Tara- Tibetan GodDeity"The Liberator"

Born from Tears

Avalokiteshvara, the bodhisattva of compassion, gazed upon the suffering of all sentient beings and saw that no matter how many he liberated, the ocean of samsara remained full. He wept. From the tears that fell from his right eye arose White Tara, peaceful and luminous, her seven eyes seeing suffering in every direction. From the tears of his left eye arose Green Tara, fierce and swift, her right leg already stepping off her lotus throne to race toward those in danger.

The Karandavyuha Sutra says that Avalokiteshvara's head split into a thousand pieces from the sheer weight of witnessing so much pain, and that Amitabha Buddha reassembled him with eleven heads and a thousand arms. Even then, the tears continued. Even with a thousand arms, he could not reach every being fast enough. So Tara arose, born from the very emotion that drives the bodhisattva path.

The Vow of Yeshe Dawa

A second origin story tells of a princess in a world-age long before our own. Her name was Yeshe Dawa, Moon of Wisdom, and she had practiced the dharma for countless aeons. When monks praised her devotion, they urged her to dedicate her merit toward rebirth as a male, the form they considered necessary for full enlightenment.

Yeshe Dawa refused. "There are many who wish to gain enlightenment in a man's form, and there are few who wish to work for the welfare of beings in a female form. Therefore may I, in a female body, work for the welfare of beings until samsara is emptied."

She entered a meditation called "Saving All Sentient Beings" and remained in it until each day she liberated millions from suffering. She practiced through aeons beyond counting, world-system after world-system, until she attained the state of Tara, the Liberator, the one who ferries beings across the ocean of suffering.

Green and White

Green Tara sits with her right leg extended, foot pressing down from her lotus seat, poised to spring into the world the moment someone calls. Her left leg is folded in meditation. In each hand she holds the stem of a blue utpala lotus that blooms at her shoulder, half-open, its work never finished. Travelers crossing the high passes and merchants on the trade routes recite her mantra when danger threatens. She is often the first deity Tibetan children learn to invoke.

White Tara sits in full lotus, brilliant white, utterly still. She gazes from seven eyes: three on her face, one in each palm, one on each sole. She is invoked when someone is gravely ill, when life hangs by a thread, when a practitioner needs more years to complete the path. In her crown sits the tiny figure of Amitabha, Buddha of Infinite Light.

Atisha's Journey

Tara's practice flourished at the Indian monastic universities of Nalanda and Vikramashila before it reached Tibet. Among her most devoted practitioners was the Bengali master Atisha Dipamkara, who credited Tara with guiding every major decision of his life. When invited to Tibet in 1042 to help revive the dharma after a period of decline, Atisha consulted Tara at every stage of the dangerous journey. She warned him that the journey would shorten his life by twenty years but that his benefit to beings in Tibet would be immeasurable. He went.

Atisha survived bandits and mountain passes, attributing each deliverance to Tara's intervention. Once established in Tibet, he taught her practice tirelessly. Within a generation of his arrival, Tara devotion had spread from the great monasteries of central Tibet to the nomad camps on the plateau's edge.

The Name on Every Lip

Tibetan literature overflows with accounts of her direct intervention. A traveler set upon by bandits calls her name and the attackers find themselves suddenly confused, unable to lift their weapons. A woman in difficult labor whispers "Drolma" and delivers safely. These are not only ancient stories. Tibetans share fresh accounts in every generation.

Her ten-syllable mantra, OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SVAHA, is recited across Tibet more than any other prayer. Mothers teach it to their children before they can read. Grandmothers count it on their prayer beads through every waking hour. The dying hear it as their final comfort, a sound meant to carry them safely through the bardo. Her practice requires no elaborate initiation in its simplest form. Anyone can recite the mantra and visualize her green form. In this she fulfills the promise of her vow: to work for all beings, without exception, until the last one is free.