Every pilgrim knows the story of how Siddhartha, after accepting the rice milk from the young girl, put aside the rags he was wearing, bathed himself in a nearby river, and, strengthened, sat down in the shade of the Bodhi tree, and began to meditate. It was springtime. The moon was full. Before the sun would rise, Siddhartha’s long search would be over.
“Let my skin and sinews and bones dry up, together with all the flesh and blood of my body! I welcome it! But I will not move from this spot until I have attained the supreme and final wisdom."
All at once, Mara, Lord of desire, rose to challenge him. With an army of demons, he attacked. Siddhartha did not move, and their weapons turned into flowers.
When he faces Mara he faces himself and his own destructive capacity. But he’s not the warrior trying to do battle with those qualities. He has discovered his own capacity for equanimity. He has become like the top of the Great Himalayan Mountains; the weather is passing over him, storms are raging around him, and he sits like the top of the mountain impassive, not in a trance state, you know, totally aware of everything.
Siddhartha resisted every temptation Mara could devise. The lord of desire had one final test. He demanded to know who would testify that Siddhartha was worthy of attaining ultimate wisdom. And his demon army rose up to support him. Siddhartha said nothing. He reached down and touched the ground, and the earth shuddered. Mara’s demons fled.
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