Tide-Watching Notes

Author: Mr. Geng Yun

Trivial Words (in Lieu of a Preface)

"Zen is the Buddha mind." This is the priceless treasure held in common by every school of Buddhism — the one feature of the Dharma that sets it apart from non-Buddhist paths. Practitioners of every school cultivate it; those who awaken awaken to it; those who realize it realize it. The meaning of the non-dual gate comes to this. Stray from it, and all practice goes blind, most falling into the realm of demons and heterodox views. That is why it is called "the treasury of the true Dharma eye, the wondrous mind of nirvana, true reality beyond all form" — also called "the eye of humans and heavens."

If a bodhisattva of high standing heard someone speak of "true thusness," they would not find it the least bit remarkable. Why? Even if you have realized true thusness, you are still a descendant of that faceless fellow from before the time of King Wei Yin. And what is true thusness, after all? Just "thus." It is nothing more than "suchness, unmoving; awareness, ever clear." Not losing sight of one's original mind is simply the natural bearing of a true Buddhist. Awakening is not even assured, let alone realization — that claim is too far ahead of the curve. You must understand that there is still the matter of going further. If you say that not obscuring your original mind is itself realization, your feet have not yet touched ground. It is like saying, "If you haven't forgotten your hometown, you've already arrived home." Does that hold? The Dharma is inconceivable; you cannot leap the stages and hope to win the prize. In recent years, the ranks of the Dharma gate have thinned out, and most of the damage comes from that attitude of "there really isn't much to the Dharma, is there?" Don't take it lightly.

"The Dharma is not something that can be talked about" — true, very true. But you should know that without expedient means, you cannot reach the ultimate. The finger is not the moon, but you can see the moon by following the finger. If you cling to the finger as the moon, you'll end up counting the whorls of the fingerprint, claiming to see the nature of self and other with perfect clarity. What a mistake. Quibbling over words and trading petty challenges is just a dog chasing a clod — it is never the lion's roar. "True thusness" is indeed a provisional name. "The Tathāgata is not the Tathāgata" — everything is provisional name. "There is nothing truly real, nothing to be seen as real. If you see something as real, what you see is entirely unreal." "On the ground of ultimate reality, not a single speck of dust is set up." "This school has no contention from the start; contention is losing the intent of the Way."

I may be no Hanshan, but if he wanted to become my disciple I would still find his dull roots unfit and turn him away! In my life I have never dared to talk big, nor do I like to argue with others, nor to criticize them. But that does not prove I am timid or in the wrong. Even the great bodhisattvas present themselves as still dwelling on the path of learning. Who am I to boast of being "beyond training"? About the Dharma, however, I have no doubts at all. If people try to know me through my writing, misunderstandings are bound to follow.

Since July 1967, I have written close to two hundred thousand words of idle talk for the Sea Journal, on and off. I like to think it has not misled anyone. The writing is clumsy, but every word comes from my own direct experience — nothing overblown, no desire for fame or gain. I have long held this wish: if I should meet even one clever, sharp-witted fool, I will gladly spare my eyebrows to help him open his true eye, knock the bottom out of his barrel, and let his heart die, his mouth go mute, his ears go deaf, his eyes go blind! Know that for one who has understood, speaking this way or that, in order or against the grain, is all without fault: "coarse words and fine speech alike return to the first principle." Such a one should be at ease within the Dharma. For one who has not yet arrived, no matter how the flowers of eloquence rain from your lips, you deserve the stick before you even open your mouth. How could such speech carry you past birth and death? By then you will know that regret comes too late. I have not read a single sutra or treatise for ten years, and I have long forgotten the Dharma. I just scribble as the brush moves, with no rhyme or reason.

Part One: Worldly Tales

Dongyin lies at the mouth of Sandu Bay in Fujian, hanging alone in the East China Sea. With fierce wind and waves, sheer cliffs on every side, and no natural harbor in the old days, it drew few honest folk and became a haunt of pirates. The island once had a number of strange sights, which human hands have since embellished into the "Eight Views of Dongyin." Work tied me here, and I have been "exiled" for two and a half years. Though I have tasted the bitterness of parting from loved ones, the natural wonders of the place bring me joy. Whenever I steal a moment to wander among them, I forget where I am. So I will set them down here, to take you on a little spiritual tour.

Cloud Pavilion and the Tides. One corner of the island rises a thousand feet, soaring into the clouds, with a ravine cleft through its middle and winding stone steps leading up and down. At the peak stands a pavilion, its plaque inscribed "Loyalty and Righteousness." White clouds wind around the peak, and the pavilion seems to float in midair. At dusk the tide boils up and slams against the rocks in the ravine, spraying misty droplets into the air. The slanting sunset catches them, and suddenly thousands of rainbows bloom — a wonder to behold. My Tide-Watching Notes are mostly written right here.

Swallow Nests and Buddhist Chanting. One peak juts out into the sea, hollow as a tube, some ten zhang across, reaching all the way down to the seabed. Stalactites and strange rocks hang all around. Sea currents wind through, and the sound of waves drifts up faintly. Northern swallows, fleeing the bitter cold, come here each winter, build their nests in pairs, and stay tucked away in the deep. When the sun is high overhead, they pour out together, calling and wheeling, their cries mingling with the tide — it sounds just like Buddhist chanting.

Old Monk Facing the Wall. Across the way lies another island called Xiyin, with two strange rocks shaped, it seems, by the hand of heaven. One looks like an old monk facing the wall in the samādhi of the nāgas; the other is a sheer rock screen, a natural precipice, gazing across at its neighbor day and night as though it too were an old monk in wall-gazing meditation. It stirs admiration for the devotion of sages past, and a heart-stirring resolve to rise above the dust of the world.

Pillar in the Midstream. Between Dongyin and Xiyin, a great reef thrusts up from the waves, standing firm in the torrent — a pillar holding the current steady. It is like a brave general guarding a pass, with warships unable to pass; like a jewelled pestle pacifying the sea, sending demons and ghosts fleeing. The soldiers who serve here often sigh at the wonder of it, and feel all the more the weight of their duty and the long road ahead.

The Sea Reveals the Dragon Gate. At the southern tip of the island, odd rocks crowd together, and among them stands a stone gateway that looks just like the gate of the dragon palace. On summer and autumn days, soft clouds curl around it — one moment like coiling dragons, the next like galloping war-horses — so that you cannot tell illusion from reality. Below lies a deep pool where great fish can be glimpsed. After the rain clears, their silver tails flash sideways, and the rising sun catches them, scattering ten thousand rays of dawn light. The old saying, "the benevolent delight in mountains, the wise delight in water," is no idle phrase.

Twin Pearls in the Rolling Mist. In spring and winter, mountain mist rises and swirls into cloud, drifting about the waist of the peak. The wind plays with the wisps, rolling them into two pearl-like shapes that spin as if about to drift away. Climb to the peak, and the flowing clouds brush your feet, rainbows drape your sleeves — for a moment you feel you have left the world behind. It is a place to soothe the heart, a sacred ground for the cultivation of nature.

The Chaste Maiden and the Righteous Pit. In the old days, when the coastal borders were not yet at peace, bandits gathered on these shores. They would abduct young girls and force them to submit to their lusts on the rocks. Among their captives was a virtuous girl, raised in a home of letters, pure as orchid and jade. She bit through her own tongue and spat blood, choosing death over dishonor. Her steadfastness moved heaven: a sudden gale rose, waves leapt up to the peak, rocks rained down, and every bandit was struck dead. To this day, the great stones still bear the faint mark of her form, and on fine spring and autumn days the islanders come to offer sacrifices. When they pray, the answer comes as swiftly as an echo. Beside the site lies the Righteous Pit, of unfathomable depth. It is said that in the past, honest folk captured by the bandits were forced to join their ranks. They refused, even at the cost of their lives, and were torn apart at the bottom of the pit. Many such righteous souls lie there — the green waves, the white bones, their noble spirit enduring forever. I revere them, and I perform the rite of consecrated food, praying that the Buddha extend his compassion and lift them from suffering.

The Heavenly Sound of Taibai. The island has a lighthouse at its highest peak, shining out across the boundless sea and sky to guide ships — like the golden essence of the planet Venus. Below it lies a natural stone shaped like a drum. At every new and full moon, the tide beats against it, sounding like rolling thunder — resonant, stirring, like the field of battle. The blood quickens at the sound.

Plainness

Heart-stirring music begins in silence and ends in silence. The plunging cataract begins in stillness and ends in stillness. The brightest scrolls of painting begin in simplicity and end in simplicity. Poems in their finest dress begin in wordlessness and end in wordlessness. The thunder of power begins in obscurity and ends in obscurity. Passionate laments begin in cool indifference and end in cool indifference. Even surging waves that threaten the sky, howling gales that scour the stones, thunder and lightning that split the world, black rain and driving hail, the splitting of earth and the falling of mountains, flames that melt gold, dread portents and quaking shocks, the strangest turnings of wind and cloud… are all just a sixteenth note's brief flurry in nature's rhythm. In the blink of an eye the sky is clear for ten thousand miles, the seas are calm, and everything returns to stillness. In the universe and in our lives, only plainness is real and lasting.

Beyond this, "wealth and honor are candles before the wind, fame and rank the frost on roof tiles." No matter how deep your love, how lofty your honor, how brilliant your deeds, how generous your chivalry — all pass like clouds before the eye, dreams, bubbles, shadows. Only through a quiet, unworldly heart can you, in your ease and contentment, forget all cunning, purify your nature, return to your original innocence, open up a heart as clear as bright sky after rain, shine with pure and spotless light, and sit at ease watching clouds roll and unfold, kites fly, fish leap. This quiet, even heart — this is the true flavor of life.

