. Now that I made the descent from the ridge, the landscape is covered by a green grass and plants.
There are big rocks. I notice that some have wide space between them. Someone could live in there ... I think....The great mystic yogi, Jestsun Milarepa, appears in front of me. His skin is white; he has long black hair. As a hermit living in a long retreat, he wears a robe around his body. He mastered the art of inner heat so he will never feel cold.
He invites me into his cave where the fire is lit. There isn’t much light and the space is empty, but I can see the pot on the fire where the nettle soup is boiling. I am still surprised to be in his presence and I dare to ask him the first thing that comes to my mind. I know how curious I am to know more about the legendary pot.
So I ask him: “Is this the pot? Or the pot inside the pot?”
He replies with one of his poems:The pot of clay once existed, but now it does not. This is how all things must pass sooner or later. Therefore I shall carry on. The pot was all I owned. By breaking into a thousand pieces, it has become my guru (teacher).
We are now both eating the steamy nettle soup from the pot with a wooden spoon.
This is the cave where he meditates to reach the ultimate wisdom, the purity of
the moment, the meaningful presence. It is an experience to treasure for the future.I came to have a realisation and I now understand what my teaching is. Even though things will break apart something else will be created ... if we are ready to see it and embrace it .
(1) The legend says that one day Milarepa happened to stumble outside his meditation cave while carrying the earthen pot in which he cooked only nettle soup. He slipped on a stone and fell down. The handle broke, the pot rolled away from him and broke into small pieces, but then another pot emerged from inside of the broken pot. The new pot was green and made of encrusted nettle soup.