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Paṭācārā and Poetry of the Early Nuns

As many of you know, I have behind me here the statue of Paṭācārā^[1], one of the very important early nuns who was a disciple of the Buddha. She is particularly important because the evidence we have is that she was probably the most important of the nuns who was a teacher. She ordained other women to become nuns, supported them, urged them on to awakening, and taught them. Some of them expressed their tremendous gratitude for her. So, not only do we have on our altar today the exemplar of early Buddhist enlightened women, but also a woman who was a teacher for other nuns and a preeminent teacher in her own right. The ancient texts say she was also a master of the Vinaya^[2]; she was foremost in understanding the monastic rules and the way of life of the monastics.

Today, I want to talk about her poem and talk about these early nuns as a great appreciation for these important pioneers of Buddhism who really helped lay down the foundation for all the Buddhism that followed. The primary information we have comes from a canonical early sacred text that is in the canon of early Buddhism, called the Therīgāthā^[3]. Gāthā means verse, and Therī^[4] literally means elder—an honorific title for a senior or enlightened Buddhist nun. An elder monk is called a Thera. So, Theras and Therīs are these respectful titles generally for someone who has been a monastic for a long time, but also someone who has become enlightened.

It is an anthology of poems by these early Buddhist nuns. It's often said that they are poems by the nuns, and that could well be, but as you go through the books, you will see that it's not always so clear who the author or speaker is. Sometimes it's clearly not one of the nuns speaking, and some of the poems are conversations back and forth. The Therīgāthā is a remarkable text for many reasons. It is also the earliest anthology of women's poetry that has survived to the present. But it's a very unique poetry because it's a poetry of awakening and enlightenment.

Three Moods of the Therīgāthā

One of the strong features of this poetry is that these are enlightened women, and they express their enlightenment with great confidence and great strength. It is unequivocal that they are taking their place in the community of enlightened practitioners. In an ancient text, making this statement that one is now enlightened is called a "Lion's Roar" ^[5]. They never refer to that term in their poetry, but it gives you a sense of the confidence or the strength with which they would take their place and say, "I am fully enlightened." There are about forty different ways they say that in the texts, using all these different synonyms for awakening.

Ancient poetry in India often had moods, often called the rasa^[6], or flavor. Having translated the whole book myself, I spent a lot of time living in it and being with these verses. I would say that for me, there were three predominant moods of this poetry.

The first mood is a lot of warmth. There's a warm feeling between the nuns. It is very clear that they are living in community, supporting each other, and valuing each other as teachers and supporters. That sense of warmth comes across in these texts.

The second mood is confidence. These are confident women, not only in stating their enlightenment, but in facing the tremendous challenges they had. You can feel that they are facing this in a strong, upright, dignified, powerful way. You get a sense that these women are not subjugated to anyone; they are independent, strong women, and they are certainly not going to be less than any man. That's a remarkable thing, given how much women were probably subjugated to men in ancient India. These nuns are not part of that; they are stepping into an autonomous, very powerful life where they stand strong for themselves.

The third mood I picked up from the text is one of peace. There is a sense of peaceful tranquility that comes with their enlightenment. Some of them were in turmoil before becoming a nun, and you get a sense of that turmoil in the text, but that comes to a place of peace. One of them says she now walks in peace and lives in the safety of peace.

As I said, the predominant theme is that these women become enlightened with confidence, and they are not shy about talking about how enlightened they are. In fact, there is a particular way that full enlightenment is described in the early texts that generally only the Buddha uses to talk about himself: that he has attained the Three Knowledges^[7]. More than any other early text, these nuns claim, "I have attained the triple knowledge," just like the Buddha. In other words, they are holding their enlightenment as equal to the Buddha's. This is not a second-rate level of enlightenment.

These nuns come from all kinds of walks of life. Some are old, some are young. A lot of them are mothers and wives, or have been mothers and wives. A good number of them are widows; a lot of them lost their children. For many, death in their family was a big catalyst for becoming a nun and doing practice. Some were prostitutes or courtesans, some were wealthy, some were poor. You find a whole range of different backgrounds presented in this body of poetry.

Poems of the Early Nuns

I want to read a few of these poems to you, and then we will get to Paṭācārā. The first chapter has about twenty-three single-verse poems. Most of them involve a wordplay where the name of the nun has a meaning, and they utilize that double meaning in the poem itself. These first-chapter poems have the most warmth and tenderness to them, and in most of them, someone is speaking to the nun.

This first poem is spoken to Mittā, which means "friend." Someone is talking to her and says:

Having gone forth out of faith, Delight in friends. By cultivating skillful states, Attain peace from bondage.