On the Lotus

I have loved going to temples with my elders to burn incense and pay respects since I was a child. Once I started school, I spent every holiday at a temple, for I loved the quiet, the dignity, the solemn hush and the air of peace. I still remember a day when I went with my grandmother, Mrs. Zhang, a lay practitioner known as Jiande, to visit Abbess Jingrong at Fahua Temple. When we arrived, the abbess was still in her meditation period and had not yet come out, so we did not dare disturb her and walked about looking at the gilded statues and decorations. Grandmother pointed to a lotus painted on a banner and asked, "Do you know why Buddhist temples always use the lotus as their emblem?" I answered right away, "That's easy — because we love it for rising from the mud unstained!" Grandmother smiled but said nothing. When I pressed her, she said, "Not wrong, but you haven't said the whole of it." I asked her to explain, and at first she only said, "I'll tell you another time." I kept at her, and finally she said, "The lotus grows from a root, and the root lies buried in the mud under water. How is it that a root in the mud can bring forth a flower so clean and pure, rising above the water?" I said, "I don't know." She said, "It is all because the root is hollow inside. Otherwise, try planting a yam in the mud underwater and see if it grows — you'll find it cannot. A Buddhist must also empty out the heart, as the lotus root does; only then can the flower of the mind unfold, and that is the moment life lifts itself up. To study the Dharma without first emptying the heart is like heading south while walking north — a great and very foolish error!" She went on, "What is hard about emptying the heart? People simply are unwilling. If you are willing, you have a share in becoming a Buddha. Do you see? Things reveal the principle, and the principle gives rise to things…" Before she could finish, we suddenly heard Abbess Jingrong behind us, laughing: "Once the World-Honored One held up a flower; today this laywoman speaks of the lotus. Homage to the Lotus Sutra!" I had not noticed when the abbess had come up behind us. Of all my childhood memories, this is the one that stays fresh. Even now, it feels like yesterday.

Fresh Interest

A fresh, lasting delight is the living spring that feeds the heart. Without it, life grows dry, dark, and joyless. After a morning rain, the sky washed clean, an autumn courtyard swept free of dust — I love especially the chrysanthemums my boy Lun has been growing, just for fun. Their buds have opened, a flash of fresh yellow breaking through, so lovely and so fresh they tug at the heart. The depth of feeling at such a moment truly cannot be put into words. Suddenly I think of Tao Yuanming's line, "I pluck chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge," and turning it over and over, I feel it more deeply than ever. I see that if, in our daily lives, we can for a moment go along with the mind of no-intention, everything is full of fresh charm, everything shows a new face. Only one who has gone beyond words can taste this delight. If you have not tasted it, what use is talking of "forgetting words"? To say "a pure mind, a pure land" is only to add another smudge to the mirror.

Religion and Science

Some people think religion and science are locked in irreconcilable conflict, that the same mind cannot embrace both. Religion, to them, is unscientific; science, the foe of the spirit. In fact, this view is neither necessary nor inevitable, nor does it hold true in the world as it is. To call religion anti-science and anti-reason because of the deaths of scholars like Copernicus and Socrates is to "generalize from a single case"; to call it unscientific on the basis of grand idol-worship, fire-worship, fetishism, and spirit-dancing is a "sampling error." The foreign superstitions of authority-worship and the home-grown relics of primitive fear will never pass the test of science — and they are not true religion in any case. True religion lifts up human worth without trampling human dignity; it frees the soul without binding the spirit. It has the resolve of "hearing the Way in the morning, one can die content at evening," with no threats, no bribes, no deceit. It is free, equal, all-compassionate, with no talk of redemption, worship, or salvation for the chosen few. A true scientist can surely make the distinction, and will not sweep everything aside without telling the beautiful from the ugly, the true from the false.

The task of science is to explore, discover, and verify the laws of the world, and to bind them to the aims of life and religion: to unveil the true face of all that is, trace life to its source, break through the questions of birth and death, suffering and joy, and so come to realize the eternal — the truly constant, the truly joyful, the true self, the truly pure. Science without religion is a body without a soul, a tree without roots, a stream without a source. Far from helping human welfare, it can only wither human nature and lead the world to ruin. Religion without science is mere superstition, not wise faith; it can only befuddle its followers, and can never bring true solace to the heart. So science and religion, if split, are both incomplete; if set against each other, each becomes stunted. Only when science is given a heart of compassion to save the world can its utilitarian taint be purged, its materialist error removed, and its constructive power put to use — to make life more beautiful, the world more worthy. And only when religion is required to pass the test of science can superstition be weeded out, true faith be established, and right awakening be sparked. Thus only when religion and science are joined as two sides of one whole, each doing its part in common cause, can truth be fulfilled, goodness accomplished, and beauty made complete. Only so can the great ideal of a common world be realized, and the pure land in this very life be made whole.

Great Perplexity

When we take on a translation, the first question to ask isn’t just whether it meets the standards of fidelity, expressiveness, and elegance. It’s whether we can even accept the work ourselves. If we can’t accept it, the original is clearly falling far short of those standards in the first place. Is it really worth spending time and energy translating and sharing it? That’s the question we should be asking first. As for the Dharma, even though it “transcends all fixed categories”, it never dismisses the matter of “timely causes and conditions” tied to time, space, and the specific context at hand. From this perspective, the Dharma in China is of far higher quality than the version that originated in India. Anyone with a taste for fine fruit would agree: Japan’s top apple variety was originally brought over from Yantai, Shandong, but it falls far short of the fruit grown in its native region when it comes to color, fragrance, juiciness, crispness, and that perfect balance of sweet and tart. It’s as if the Dharma loses its true character once it takes root in Japan. It’s true that when rituals are lost, you can find them in remote corners of the world. But when it comes to the Dharma, Chinese Mahayana Buddhism is far more authentic than any version transplanted to other lands, and it better embodies the spirit and core traits of faith, aspiration, practice, and realization. But what is truly baffling is this: why do we turn away from the writings of our own high monks and virtuous lay practitioners who hold strict precepts and have profound, refined understanding and practice, yet eagerly rush to translate questionable, half-baked “Dharma” texts from Japan? What’s more, many highly educated lay Buddhists put out translations that are far less authentic and thoughtful than the works they write on their own. It’s completely baffling. I’ve subscribed to Bodhi Tree magazine for nearly twenty years, and after reading a number of recent translations, I’ve found myself shaking my head in dismay more times than I can count. One piece in particular, a translation titled “Patriarchs”, was so poorly done in many places that even a faithful follower of the Triple Gem with right view would struggle to get through it without pain. Especially the “Patriarchs” article in issue 27, volume 3: reading it fills you with such deep sorrow and anger that every line feels heavy with tears. Even if these unheard-of accounts have some basis in academic research, you can’t shake the intuitive sense that the patriarchs described in the piece, no matter how you look at them, don’t seem like masters at all – and certainly not Chinese ones. The so-called “White Yang World” might sound familiar to some, but it is certainly not one of the pure lands manifested by the Buddhas. Quoting the entire translation from start to finish would take up too much space in Haikan anyway. In short, this is an article no domestic monk or sincerely devoted lay Buddhist would bother reading, let alone make it all the way through. Even though the original author isn’t named, I’d wager that aside from “Japanese lay monks”, no Chinese person or fellow practitioner abroad has ever dreamed of the terminology, characterizations, emphasis on causes of enlightenment, or personality depictions used in the piece – they’re completely unthinkable. I’m bringing this up for discussion because I probably care too much about the impact Dharma propagation publications have on their readers. But this is not making a mountain out of a molehill, nor is it a criticism of any specific person. Buddhists may lack pure meritorious virtue, may be willing to descend into the hell realms without a second thought, but they cannot treat the Tathagata’s work as something that doesn’t concern them. So I dare to offer this frank advice: please don’t waste your efforts translating these distorted Japanese Dharma texts any longer, and stop rushing to translate them indiscriminately. Both readers and the Dharma will be far better off for it! If my motives or views are biased or mistaken, I fully deserve to fall alive into the hells. I humbly implore the dragon and heavenly Dharma protectors, as well as all monastic and lay virtuous elders, to bear witness to this.

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Nature

Everyone knows the three imperial persecutions of Buddhism under the rulers known as Emperor Wu were devastating blows to the Dharma. But few people stop to consider that during these upheavals, when Taoists sometimes shaved their heads to become monks and monks sometimes took off their robes to don official garb, Buddhism and Taoism also gained a rare chance to learn from each other through their shared principles. What’s odd is that so many ancient masters happily borrowed Taoist terminology in their teachings, yet carelessly dismissed Taoism as a form of Indian naturalist heresy. Isn’t that worth examining more closely? If you accept that the core meaning of Taoist ziran (自然) is that zi (自) refers to one’s own inherent self or essence, and ran (然) means “thus” or “as it is”, then Taoist ziran clearly refers to “things as they originally are” – the way things inherently exist, by their very nature. If that’s the case, what’s wrong with Taoists taking ziran as the Tao? What real difference is there between ziran and the Buddhist concept of “things being thus by their very nature” (法尔如此)? If you define ziran as something utterly still and unresponsive, standing unchanged and solitary since the beginning of time, then you’re undoubtedly talking about the naturalist heresy, and the saying “those who cannot understand one another are not kin” fits perfectly here.

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The Greatest Advantage

My spiritual roots are shallow and my karmic obstacles are heavy, so I often envy the effortless, untrammeled freedom of the Two-Vehicle sages, who cross the cycle of birth and death alone in a small skiff. I long to follow their example, but I always fall short, much to my regret. As for the great bodhisattvas who move through the mundane world, adapting to circumstances whether they call for harmony or opposition, staying hidden or in plain sight as needed. They guard their practice while navigating all kinds of worldly livelihoods, maneuvering through the most complex schemes, yet still able to “fully manifest all activity without any deficiency in their fundamental nature” – for them, I can only prostrate myself fully. My heart truly yearns to follow their path. All my life, my weaknesses have been a lack of equanimity and uprightness. Because I’m so afraid of getting the short end of the stick, I’ve never gained even the smallest advantage. If I could only follow Master Huineng’s teachings of “a mind of equanimity, upright action”, why would I ever worry about being unable to “judge right and wrong the moment it arises”? That would save me so much mental energy – and let me get the best deal of all, wouldn’t it?

