This year has been filled with tragic losses, unspeakable evils, and dramatic escapes. At one point, just a few weeks ago, I found myself walking across a dark plain, moving towards the land border that I was trying to cross on foot in the middle of the night—hoping to do it before any escape would become impossible.
The nature of the situation was fascinating: I was alone (in more ways than one), under bright stars, and my thoughts went to all those who had recently experienced journeys that were much more perilous than mine. I also thought of those who were currently safe in their own homes—enjoying a sense of relative stability, but still subject to the invisible movement that takes us all to the ultimate transition beyond the rim of this life.
Walking in the dark, I was using my little electronic tally counter, pressing the button each time I said a short prayer that has become an integral part of my Buddhist practice in recent years. The prayer—two lines received in a visionary encounter by Dudjom Lingpa, a famous Dzogchen master from the 19th century Tibet—was directed at the female buddha Tara, whose name can literally be translated as “star”: a benevolent presence that guides us beyond the dangers of saṃsāra, both outer and inner:
Noble and exalted Tara, you know me.
Protect me from all fears and suffering, I pray.
Tibetans chose to render Tara’s name by relying on the meaning of the Sanskrit root “tra” – “to save from”; in Tibetan, she therefore became Drolma – The Saviouress, fast in action and stable in her boundless compassion directed towards all sentient beings.
Tara has numerous visual forms, expressing her qualities, and a vast number of associated prayers, mantras, praises, and practice text. The form most commonly invoked by most followers of the Tibetan Buddhist tradition , is that of “Tara of the Acacia Forest”, which came to be known as simply “Green Tara”—a peaceful and yet somewhat fierce female presence, whose right extended leg shows her willingness to get up and help beings as soon as they need assistance.
Green Tara’s color represents the element of air, or wind. Like the mighty Hanuman (Vayuputra, “Son of the Wind”) in the Hindu tradition, Green Tara is strongly associated with the movement of energy, and that movement—whether in some outer form or simply in our patterns of thinking—brings clarity, compassion, and peace. This is what I was thinking about while walking towards potential safety: how a fusion of self-compassion, common sense, and concern for others can take us through many transitions, hopefully bringing us to a “safe place to land”.
The winds that Green Tara represents are not limited to the dynamic events in the outer world, even though she is powerfully connected to those. Like any other meditative deity practice in Tibetan Buddhism, Tara meditations are believed to affect the interdependence that gives rise to our life experiences. As such, they determine where we find ourselves—essentially, where our compulsions take us. As Tara’s wisdom wind supplants the contaminated “karmic winds” that bring suffering, we might find ourselves acting for the benefit of others more and more often—while still gathering the types of support that we need on a personal level.
One of the earliest memories of doing Tara practice I have is reciting some of her root mantra, OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA, before important exams. Over the course of many years, this trivial level gave way to a sense of Tara’s presence in every aspect of my life: not as a benevolent spirit hiding in the corner of my room, but as a symbol of my own buddha nature that expresses itself in multiple ways.
It’s not incorrect to say “There’s no Tara outside of my own mindfulness, loving kindness and wisdom”, since for us, Tara inevitably manifests in conjunction with these qualities, or as them. At the same time, many people find great inspiration in thinking that Tara—who is sometimes described as a trans-historical figure, with her own unique story of awakening—has eventually become an all-pervading field of enlightened energy that is available to everyone who needs help. After all, the simplest way to connect to Tara taught in the Tibetan tradition is simply using the vocative form of her own name—crying out “TARE” as we move through our own dark plains towards our own places of safety.