Here is another one referring to the Buddha, who is called the sage. A nun is talking to other nuns:

To this world the sage has taught and praised noble friendship. By associating with a noble friend, even a fool can become wise. Associate with good people, and one's wisdom will grow. By associating with good people, one will be freed from all suffering.

There is a woman whose name is Dhīrā, which means "wise."

Touch cessation, the happy stilling of concepts. Pleased with freedom, the unsurpassed peace from bondage.

Here is a somewhat famous one by a nun named Muttā, which means "freed" or "the one who is free." She exclaims:

Well freed! Very well freed! I am freed from three crooked things: Mortar, pestle, and my crooked husband. I am freed from birth and death. What leads to becoming has been pulled out.

Some people like this poem a lot because it speaks of an oppressive life with toil—the mortar and pestle—and perhaps being limited with a husband who was unkind or "crooked" in some way.

A good number of the nuns are old, and this one-verse poem is spoken to an old nun:

Old one, be at ease, Wrapped in the robe you made, For your passion is stilled. You become calmed, released.

Here is another poem that shows how one nun supports another. Her name is Uttamā, which means "most excellent." She talks about the challenge of practicing for a long time without attaining peace:

Not attaining mental peace, and with no control of my mind, Four, five times I left my meditation hut. I approached a nun who was trustworthy. She taught me the Dhamma, the aggregates, sense bases^[8], and elements. I listened to the Dhamma as she instructed me for one week. For one week I sat cross-legged in one spot, filled with joy and happiness. On the eighth day, I straightened out my legs and shattered the mass of darkness.

Shattering the mass of darkness is a metaphor for becoming enlightened, waking up, and understanding clearly. I like to think of it also as shattering the societal ignorance that these women had to live with—where they were oppressed, treated as servants to their husbands, and commonly discriminated against in ways that would horrify us today. Becoming a nun was one of the very few ways a woman could be independent in the ancient world.

Paṭācārā's Story and Awakening

Paṭācārā had a life of tragedy. Some people's tragic lives are one huge tragedy after another, and hers was the death of her entire family. In one poem, she writes about her life before she became a nun:

Walking around, about to give birth, I found my husband dead before I reached my house. I gave birth on the road. For miserable me, two children died, a husband dead on the road, And mother, father, and brother burning on one funeral pyre.

They had all died around the same time. In the wake of all this death, things were not good for her. She had a lot of grief and despair. She lived for quite a while in a charnel ground^[9] where her children's bodies had been laid. She wrote:

With family killed, I was despised by all. But then, with husband dead, I attained the deathless. I cultivated the Noble Eightfold Path leading to the deathless. I have realized freedom, and having looked into the mirror of the Dhamma, I have removed the arrow, laid down the burden, and done what had to be done.

The poetic contrast here is that she emphasizes how much death she has experienced, and then describes her enlightenment as having attained the "deathless."

Another poem describes her actual enlightenment experience:

Why is it that I, though virtuous in conduct, Doing the Buddha's instruction, not lazy or proud, Have not attained freedom? Sitting, having washed my feet, I watched the foot-washing water flow from high ground to low. Then I concentrated the mind, which became like a wonderful thoroughbred horse. Then, taking a lamp, I entered my hut. Looking over the bed, I sat down on the bed. Taking a needle, I pulled out the wick from the oil lamp. Just like the going out of the lamp's flame, So was the liberation of the mind.

She was very focused, still, and calm, watching the water flow. With that concentrated mind, she took a needle to pull the wick out of the oil lamp. As everything got dark, something about that transition helped her mind release. It is partly a metaphor, because the word Nibbāna^[10] also means the extinguishing of a flame.

No matter our circumstances—whether we are young or old, poor or rich—the examples of these nuns serve as a wonderful inspiration. It is a call to practice, proving that it is possible to become awake and free. Sometimes it takes twenty-five years of practice, as it did for one of these nuns, and sometimes it seems to happen very quickly, in seven days or less. Regardless of how long it takes, being on the path of liberation is worthwhile. The attainment of this phenomenal spiritual freedom, safety, peace, and tranquility is one of the great possibilities of any human life.

Closing Reflections

We have Paṭācārā now on the altar here, representing this possibility for all of us to live with dignity and freedom. I had hoped that we would have the statue of Paṭācārā here for a few months, but because the wood is new and still settling, a little crack appeared on the base. We are going to take it to its intended home down in Santa Cruz at our retreat center, where the air is more humid. We think that will keep it supported and let it dry more slowly than it can here in hot and dry Redwood City.

If some of you would like to meet with Tanya, who helped make this statue possible, and talk about these verses or some aspect of the talk today, you can join the community meeting on Zoom right after I finish here. Thank you so much, and may you all be well, safe, and peaceful.