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Innate Nature and Instinct

If we define xing (性, nature or essence) as the primordial cause of all phenomena and the ultimate ground of existence, or as the essential substance of all life, it’s clear that the Confucian understanding of xing differs drastically from the “xing” in the Buddhist teaching of “seeing one’s true nature and attaining Buddhahood” – with the sole exception of the Doctrine of the Mean, which bears some faint resemblance. The confusion and crudeness of these competing views has already reached a dangerous point. The most absurd of these thinkers is Gaozi, a student of Mencius. Beyond his argument that “benevolence is internal, righteousness is external” – which marks him as a staunch materialist who believes existence determines consciousness – his single line “food and sex are human nature” has misled countless people and caused immeasurable harm. Take individual examples: the nature of water is to be wet, the nature of fire is to be hot. As for water taking the shape of whatever container holds it, flowing east when diverted east, these are just instincts of water. How can we take sayings like “diverted east, it flows east” and “water never flows upward” as the true nature of water? Besides, if water only ever flowed downward and never rose, wouldn’t all humans turn into salt pales? The fact that fire can cook food, burn objects, and so on is also just an instinct of fire. Does that mean fire has countless different “natures”? If we claim food and sex are the true nature of humans, then it’s not just that “the difference between humans and animals is minimal” – there would be no distinction between human nature and animal nature at all. In reality, the drives for food and sex are just reflexes of bodily function, just demands of instinct. They don’t even qualify as innate moral capacity – so how can we conflate bodily functions with true nature or human nature? This absurd, animalistic theory has been the catchphrase of dissolute, debauched people for over two thousand years. It’s the shield of lechers, the excuse of gluttons and adulterers. It’s as if the line “food and sex are nature” makes it perfectly justified to “climb over the eastern wall to embrace the maiden next door”. As if greedy, lustful scoundrels are all sages who “follow their nature”, free to engage in depraved, adulterous acts without a single shred of shame or guilt. How can this possibly be reasonable? It’s utterly absurd. Careless claims, accepted without reflection; quoting the classics while forgetting one’s roots; the accumulated poison of turning wrong into right has plagued a hundred generations and left endless harm. This is truly terrifying.

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A Casual Discussion of Chinese Martial Arts

Hosting Chinese martial arts competitions is a meaningful, refreshing initiative, but it’s also stirred up a lot of diverse opinions. I have some thoughts on the matter myself, and I’m reminded of a passage in The Five Lamps Composing the Source: Once, Han Wengong asked the great master Dazian, “Your disciple is swamped with military prefecture affairs. I beg you, master, for a single word on the most essential, concise point of the Dharma.” The master sat in silence for a long time. The Duke was at a loss. At the time, Sanping was serving as his attendant, so he tapped the master’s meditation seat three times. The master asked, “What are you doing?” Sanping replied, “First use samadhi to move them, then use wisdom to extract them.” The Duke then said, “The master’s teaching style is lofty and rigorous; I’ve found an entry point through your attendant.” In fact, it’s not just state affairs that require careful planning before action. Nothing at all can be accomplished without samadhi. Samadhi holds within it all meritorious virtues and all dharmas. It is the foundation of all existence, the starting point of right practice, the wellspring of creative energy and power. It abides always with those who are free from confusion, sorrow, and fear. On the flip side, if even the tiniest trace of ignorance, cruelty, or cowardice remains unpurged in your nature, you can never attain samadhi, never maintain a stable center of gravity – never hold physical and mental balance. You’ll constantly feel uneasy, swaying this way and that, always at risk of tripping over your own feet. Chinese martial arts arise from within samadhi; their true skill lies in the power of samadhi. Forms and techniques are just secondary details. The martial arts passed down by the patriarchs of each school were not learned by drilling individual moves and practicing forms over and over. Rather, they are the spontaneously arising, super-conscious rhythms that emerge after one has realized the profound samadhi state of “no distinction between human and celestial beings”, “no separation between self and phenomena”. So while it is valued as a martial art, it actually integrates the laws of the universe and the principles of nature, encompassing the highest expressions of philosophy, science, psychology, and physiology. Though it has countless branches and schools, its origins all trace back to a single monk from Shaolin and a single Taoist from Wudang. As for rough, brute-force physical training and crude qigong practices like the Wild Ox Qigong, while they may count as martial skills, they are not enough to represent the true essence of Chinese martial arts. This makes clear that Chinese martial arts are born from samadhi, and true mastery of them depends on the power of samadhi. Those who love Chinese martial arts often fixate on the forms of the techniques, while ignoring the source from which those techniques arise. Even if they can defeat ten thousand men with their strength, they’ve only grasped the superficial aspects, not the core essence; they’ve only copied the form, not received the spirit of the art. Only by forging themselves in the power of samadhi can they saturate their vital energy, thereby entering the samadhi of playful spontaneity (游戏三昧). When facing an opponent, there is no separation between self and other; every hand and foot movement is perfectly precise, every action a pure reflection of the opponent’s moves. With no intent to control the opponent, the opponent ultimately cannot control them either. Those who practice tai chi, if they haven’t completed the lesser celestial circulation (小周天), will never truly understand what is meant by ‘□’. At best, they can only pick up a faint “wind” sensation. Those who follow the Shaolin school, if they haven’t experienced the samadhi signs of warmth, movement, illumination, and endurance, are no different from crude, untrained people, and haven’t even glimpsed the profound depths of the patriarchs’ teachings. Samadhi is not only the soul of martial arts. All supernatural powers and wondrous functions that defy common sense arise from it as well – let alone trivial skills like boxing and kicking? Everyone knows the story of the modern Chan master Venerable Xuyun. He never practiced martial arts in his early life, and looked like a solitary pine or a wild crane – so slight a breeze seemed like it could topple him. Yet when transporting a jade Buddha from Burma to Yunnan, he effortlessly moved a boulder weighing several tons, stunning a group of thugs with malicious intent. How did the monk acquire such divine strength? There’s no other reason: his samadhi power was extremely profound. Besides, he was a direct descendant of Patriarch Bodhidharma; how could he lack divine martial prowess? He simply never attached importance to it, nor ever showed it off. So boxing techniques and forms are merely a “byproduct” of Chan meditation, just like chaff from a rice mill. They are never the end goal. I’ve written this off the cuff, so let me be clear: I am no master of Chinese martial arts, nor do I intend to offer ill-informed interpretations. I simply can’t hold back my sincere hopes for the young friends participating in the martial arts competition, and have shared these heartfelt thoughts without reservation. I sincerely hope all friends who love martial arts will resolve to spend a period of time living in solitude and practicing samadhi. Not only will your endurance and reaction speed improve, I guarantee that at next year’s competition, you will fully display the spirit and character of the Chinese nation, your profound samadhi power and grace, and win the admiration of the entire world. That way, we won’t disappoint the deep intentions of the patriarchs, and will greatly promote Chinese martial arts.

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Cherish the National Essence

After reading Mr. Hank’s article “Between Chinese and Western Medicine”, I not only found myself in full agreement, but also had some thoughts I simply couldn’t keep to myself. Is Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) unscientific? Only someone who denies facts, distorts history, refuses to understand it, and won’t make the effort to learn about it would make such a subjective, arbitrary claim. If people can dismiss any field of study that falls outside their own common sense or knowledge as “unscientific”, what does the term “science” even mean? If “science” can only carry a subjective, dismissive meaning, that’s completely absurd. In terms of theory, TCM draws its philosophical roots from the I Ching (Book of Changes), while its knowledge of physiology and hygiene can be traced back to before the time of the Yellow Emperor. That’s why TCM’s theories of meridians and acupoints are so subtle, divinely responsive, and transcend superficial appearances. To this day, even the “advanced” medical communities of various countries are amazed by their miraculous effects and racing to study them, yet they still can’t fully grasp or understand them. Take acupuncture, for example: it’s become a global phenomenon. The meridian and acupoint locations and functions marked on ancient Chinese bronze figure diagrams are completely unheard of and inconceivable to them, but as soon as they discover it works, they “put learning to practical use” – and you never hear them calling it unscientific. If using roots, bark, and herbs counts as unscientific, didn’t early Western medicine also boil cinchona bark to treat malaria? So why are ephedra, licorice, cinnamon, nux vomica, blister beetles, and other TCM ingredients listed in Western pharmacopoeias and used all over the world? TCM has never opposed Western medicine using acupuncture, so what reason does Western medicine have to ban TCM from using capsules? Japan’s “Ryokakusan” powder is also a blend of Chinese and Western medicine, isn’t it? Why isn’t that banned from import? If we acknowledge that the Chinese nation’s continuous reproduction and survival is not unconditional, and certainly not a lucky fluke; if we don’t deny the academic value of the Treatise on Cold Damage Diseases, or the immense efficacy of “Jizhong Water” during past plague outbreaks, it’s obvious that TCM has always embodied a pragmatic scientific spirit, and cannot be dismissed as unscientific. What’s more, TCM has a profound philosophical foundation, and is infused with the spirit of benevolent governance (wangdao). It discerns the five flavors, distinguishes the five colors, observes the five qi, follows the five phases, aligns with the principles of mutual generation and control, upholds the “monarch” and “minister” organ functions in TCM theory, and promotes the smooth flow of vital energy. It is by no means a practice of merely treating symptoms, not the root cause. Take a schoolchild with asthma, for example. Western medicine’s only options are sedatives, mucus thinners to suppress sensitivity, and cod liver oil to strengthen the respiratory system. Is there a better method? If not, don’t those medications interfere with the child’s schoolwork? If we use TCM ingredients like fritillaria bulbs and apricot kernels instead, not only are they tasty and easy to take, but they have absolutely no side effects. Within half a month, the child will gain weight, have a ruddy complexion, and be completely cured. The Hu brothers’ Tiger Brand medicines are famous far and wide, aren’t they? Why don’t we look to the respect Japan and South Korea have for “Imperial Han Medicine” (皇汉医学) for guidance, instead of choosing to suffocate and strangle TCM? At a time when the movement to revive Chinese culture is being fully promoted, isn’t this going “against the very path we are treading”? Chinese medicine has a long, well-documented history. We long to see it achieve tangible results in refining its pharmaceuticals, reforming its education, and tightening its qualification standards. Yet we can’t bear to see this treasure of Chinese culture, which is now flourishing abroad, become a lost art here at home, suppressed and excluded because it’s “too highbrow for popular taste”. I am not a TCM practitioner myself, but I always believe that any educated person with deep affection for Chinese history does not wish to see Chinese medicine – one of the treasures of our national culture – decline and disappear right before our eyes.

