Selected verses from The Bodhicharyavatara Chapter 6: Patience by Shantideva
All the good works gathered in a thousand ages,
Such as deeds of generosity,
And offerings to the Blissful Ones -
A single flash of anger shatters them.
No evil is there similar to anger,
No austerity to be compared with patience.
Steep yourself, therefore, in patience,
In various ways, insistently.
Those tormented by the pain of anger,
Never know tranquillity of mind -
Strangers they will be to every pleasure;
They will neither sleep nor feel secure.
All these ills are brought about by wrath,
Our sorrow-bearing enemy.
But those who seize and crush their anger down
Will find their joy in this and future lives.
Getting what I do not want,
And all that hinders my desire-
In discontent my anger finds its fuel.
From this it grows and beats me down.
Therefore I will utterly destroy
The sustenance of this my enemy,
My foe who has no other purpose
But to hurt and injure me.
So come what may, I'll not upset
My cheerful happiness of mind.
Dejection never brings me what I want;
My virtue will be warped and marred by it.
If there's a remedy when trouble strikes,
What reason is there for dejection?
And if there is no help for it,
What use is there in being glum?
The cause of happiness is rare,
And many are the seeds of suffering!
But if I have no pain, I'll never long for freedom;
Therefore, O my mind, be steadfast.
There's nothing that does not grow light
Through habit and familiarity.
Putting up with little cares
I'll train myself to bear with great adversity.
Heat and cold, the wind and rain,
Sickness, prison, beatings-
I'll not fret about such things.
To do so only aggravates my trouble.
When sorrows fall upon the wise,
Their minds should be serene and undisturbed.
For in their war against defiled emotion,
Many are the hardships, as in every battle.
Thinking scorn of every pain,
And vanquishing such foes as hatred:
These are exploits of vistorious warriors.
The rest is slaying what is dead already.
Suffering also has its worth.
Through sorrow, pride is driven out,
And pity felt for those who wander in samsara;
Evil is avoided, goodness seems delightful.
Although we almost never feel compassion
For those who, through defilement,
Bring about their own perdition,
What purpose does our anger serve ?
If those who are like wanton children
are by nature prone to injure others,
There's no reason for our rage;
It's like resenting fire for being hot.
And if their faults are fleeting and contingent,
If living beings are by nature mild,
It's likewise senseless to resent them -
As well be angry with the sky when it is full of smoke.
In just the same way in the past
I it was who injured living beings.
Therefore it is right that injury
Should come to me their torturer.
Their weapons and my body-
Both are causes of my torment!
They their weapons, I my body brandished;
Who then is more worthy of my rage?
This body-running sore in human form-
Merely touched, it cannot stand the pain!
I'm the one who grasped it in my blind attachment,
Whom should I resent when pain occurs?
This pain is all my own contriving-
Likewise all the janitors of hell
And all the groves of razor trees. Because the mind is bodiless
It cannot be destroyed by anyone.
Because of mind's attachment to the body,
This body is oppressed by pain.
Better far for me to die today,
Than live a long and evil life.
However long the days of those like me,
The pain of dying will be all the same.
Beings suffer injury alike
From lifeless things as well as living beings.
So why be angry only with the latter?
Rather let us simply bear with harm.
Is it not a happy chance if when, condemned to death,
A man is freed, his hand cut off in ransom for his life?
And is it not a happy chance if now, to escape hell,
I suffer only the misfortunes of the human state?
If even these, my present pains,
Are now beyond my strength to bear,
Why do I not cast off my anger,
Cause of future sorrows in infernal torment?
And if you claim to wish that beings
Be enlightened, honoured by the triple world,
When petty marks of favor come their way,
Why are you so discomforted?
If even this you do not want for beings,
How could you want Buddhahood for them?
And how can anyone want bodhichitta
Who is angry when another prospers?
Not only do you feel no sorrow
For the evils you have done,
You even wish to match yourself
With those whose merit has been earned!
If unhappiness befalls your enemies,
Why should this be cause for your rejoicing?
The wishes of your mind alone,
Will not in fact contrive their injury
And if your hostile wishes were to bring them harm,
Again, what cause of joy is that to you?
"Why, then I would be satisfied!"-are these your thoughts?
Is anything more ruinous than that?
Veneration, praise, and fame
Serve not to increase merit or my span of life,
Bestowing neither health nor strength
And nothing for the body's ease.
If I am wise in what is good for me,
I'll ask what benefit these bring.
For if it's entertainment I desire,
I might as well resort to alcohol and cards!
I lose my life, my wealth I squander,
All for reputation's sake.
What use are words, and whom will they delight
When I am dead and in my grave?
Children can't help crying when
Their sand-castles come crumbling down.
My mind is so like them
When praise and reputation start to fail.
I should not be irritated, saying,
"They are obstacles to my good deeds."
For is not patience the supreme austerity,
And should I not abide by this?
And if I fail to practice patience,
Hindered by my own shortcomings,
I myself create impediments,
To merit's causes, yet so close at hand.
So, like a treasure found at home,
That I have gained without fatigue,
My enemies are helpers in my Bodhisattva work
And therefore they should be a joy to me.
Thanks to those whose minds are full of malice
I engender patiance in myself.
They therefore are the causes of my patience,
Fit for veneration, like the Dharma.
Thus the state of Buddhahood depends
On beings and on Buddhas equally.
What kind of practice is it then
That honors only Buddhas but not beings?