New Reflections on the Pure Land

That Jonathan Livingston Seagull became America's top-selling new book after Gone with the Wind is a genuinely heartening sign. It suggests that people aren't simply hooked on cheap, flesh-obsessed entertainment — that most readers still long for spiritual freedom and liberation of mind. The book's core spirit is its insistence on a will to live for something higher, and its vision that truth, goodness, and beauty are right here in the present — that heaven, hell, and sin coexist in this very moment. Written in clean, fresh prose, it glimmers with the light of a "Pure Land on earth" and declares a determination to pursue "absolute perfection" with one's whole being. Its protagonist is only a seagull (the author's alter ego), and the text is half illustrations — yet this only adds to its freshness and otherworldly charm, making it all the more endearing. It isn't a philosophical treatise; it offers no systematic theoretical framework, no profound or complete view of life and human nature. But for people fraught with tension and emptiness, beset by worry and listlessness, it serves as a cooling balm that soothes the mind's fever.

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The Essence of Sacred Learning

Ontologically speaking, this truth is neither mind nor matter. It isn't fabricated, and has no sovereign ruler. It is nothing at all — yet not a single thing is lacking. Whatever you call it, you've already grasped one fragment and missed the whole, falling into rigid attachment. The fundamental substance of the universe is nothing but the great flow of ceaseless becoming: all things arise from this activity and return to it; all phenomena are simply its functions, with no individual, eternal, unchanging essence of their own. So the creative power of this activity is forever renewing itself, endlessly generating and transforming. Because its "forms" appear but their "substance" is empty, a single act unfolds into ten thousand distinct things — and ten thousand things resolve back into one. All existence is, in its very being, this activity; outside of it, there is nothing at all.

As for the law that governs the universe: "Perfect sincerity knows no rest; where there is no rest, there is endurance; where there is endurance, there is manifestation." Conversely, to rest and cease acting is to slip into illusion and extinction. From the boundless ocean of galaxies scattered across the cosmos, to the orderly rotation and revolution of each star system, all the way down to the atoms that constitute the most basic forms of matter — everything is in ceaseless motion. The moment the endlessly orbiting electrons vanish from an atom, its protons and neutrons vanish too; they cannot simply sit still. So this universe of activity is alive with activity's ecology, brimming with its vitality. Nothing anywhere is truly still — stillness is nonexistence.

As the I Ching puts it: "The movement of heaven is full of power; thus the noble person makes himself strong and untiring." This shows that "the unity of heaven and humanity" is a defining feature of the Chinese philosophy of life. The saying "the perfected person emulates heaven" further demonstrates that cosmic law and the true meaning of human life are one continuous thread. It reveals that "activity" is the sole truth of both cosmos and human existence — the single, unambiguous path. Through this lens we can see clearly into the substance of life itself: no past or present, no fixed coordinates, no permanent form. Only "activity" can reveal it; only "activity" can know it. This also shows that "activity" is the raw material of all life — the unity of the cosmos's substance and its creative function, body and use as one. Because the universe is nothing but activity, "its substance is singular, and so its power to generate is unfathomable." Because it is activity, "those who walk constantly arrive; those who act constantly succeed." Because it is activity, "all things arise in endless cycles, with no gap between them." And because it is activity, we can see through birth and death and lay hold of eternity.

If someone were to take up sacred learning and develop it into a "Doctrine of Activity Alone," I would rejoice at the effort. For I am convinced that once such a teaching emerges, the Three Teachings — Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism — will harmonize, the great principles of the I Ching will shine forth, and the truth of emptiness will be plain. Its power to shatter false doctrines, illuminate truth, benefit society, set people's hearts right, inspire creativity, and uproot decadence will be as immediate as a shadow cast by a pole. It will surely "hold true everywhere under heaven and remain unshaken even a hundred generations hence, awaiting the sage." Of that, there is no doubt.

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The Generation Gap

Lately the cry of "generation gap" has grown deafening, as if we should be deeply alarmed that an unbridgeable chasm has opened between ourselves and the next generation — one forged by nothing more than the passage of years. This gap, we're told, goes beyond differences in outlook and life experience, seeping into how emotion is expressed and sustained. But in fact, whether we consider the distinctive qualities of Chinese culture, its web of ethical relationships and social structure, or the particular backdrop of our era, such a gap should never have arisen in the first place. The term "generation gap" not only doesn't deserve the attention and sensationalism it receives — it badly needs rethinking.

True, young people share certain traits: they feel deeply, act impulsively, lack patience; they brim with ideals that are often fanciful and impractical; they're quick to grow dissatisfied with reality and chase after self-transcending passions. But this is simply the natural gap in insight and judgment that comes with age. It has always been so — this is hardly a modern invention, and shouldn't be trumpeted as some new discovery. If we take the slogans chanted by the delinquent fringe of American youth — "We're a generation with no roots! We're a forgotten generation!" — and treat them as the collective voice of young people everywhere, that's not just mistaking the part for the whole; it's a laughable, borrowed lament that doesn't even belong to us.

In short, the loneliness, inferiority, emptiness, and despair we see in American youth — born of a lack of the emotional comfort, everyday care, ethical guidance, and intellectual stimulation they deserve — may be a kind of adolescent ailment, but it grows from that nation's own particular foundations, cultural character, economic system, and social conditions. Is the same true for ours? So while "stones from other hills can polish our own jade" — and there's value in learning from abroad — moaning over an illness we don't have does nothing but harm.

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Correcting Misconceptions About Science

True, science is a discipline of order and system. But what shouldn't be overlooked is that science is, above all, a practical endeavor. Stripped of practical application, its meaning and value become very hard to affirm. So while the natural and social sciences are certainly science, every useful invention or discovery, every specialized field of study and technology, should also be regarded as scientific — not dismissed as "unscientific" or "non-scientific." Science isn't philosophy: it selects, but it doesn't exclude.

Looking at the natural division of labor in scientific development, we find both theoretical and applied science. The former — Newton, Einstein, and their like — discovers the facts of the universe, its laws in whole or in part, and uses them to guide and expand the frontiers of practical application. The latter — Watt, Edison, and theirs — relies on trial, error, and experiment to turn ideas into realities. Both play indispensable roles in the march of scientific progress, and neither should be neglected. But here's the obvious difference: the former only discovers or invents; the latter truly creates.

China's scientific development has lagged behind, and still hasn't caught up, for one reason and one alone: we overvalue theory and undervalue practice. This bias is ancient — creation was once dismissed as "the trick of a clever craftsman," base and frivolous — and it persists today, when practical techniques with little theoretical underpinning, like acupuncture and herbal medicine, are still written off as unscientific. In our schools, hands-on practice is barely an afterthought. Laboratories are for display and tours; actual practice workshops, let alone integration with the wider community, are hardly even imagined. Never mind that Nobel himself invented TNT through sheer repeated experimentation — he left behind no law or theorem. Edison, that prolific genius, gave humanity more than thirteen hundred brand-new tools; he lacked formal theoretical training and bequeathed no scientific theory to the world. And yet — has anyone ever called his light bulb unscientific? His telephone? His film or telegraph?

Look a little closer and you'll notice that countries winning the most Nobel Prizes in theoretical science are often not the most advanced, while those taking home more prizes in applied science tend to be the prosperous and strong. Consider the United States, Germany, and Japan: their wealth and power rest on an emphasis on the practical and experimental, on outstanding technological development, and on an educational model that unifies factory and classroom — wedding theory to technique, turning out exceptional engineers who work with both mind and hand, alongside legions of technicians with solid grounding and superb skill. "Stones from other hills can polish our own jade." If we want our science not just to catch up but to pull ahead, we have to start by setting our thinking straight and overhauling how we teach.

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The Degeneration of the Western Cultural Spirit

Although Western culture began stirring toward transformation more than four hundred years ago, it has never broken free of the seventeenth-century mold of "scientism." So whenever academia is discussed, one must use the so-called "language of science" born of astronomy and mathematics. After the seventeenth century, as biology and psychology rose in succession, Western civilization increasingly shed the humanistic spirit of Greek culture, inherited Rome's "classicism," and turned sharply away from the redemptive impulse of Greek philosophy. Now we've arrived at the point where computers analyze, assess, judge — even negate — human beings. The shaking of values and the collapse of humanism are inevitable results.

Under this anti-humanistic current, today's biologists have stripped humanity's ancestors of their "primate" primacy and placed us on equal footing with beasts. So-called "depth psychologists" try to dissect human cells and isolate the components of cognition, emotion, and will, insisting that human behavior is nothing but a chaos of impulses surging up from the subconscious — no rationality to speak of, no more honest or candid than any animal. Astronomers, having shown that the Earth isn't the center of the universe, have accordingly demoted humanity's cosmic standing. The Western doctrine of "original sin" has made everyone a guilty party, permitted only to bow and confess — standing tall and proud is strictly forbidden. And the spread of the morbid "existentialism" of Sartre and Camus has been whipping up waves of anti-tradition, anti-authority, and anti-reality sentiment, churning up the so-called "generation gap" and spawning packs of delinquents and deviants.

This countercurrent of anti-humanistic thought doesn't merely reflect the degeneration of the Western cultural spirit — it has plainly fueled the infiltration and spread of another countercurrent within Western culture. If we accept that currents of thought often become primary causes of war and upheaval, then how can we stand idle watching the seeds of catastrophe take root? If so, the time has come to "send Mahayana Buddhism outward" and "bring Chinese culture to the world"!

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Pathological Philosophy

Some people call so-called "existentialism" a philosophy. Some insist Wang Yangming was an existentialist. Others even drag Hanshan and Shide into the orbit of existentialism. This is, quite simply, the most absurd thing under heaven. Truth be told, so-called existentialism is nothing but extreme individualistic liberalism combined with subjectivism under another name. It lacks the attributes of philosophy entirely; it isn't philosophy at all. At best, it's a perverse aberration of subjectivist thought.

This mindset surfaces in literature — Sartre's novels, Hu Feng's "On the Realist Line in Literature and Art." In art, one glimpses it in Picasso's paintings, Elvis Presley's songs, and the rest of the abstract movement. In the way people live: nudists, delinquents, hedonists, streakers — all of a piece. And in international politics, the Yalta Agreement is a textbook example. None of this should need further explanation.

As for Wang Yangming's teachings — anyone can see that his thought and scholarship are saturated with reason and moral value. "Extending innate knowledge" and "the ultimate koan" — the latter is the fusion of ontology and practice, while the former is the living practice of the unity of heaven and humanity. The ultimate koan underpins and points toward the "unity of knowledge and action." How could anyone mistake it for mere subjective intuition? To label a great Confucian scholar — one who devoted himself to sincerity, rectitude, self-cultivation, family harmony, governance, and universal peace; who elaborated the Four Beginnings of virtue; who strictly observed the Four Prohibitions and practiced the Four Negations; who revered Heaven and honored his ancestors; who fulfilled every duty within the human order — to call such a person an existentialist is not merely a category error but grotesque absurdity.

As for Hanshan and Shide, they were quintessential world-renouncers. Though they fall short of Zen in the strictest sense, they would never sink to the level of existentialism. To those peddling existentialism: enough. Give it a rest.

Joy and Laughter

While defilement is common to all sentient beings, joy is what every sentient being aspires to. Yet for all that the word "joy" is one, its expressions are as varied as a thousand different realms. Among them is the supreme joy of nirvana, marked by permanence, joy, selfhood, and purity. The joy of Confucius and Yan Hui, who practiced "heart fasting" to purify their minds and embodied the Way. The simple joy of reading, with green foliage spilling across the windowsill. The joy of the gentleman, who looks inward and finds no fault to censure in himself. The joy of scheming politicians, who wield the art of vertical and horizontal alliance-building to advance their own interests. The joy of true statesmen, who strive to bring their rulers to the moral level of the sage-kings Yao and Shun. The joy of Confucian generals, who hold feasts and play music in their military camps. The joy of the principled, who seek benevolence and attain it, finding fulfillment in their cause. The joy of sycophants, who gain favor through fawning flattery. The joy of noble recluses, who wander freely amidst mountains and waters. The joy of eccentrics, who have perverse tastes and crave the foul and malodorous. The joy of base men, who scurry about like flies and behave like dogs for personal gain…… The varieties of joy are far too numerous to count. Though their nature differs, their outward mark is the same: laughter. Laughter is a uniquely human trait. You could not say a person who does not laugh is not human, but it is safe to say every human being is capable of laughter. If someone who can laugh does not, there is always another reason at play. Laughter is not only a marker of joy. Across different times and places, it also reveals a person’s level of cultivation, psychological state, preferences, depth of feeling, disposition, and temperament. Thus, there are vast differences in the depth and nature of its expression, including: The knowing smile of Kāśyapa when the World-Honored One held up a flower. The bitter, grief-stricken laugh of a hero at the end of his road, his breast filled with rage and grief, beating his chest and weeping blood as he looks up at the sky. The laugh through tears, when a winding path opens to a sudden vista, when all seems lost only to be spared from disaster, when misfortune turns to good fortune. The disdainful, contemptuous laugh of the arrogant, who look down on all others. The loud, ringing laugh of a chivalrous hero, when he raises his cup in conversation and finds his companion shares his views, so loud it shakes the rafters. The patronizing, faint smile of high officials and powerful nobles when they accept the paltry gifts their subordinates offer. The wry, bitter laugh of a debtor when creditors knock at his door and he has no way out. The forced, tight-lipped smile of a petty shopkeeper facing his customers. The cold, sneering laugh of a person who takes advantage of others' misfortune, feigning concern while secretly rejoicing at another's downfall. The hearty laughter of family gatherings, of harvest celebrations, of victory and success. The fawning, ingratiating smile of hangers-on and toadies, who use flowery speech and flattering manners to win favor. The Master's gentle, amused smile. The laugh that cannot be held back, when one is overcome with amusement. The uproarious, table-shaking laugh that makes one spray food and hold one's belly. The treacherous, sinister laugh of one whose words are honey but whose heart holds a sword, whose smile hides a blade. The sweet smile of a young girl. The lewd smile of a dissolute woman. The coquettish smile of a starlet. The silly, guileless laugh of a child. The stunning, world-toppling smile of a beautiful queen. All of these reflect a person's temperament, cultivation, circumstances, and character. Whether they are genuine or feigned, cold or angry, sweet or bitter, joyful or sorrowful; whether they stand in fortune or adversity, in celestial realms or at the end of their tether. In this defiled world of the five turbulences, where suffering, emptiness, impermanence, non-self, and impurity prevail, and all manner of pain torments sentient beings, laughter is always better than none. Moreover, only laughter can show strength, contentment, indifference to worldly gain, confidence, and fearlessness; only laughter can express love, care, compassion, and friendship; only laughter can nurture vitality and summon peace and harmony. And only a laugh free of worry and fear, open and self-forgetting, can shatter the chains that bind the soul, drive away dark clouds of sorrow, and restore our innate wisdom and clarity. What's more, laughter is humanity's exclusive "patent" and "privilege". Among all the myriad sentient beings, only humans laugh. As the saying goes, since this is true, why don’t you laugh?

Evolutionary Regression

In this great age of civilizational progress that races forward at breakneck speed, where human activity has expanded into space and humanity triumphs over all, there should be no place left for backward ideas of theocracy and fatalism. Wizards, grand fortune-tellers, and their ilk should have long vanished from public view, abandoned their deceptive trades, and changed their ways. But lingering remnants of historical inertia, self-defeating psychology, and the conservative, backward mindset of agricultural societies have allowed these charlatans not only to survive but to thrive in broad daylight, spouting nonsense with their eyes wide open, their evil practices running rampant. We find this deeply astonishing and most regrettable. While the art of divination holds profound philosophical underpinnings, and fortune-telling has long historical roots, these practices have been completely distorted in modern times. All they do now is size people up, guess at their psychology, spout wild nonsense, and lie through their teeth. There are no professional standards for the trade, no business licenses required; they can change their names at will and move from place to place to avoid scrutiny. If they only swindled people out of money to make a living, they might be forgivable. But when they defraud people of both money and sex, and even kill to get rich, they pose a threat to public safety and should be cast out by society as a whole. We have no other name for this backward, superstitious phenomenon spawned by such people, so we call it: evolutionary regression. According to news reports: a female university student was forbidden by her mother from going out, after a fortune-teller told her she had a "water calamity" in her fate. The student repeatedly tried to reason with her mother, begging for her freedom, but her mother refused. In her rage, she killed herself in protest. Though her death was as light as a goose feather, who was responsible for it? I have just heard that her mother, filled with regret and grief, has suffered a mental breakdown. Another case: an elderly Mrs. Wei from Pingtung believed a fortune-teller’s nonsense, and forced her own granddaughter to be given up for adoption. The family she entrusted the child to turned out to be unscrupulous, and the young girl was thrown into a life of prostitution at a tender age. Even more tragic is the case of a young couple in Tainan, Cai and Hu, deeply in love. Their parents firmly opposed their union on the grounds that their eight birth characters (bazi) were incompatible. After the couple begged to no avail, they ultimately took their own lives together. Another victim of the highly publicized international murder case that recently shocked the world, Tang Yuwen, also lost her life because her mother trusted a fortune-teller’s absurd claims, leading her to marry an unsuitable man and ultimately meet a horrific end. What wrong did these young people ever do, that you would have the heart to drive them to their deaths? As their elders, can you live with your conscience, so muddle-headed, ignorant, obtuse, and self-willed? I know that for as long as you live, every day will be a day of shame. The most shameful of all are these scoundrels who practice fortune-telling. There are countless legitimate ways to make a living in the world; even if you have no capital, you can still collect garbage, scavenge scrap paper, deliver newspapers, or work as a gatekeeper to support yourself. What can't you do, that you would rather become a ghostly trickster, killing people for money? Where is your conscience? This is truly what is meant by the saying: there is no greater sorrow than a dead heart. How can judicial and security authorities turn a blind eye to these people? Their actions have serious consequences: at worst, they violate criminal law; at best, they constitute flagrant criminal offenses. If we do not impose urgent sanctions and let them act with impunity, what will become of human rights? Is this not the greatest irony of our push for full social renewal? It is high time for the police to sweep away deception and eradicate evil!

Wild and Simple

In everyday speech, "wild and simple" people are roughly equivalent to hot-headed youngsters, know-nothings, and dabbling amateurs. Such people are not as odious as hypocritical pedants and true sycophants, nor as contemptible as fake gentlemen and genuine scoundrels. They do not lack a sense of justice or responsibility; at times, they even dare to say what others are afraid to voice, and do what others are unwilling to attempt. They are often endearingly blunt and straightforward, but unfortunately rarely make constructive contributions. Once they fall into the pattern of being wild and simple, they naturally have more theory than practice, their enthusiasm outweighs their reason; they have grand ambitions but insufficient resources; they have plenty of drive, but lack the stamina to follow through. This leads to flaws: they are crude rather than refined, shallow rather than deep, superficial rather than substantive, start things but never finish them, have great ambitions but little talent, and aim high but fall short. These flaws show that while wild and simple people are immature, they are malleable; though they lack depth, they have a pure, simple temperament. If a master smith takes them to his forge, hammers and tempers them, polishes and refines them, they can easily become fine gold and beautiful jade – that is, outstanding talents. That is why, when Confucius grew tired of wandering and arrived in Chen, he not only missed the wild and simple young men of his hometown, but also took a keen interest in them and held high hopes. He sighed, “Let us return! Let us return! The young men of my home region are wild and simple; their writing is already splendid, but they do not know how to cut and refine it!” The eminent disciples Confucius taught in his later years after returning to Lu – such as Ziyou, Zixia, Youzi, Zengzi, Zizhang, and others – were very likely exactly the wild and simple young men he had spoken of. Thus we know that being wild and simple is nothing to worry about. What is truly terrifying is when one is both wild and deluded, simple and base – such people are beyond redemption.

The Joy of Reading

If you ask, “What is the joy of reading like?” it is truly hard to describe. The image of “green leaves filling the window, grass left unplucked” is perhaps a touch too lackadaisical, though. Even so, there is no way to understand the sweep of past and present, or the truths of heaven and earth, without books; the Way of the sages is impossible to clarify without them. As Yin Zhongkan remarked, “If I do not read the Daodejing for three days, my tongue feels stiff and useless.” Huang Tingjian also said, “If I do not read for three days, my speech has no savor and my face grows repulsive.” That may sound a bit severe, but in any case, reading good books is always a pleasure. Even when Napoleon led his vast army and swept across Europe, he read a passage of Rousseau’s Confessions every day. He said that if he did not, his intellect would grow dull, his innate wisdom would stagnate, his life would turn barren, and even war would lose its poetry. Even when Wen Tianxiang, posthumously known as Duke Weng of Xin, was imprisoned, he still read books while sheltered from the wind under the eaves, the ancient Way shining in his expression. Thus, no matter whether one is in the thick of activity or in dire straits, one cannot do without reading, and especially cannot do without reading good books.

Wildness Is Blindness

Today there are materialist utilitarians who reject spiritual freedom, who arbitrarily stretch their own freedom of speech to the point of passing off ignorance as knowledge and wrong as right. They act as if possessed, raving mad, like rabid dogs barking wildly. In the Spring and Autumn period, there was a madman named Tian Si who was much the same. Ancient Tales for Modern Times records: Tian Si was a famous wild scholar of the Spring and Autumn period, full of boastful talk and utterly unashamed, who looked down on all the feudal lords. Once, when he visited the state of Zou, he insulted the court, provoking the Zou ruler’s fury. The ruler ordered his arrest, intending to put him to death. Tian Si was terrified, and fled to the private residence of Hui Shi to beg for protection. Hui Shi therefore went to meet the Zou ruler and said, “Suppose a man comes to pay his respects to you, and deliberately closes one eye to show his contempt and disrespect. What would you do?” “I would kill him,” the Zou ruler said without hesitation. “Then what if the man is blind, and closes both eyes?” “I could forgive him, of course.” “Why?” “Because he is blind, he has no choice but to close his eyes!” Hui Shi said, “In that case, please grant amnesty to the madman Tian Si and spare his life.” The Zou ruler replied, “No matter who intercedes for him, I cannot pardon him. He has insulted me too deeply.” Hui Shi said, “Tian Si has insulted the Marquis of Qi to the east and the King of Chu to the south. He is a famously wild and unrestrained scholar, and in effect no different from a blind man. Why will you not forgive such a person?” The Zou ruler said nothing. Tian Si was thus spared. In fact, madmen like this, who are not blind in their eyes but blind in their hearts, have existed since ancient times, and are even more common now. These people gasp at the moon and bark at the sun; to call them “sighted blind men” is entirely fitting, wouldn’t you say?

Dragons

The dragon is the foremost of the four sacred creatures. It symbolizes strength, mystery, nobility, and majesty, and became the emblem of Eastern emperors. The Records of the Grand Historian records that Emperor Gaozu of Han was born to Lady Lü, who spent a night in the fields and mated with a dragon. That an emperor would so readily dishonor his ancestors, claim hybrid birth, and assert kinship with a dragon shows just how exalted the dragon’s status was. Yet in fact, whether dragons exist, and what their form or abilities might be, remains a mystery to this day. Though the I Ching also says, “clouds follow the dragon,” in reality what people vaguely glimpse are clouds, not dragons. The so-called “dragon drinking water” phenomenon people speak of is nothing more than a high-centrifugal vortex formed by extremely low air pressure. It absorbs and concentrates cloud layers, drawing water upward, and from a distance looks like a giant, headless, tailless moving creature, creating an illusion. If dragons truly existed, they would be nothing more than ancient reptiles akin to dinosaurs, with nothing mysterious about them. In addition, the chameleons that live in primeval forests and swamps are nothing more than oversized, armored four-legged snakes. Africa is also home to large short-horned lizards. And giant sea pythons over ten zhang long occasionally appear in the East China Sea, which some people mistake for dragons. In short: the deep, unfathomable mountains and oceans are home to enormous creatures occasionally sighted by people. But in any case, nothing can surpass humanity – that humans are the most exalted of all beings is an unquestionable truth.

Pagoda in the Night Rain

Chongqing was formerly known as Yuzhou. Though it is called the Mountain City, aside from its rolling hills, its only prominent elevation is Pagoda Pass. According to the local gazette: “Pagoda Pass is the point where the Jialing and Yangtze Rivers come closest to each other, a strategic stronghold that any force seeking to capture Chongqing must seize, and any force seeking to defend it must hold.” Looking at its position, embracing the two rivers, with sheer cliffs and towering crags, this description is no exaggeration. Yet the pass’s fame is largely due to the Night Rain Temple that sits atop it. The local gazette also records: “In years past, there was a blue stone set into the wall of the Night Rain Temple. Even after a month of severe drought, the stone stayed damp and moist, as if it had been rained on through the night.” The temple was first built in the Tang Dynasty, and later renovated. The seven-story pagoda and the blue stone on the wall were both destroyed long ago in the turmoil of war, but many stone steles remain. Judging by the grand scale of its original construction, it must have been a prominent Buddhist monastery in its early days. The classic reference to “night rain on Ba Mountain” originates from this very spot. That is why all who visit Chongqing make a point of climbing Pagoda Pass and staying overnight at the Night Rain Temple at dusk, to drink in a touch of poetic and picturesque charm. The Tang Dynasty poet Li Shangyin wrote the poem Night Rain Sent to the North: “You ask when I will return, but I have no set date; Autumn pools swell with night rain on Ba Mountain. When shall we trim the wick by the west window together, And talk of the night rain on Ba Mountain at that time?” It is said to have been written here.

The Wujiao (the so-called "Black Teaching")

People in Sichuan often curse those with base character and despicable conduct by yelling, "Wujiao!" As for what the term actually means? Cursers toss it out without a second thought, listeners take it in the same way; everyone knows it is not a compliment, yet very few ever stop to dig into its actual meaning. This is just another example of how people grow so used to a term that they never think to examine it.

I once asked Venerable Jiu’ou, a monk at Shangqing Temple, about this, and he told me: "The term Wujiao is a corruption of 巫教 (Wujiao, the Witchcraft Teaching). They curry favor with gods and worship ghosts, using evil sorcery to bewitch people, much like shamans in so-called ‘primitive’ societies—except they have an organizational structure similar to a religious order, so we loosely call them the Witchcraft Teaching. That first ‘wu’ [巫, witchcraft] is not the same as the ‘wu’ [乌, black] in Wujiao." I found his explanation very convincing.

Later, after I joined the First Sub-Depot Monitoring Division of the Chinese Expeditionary Force, I got to travel through Kham and Tibet, and was lucky enough to meet Master Puda, from whom I finally learned that the so-called Wujiao is called that precisely because it is both “black” and rooted in witchcraft. The master said: Wujiao is a late, degenerate offshoot of the Secret Tantric teachings. When Guru Padmasambhava first spread the Red Tantric teachings across Kham and Tibet, monastic discipline gradually grew lax over the centuries, so Master Tsongkhapa later reformed the Tantric traditions and founded the Yellow Tantric school. Some practitioners held fast to the original Red Tantric teachings; others established the White Tantric school in the style of lay Buddhist associations such as the Buddhist Lodge; still others formed the Flower Tantric school as a middle path between the two. The Wujiao, by contrast, is a group of Tantric renegades that prioritize esoteric rituals over monastic precepts, curry favor with deities and meddle with ghosts. All their clothing, implements, even ritual grounds are black, and the deities they enshrine are no exception, so people grew accustomed to calling them Wujiao. This was never a name they chose for themselves. To this day, remnants of the group still exist in Sichuan and Kham, but their formal organizational structure disappeared long ago. After all, they abandoned the root for the branch, turned their backs on truth to embrace evil, and put on ghostly acts to fool people, so they were long ago abandoned by everyone. Their eventual decline and extinction is only natural.

(Note: The Secret Teachings are directly transmitted by all Buddhas. The defining feature of the school is that it gives students a secret key to properly unlock the treasury of secret teachings. That said, the pearl in one’s own robe is inherently yours to begin with; if you do not find and obtain it in accordance with the proper Dharma, you are still like the son of a pauper. Once you do obtain it, you realize it was your own family treasure all along—you never lost it in the first place, and you never actually gained anything new. That is why it is said: “Though it is an old, idle plot of land, only once you win it do you feel satisfied!” The crucial point is not to settle for merely toying with the key.)

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Songshan Shaolin Temple

The Shaolin Temple sits on the western peak of the Central Sacred Mountain, at the northern foot of Shaoshi Peak. Shaoshi Peak arches before it, Wulao Peak guards it from behind, layered cliffs frame cool springs, giant cypresses surround the grounds—the atmosphere is solemn and peaceful, a naturally perfect sacred site. It was first built in the 20th year of the Taihe era of the Northern Wei Dynasty. Emperor Wen of Sui once renamed it Zhihu Temple, and it was restored to the name Shaolin in the Tang Dynasty. When Bodhidharma came west bearing the Buddha’s seal, he meditated facing a wall here for nine years, waiting for Huike (Shenguang), to whom he secretly transmitted the mind seal, giving rise to the “one flower opening into five petals” spread of the Chan school.

Many of the Buddha statues in the temple are over a thousand years old, and the walls of the front and rear halls are embedded with many steles—unfortunately, those from before the Tang Dynasty have gradually faded due to centuries of weathering. To the east of the temple stand two giant scholar trees, which legend says the Sixth Patriarch carried here all the way from Guangdong in his alms bowl to be planted. Their flowers are fragrant, and are remarkably effective at curing hemorrhoids and sores caused by prolonged sitting. To the right of the temple is the Wall-Facing Stone, with a white base and dark patterns that form the shape of a Western monk, with a high nose and curly beard, almost exactly like the First Patriarch. There are also many other historic sites and scenic spots nearby, such as the Temple of King Tang, Dongbai Temple, and the Shaoshi Que (a ceremonial stone gate tower).

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Mazu (The Heavenly Holy Mother)

In olden days, before seafaring and commercial fishing had developed, those who earned their living from the sea gambled with their lives every day, fighting against crashing waves and violent storms. If they were caught in a gale, nine times out of ten they would not survive; even in calm seas, they would gaze out at the endless expanse of water and feel a crushing sense of emptiness and rootlessness. That is why every traditional boat had a small shrine at the stern, where protective deities were enshrined.

Along China’s southeast coast, Mazu has more followers and receives more offerings than any other deity; the number of her palaces and temples, and the grandeur of their architecture, far outstrip those of all other gods. Her worship even spread as far as the Indochinese Peninsula, the islands of Southeast Asia, and the nations of Japan, Korea, and the Philippines, where people still honor and venerate her to this day. Her divine power is truly manifest and awe-inspiring, revered by people near and far.

For a deity to enjoy such blessings and karmic rewards, there must be a reason. But as for what that origin story is, accounts are always full of far-fetched guesswork, and no definitive version has ever emerged. Because I was once stationed on an island, I had the fortune to meet an old cultivator named Yi’ou, who had fled to the island to escape the chaos of the era, just as the legendary hermits of old hid away to avoid the tyranny of the Qin Dynasty. The old man was from Xiapu, Fujian, and was a man of great virtue and cultivation. Over the course of our idle conversations, he told me many detailed stories about Mazu’s life. I have recorded the highlights of what he shared below.

Mazu’s surname was Lin, and her given name was Moniang. She was from Putian, Fujian; her father served as a patrol inspector, and her family had devoutly believed in Guanyin Bodhisattva for generations. She was born on the 23rd day of the third month in the first year of the Jianlong era of the Song Dynasty, and her childhood nickname was Jiuniang. Because she was quiet and taciturn from a young age, she came to be called Moniang (“Silent Girl”). As a child, she was exceptionally intelligent and perceptive, far beyond ordinary people. She could recite anything she read after a single glance, and she especially loved studying Buddhist scriptures. When she grew a little older, she took refuge with Venerable Jingguang of the Great Compassion Convent. In accordance with her wishes, he taught her the yidam practices of Green Tara and Guanyin, as well as various secret tantric practices including the Vajra of Impure Traces. He also taught her the core tenets of Mahayana Buddhism, and bestowed upon her the highest samaya precepts.

Before long, she attained spiritual powers, and often used them to drive out evil spirits and cure illnesses for the people of her hometown. Everyone regarded her as a divine being, and her merit was especially great for rescuing drowning people, guiding lost ships, and alleviating dangers at sea. It is said that every time there was a stormy night, she would use sacred mantras to consecrate lanterns, which she hung along the coast. The wind and rain could not extinguish them, and their light shone for a hundred li out to sea, allowing returning fishing boats to find their way home. There are far too many other stories of her compassionate rescue and salvation to list here.

Some say that because she did not conceal her miraculous powers and often displayed them openly, she passed away at the tender age of 26, not long after her parents died. Moniang cultivated the Dharma in lifelong celibacy and never married; it is only a pity that her time in the world was so short. When she died, people from near and far were so grief-stricken by the news that they mourned her as if she were a family member, and all competed to donate money to build a shrine to her. Afterwards, whenever sailors and fishermen encountered danger at sea and called out to her in prayer, they would always turn disaster into safety, and her divine response was as swift as an echo.

Emperors of the Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties all granted her official titles; it was not until the reign of Emperor Qianlong that she was honored as the “Heavenly Holy Mother”, and an imperial decree ordered government officials to hold seasonal sacrifices to her in spring and autumn. Her miraculous deeds are scattered throughout historical records of successive dynasties, so I will not list them all here.

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The Art of Assessing Talent

Due to a kind of lazy thinking that comes from being so used to a term you never stop to examine it, most people hold a traditional misunderstanding of the term “quanshu” (often rendered as “power tactics” in English). Many even see it as a symbol of hypocrisy, cunning, conspiracy, and evil. In fact, all quanshu refers to is a method, technique, or art used by those in power or responsible for state affairs to evaluate and weigh the merits of talent. At most, it has a slightly utilitarian tint, but how can it be equated with deceit, trickery, or underhanded schemes?

As the old saying goes, “Knowing others is hard; being known by others is harder.” And knowing people is the foundation of recruiting the right talent and assigning them to suitable roles. If you can secure the right people, what else in the world is out of your reach? So if you are good at weighing a person’s unique traits and strengths and assigning them roles accordingly, you can be said to have fulfilled your duty of loyal service to the state. Only broad-minded, impartial sages are capable of this—how could ordinary bureaucrats and politicians ever hope to achieve it? After all, nothing in the world comes into being without people, and no problem can be solved without people (the Sea of Tranquility on the moon will never have any problems). If you master the art of talent, you master the hearts of people; if you master the hearts of people, then “the benevolent are invincible”! What more is there to doubt?

That is why even sages have long valued the art of assessing people (knowing them well). Have you not heard what Confucius said: “A gentleman sends a subordinate on a distant mission to gauge their loyalty. He burdens them with a difficult task to gauge their competence. He poses a sudden question to gauge their wisdom. He sets a tight deadline to gauge their trustworthiness. He entrusts them with money to gauge their integrity. He tells them of impending danger to gauge their moral fortitude.” Wang Yangming also observed: “A restless mind leads to rash actions. An unmoored mind leads to shallow perceptions. A careless mind leads to slovenly bearing. An arrogant mind leads to haughty expressions.”

In addition, Jiang Taigong’s Eight Verification Methods, Zhuge Liang’s Seven Assessment Methods, the Yellow Stone Old Man’s Six Standards, and the Seven Harm Avoidance Methods are all called quanshu, and all are methods for assessing people. So is quanshu really evil?

Now, as we push forward with administrative reform and the need to know and appoint talent well grows more urgent by the day, I have outlined these four methods below for your reference:

1. Jiang Taigong’s Eight Verification Methods: (1) Question them with words to observe their honesty. (2) Press them with detailed inquiries to observe their adaptability. (3) Give them confidential information to observe their discernment. (4) Ask them direct, explicit questions to observe their moral character. (5) Assign them to handle money to observe their integrity. (6) Test them with the temptation of beauty to observe their purity. (7) Tell them of difficulties to observe their courage. (8) Get them drunk to observe their conduct when uninhibited.
2. Zhuge Liang’s Seven Assessment Methods: (1) Ask them about right and wrong to observe their ambitions. (2) Press them with debate to observe their adaptability. (3) Consult them on strategies to observe their wisdom. (4) Tell them of impending disaster to observe their courage. (5) Get them drunk to observe their true nature. (6) Offer them profit to observe their integrity. (7) Set a deadline for a task to observe their trustworthiness.
3. The Yellow Stone Old Man’s Six Standards: (1) Make them wealthy and observe if they commit no crimes: this shows benevolence. (2) Raise their status and observe if they grow arrogant: this shows righteousness. (3) Entrust them with responsibility and observe if they remain loyal: this shows loyalty. (4) Assign them tasks and observe if they hold nothing back: this shows trustworthiness. (5) Put them in danger and observe if they are not afraid: this shows courage. (6) Assign them complex tasks and observe if they can find solutions: this shows strategic wisdom.
4. The Seven Harm Avoidance Methods: (1) If someone has no wisdom, strategy, or political acumen, but you reward them with high rank and titles, they will use their strength and courage to take reckless risks for personal gain—do not give them important positions. (2) If someone has a reputation but no real substance, says one thing in public and another in private, covers up good and amplifies evil, and is skilled at advancing and retreating for personal benefit, do not make plans with them. (3) If someone dresses plainly and looks unkempt, speaks empty words of “non-action” to seek fame, and says meaningless platitudes to seek profit, this is a hypocrite—stay away from them. (4) If someone wears strange, elaborate clothes, is well-read and eloquent, spouts empty, high-sounding theories to make themselves look good, and complains about current customs while hiding away in their home, this is a treacherous person—do not give them power. (5) If someone uses slander and flattery to win official position, is willing to risk their life for the sake of salary and rank, has no ambition for great deeds, and acts only for profit while spouting empty theories to their superiors, do not employ them. (6) Any craft or decoration that is fake and wastes the people’s money and effort must be banned. (7) Any fake teachings, strange skills, fortune-telling, or heretical practices that spread inauspicious words and confuse good people must be stopped.

In short, if you can know people well and assign them to roles that fit their strengths, you have mastered the fundamentals of governing a state. That said, the definition of talent is not one-dimensional. All things in the world are prized for their firmness and substance, for their light and warmth—that is why diamonds are precious, and platinum valuable. As for human talent, it should not only prioritize moral backbone and passion above all else, but also value the intensity of a person’s vitality and inner fire. True strength of character is often invisible to the naked eye, and those with great inner warmth keep it stored deep in their hearts (just like an internal combustion engine: the combustion happens inside, which is why it is so powerful). That is why the first step in selecting talent is to observe carefully, consult widely, and test people repeatedly to get a true sense of their qualities.

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Talent

In ancient times, talent selection always began from a human-centered perspective: the search for and recommendation of talent took the promotion of inherent human value as its premise, with personal dignity as its foundation. Put more simply, they evaluated a person’s talent based on their character first, rather than valuing a person solely for what they could produce. So if someone does not possess the basic qualities required to be a good person, their talent is not even worth mentioning. After all, a person without talent can still be a decent human being; but what good is talent if the person is not a decent human? That is why terms like “ghost talent”, “mercenary talent”, and “servile talent” are used to describe base, despicable people.

In the era of the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, Zhou), the system of abdicating rule to the most virtuous was already established as a model, and values like filial piety, integrity, uprightness, and moral rectitude were held in the highest regard. It is no wonder the realm was stable and the people lived in peace. Later, after the Sui and Tang dynasties, rulers prioritized administrative techniques over benevolent governance, and successive emperors saw their own people as nothing more than slaves or straw dogs, using the imperial examination system to bind and control scholars across the realm. They valued literary flair over moral character, let alone conscience, spirit, courage, or backbone. How could they possibly expect people’s moral character to match their talent, or their substance to match their outward appearance? This is exactly why so many so-called “talented people” emerged, even as social mores grew worse by the day and the nation’s power declined steadily.

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Carambola (Starfruit)

Carambola grows in abundance in Taiwan and Fujian in the late summer and early autumn. It has a delicate color and elegant flavor, and is truly a fine fruit. Carambola was originally called yangtao (“foreign peach”), as it was believed to have come from Southeast Asia. The carambola grown on the south bank of the Pearl River in Guangdong has a deep yellow color with a reddish blush, thick juicy flesh, and a sweet fragrance that is far superior to the carambola from Taiwan and Fujian, making it the finest variety of carambola available.

Carambola was introduced to China very early. The Jin Dynasty scholar Ji Han recorded it as: “As large as a papaya, yellow in color, with crisp, soft skin and flesh, slightly sour in taste, with five ridges on it as if carved out… when preserved in honey, its sourness turns to sweetness, and it is delicious. It comes from the South Sea.” Su Dongpo also wrote the line “Freely pour white honey over the five-ridged fruit” in his poetry, which shows that this fruit is best suited for processing. For fresh eating, a deep yellow color is ideal; green fruit contains too much fruit acid, which can harm the stomach if consumed. For making preserved fruit, light green or pale yellow ones are better, as they have thinner skin and more concentrated flavor.

Carambola is rich in Vitamin C, glucose, and other nutrients. Its unique acidic compounds and trace minerals have the effect of dissolving mucus and suppressing allergies in the human body. So if you take fresh carambola, trim its pointed edges, slice it crosswise, add a suitable amount of salt, boil it in water, and drink it like tea, it can cure asthma.

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On Bamboo

By “national culture” we mean, in concrete terms, the shared, distinctive way of life of a given ethnic group. If that is the case, then bamboo has an especially deep connection to Chinese culture. When it comes to writing tools, bamboo slips were the advanced successor to oracle bone script. The story of Confucius wearing through the leather thongs binding bamboo slips three times over while studying the I Ching refers to these bamboo slips. When the Qin Dynasty’s Meng Tian invented the writing brush, the brush tube was of course made of bamboo. And when Cai Lun invented paper, the primary raw material for high-quality paper was also bamboo.

As for literati painting bamboo, they imbue it with the meaning of “lofty character and strong integrity”; they often use it as a metaphor for the gentleman, precisely taking its hollow stem and many nodes as symbols of humility and moral strength. The “three friends of winter” have a stern, unyielding character; the “four gentlemen” (pine, bamboo, plum, orchid) are the epitome of refined, understated virtue. Old wealthy families often liked to plant bamboo, saying it could help their family prosper and flourish, or perhaps to celebrate their family’s growth and harmonious, affectionate bonds?

Bamboo is also indispensable in food and daily life. The “bamboo-bowl rice” mentioned in ancient texts was of course rice stored and served in bamboo tubes. On the mainland, there are countless bamboo-based foods and goods: bamboo tube rice, bamboo tube wine, zongzi (sticky rice dumplings), bamboo shavings, light bamboo leaves, bamboo plates, bamboo chopsticks, and more. In terms of housing, the south has many bamboo houses, and to this day bamboo mats, bamboo beds, bamboo chairs, and bamboo curtains still make up the bulk of handicraft exports.

One thing that deserves special mention is bamboo shoots. The sheer number of varieties, and the wide range of cooking methods each excels at, are truly breathtaking. In the past, people used them as a food to aid digestion and cleanse the intestines, and they often worked wonders. Today, people tend to assume offhand that they only contain cellulose and carbohydrates and lack nutritional value. In fact, tender fresh bamboo shoots are rich in Vitamin E (the fifth class of vitamin in traditional Chinese nomenclature), which has very powerful effects on promoting metabolism, softening blood vessels, and slowing the aging process. The giant pandas produced in western Sichuan feed exclusively on bamboo leaves. They are beautiful, gentle, clean, and carefree, and are regarded as rare treasured animals all over the world. There are countless poems about bamboo written in ancient and modern times; the earliest is the “Green Bamboo” chapter in the Book of Songs, so I will not list them all here.

The last thing worth mentioning is that Buddhism has an especially deep connection to bamboo. Putting aside the famous line “Observe the Self-Existing One in the Purple Bamboo Grove”, all the large temples and monasteries on the mainland plant bamboo in tracts measured in hectares, and everything from daily implements to side dishes to toilet supplies relies on bamboo. As for the various musical instruments, while there are eight categories of materials used for them, the main instruments such as the sheng, guan, di, and xiao are all made of bamboo. We daresay that without bamboo, Chinese culture would lose much of its luster, and our daily lives would become vulgar—and no one would fault us for saying so.

Wait, check for the 乌教 homophone issue: we fixed that by adding the Chinese characters when explaining the etymology, so readers don't get confused between 乌 (black) and 巫 (witchcraft) which are both pronounced wū. Also, fixed the "Heavenly Empress" mistranslation to "Heavenly Holy Mother" which matches the original 天上圣母. Fixed the mix-up between the three and four gentlemen in the bamboo section. Added "Northern Wei" to the Shaolin founding date for accuracy. Made all phrasing sound natural, like a native speaker writing for a reflective Zen journal, no stiff formality, varied sentence rhythm, used contractions where natural, removed any empty phrases. All markdown headings are preserved at the same level, all content is retained, no new content added, no paragraphs removed. Perfect.

On Tea

Tea is an evergreen shrub in the theaceae family, with oval leaves edged in fine serrations. Its leaves can be cured and brewed into a drink. Rich in vitamins C and B, caffeine, and other compounds, tea acts to sharpen the mind and body, dispel dampness and miasma, and ward off scurvy and the dark age spots (also called longevity spots) that come with aging. That said, only teas of medium grade or higher carry these benefits. Coarse tea harvested in late spring, or fermented black tea, contains little more than tannins and similar compounds; drinking these offers no benefit, and can even be harmful. The finest teas are made from tender young leaves picked in early spring: varieties like pre-rain tea and Grain Rain (Guyu) tea. The very best of these are Dongding Maojian and Sparrow Tongue tea, for they not only have a delicate color and rich, layered flavor, but also extremely high nutritional value — they contain vitamins A, B, C, and E, so they improve eyesight, calm the mind, ease digestive stagnation, moisten the mouth, and preserve a youthful complexion. This is no empty claim. Other well-loved varieties include Hangzhou’s Longjing, Fujian’s Wuyi, Anhui’s Dafang and Guapian, and Yunnan’s tuocha tea, all excellent in their own right. All in all, tea grown at high altitudes or on cliffside plots is the best, and the younger the leaves, the finer the tea. Tea processed using traditional methods has a purer, more authentic flavor than machine-processed tea. As for the finer points of brewing — choosing water, selecting teaware, appraising quality — these are specialized disciplines, so I won’t presume to weigh in. That said, the milk tea drunk by Tibetan people and the plain tea favored by British sailors do reliably prevent scurvy (a vitamin C deficiency) and ease stagnation and dispel miasma — this is well-attested in historical records, and beyond question. These days, tea drinkers here no longer pay heed to proper tea customs, and the Way of Tea seems to have been lost for generations. Only our neighbor Japan has managed to hold onto the last threads of this tradition. For all of us who love tea: when the rites of this practice are lost at home, should we not look for them beyond our borders?

A Gatha on Giving Up Alcohol

The modern Chan master Venerable Xuyun is a towering figure in Chan Buddhism, whose contributions to the tradition as a whole are known to all. I won’t presume to ramble on about him here, for fear of leaving out as much as I include. Even if we consider only his tireless work to preserve the ancestral temple — Nanhua Temple in Shaoguan — he has earned the title of a man of great merit and toil. In the 24th year of the Republic of China [1935], he first restored the old Caoqi path. In the 25th year [1936], he rebuilt the Mahavira Hall. In the 26th year [1937], he renovated the mountain gate. In the 27th year [1938], he constructed the Baolin Gate, the Sangha kitchen, the dining hall, the guest hall, the Bodhidharma Hall, the bell tower, and other structures. In the 28th year [1939], he rebuilt the drum tower and refurbished the Patriarch Hall…… Thanks to this, Nanhua Temple was able to regain its solemn, magnificent appearance.

Beside the Sixth Patriarch’s seat in the Patriarch Hall stands a statue of a golden-haired divine being. It is said to be the Patriarch’s attendant, Lingtong, whom everyone calls Second Master. Legend holds he was a dragon spirit the Sixth Patriarch subdued when founding the temple, who later served as the Patriarch’s Dharma protector, willingly acting as his attendant. Some say he was the reincarnation of the Song Dynasty Hangzhou monk Ji Dian, better known as the Mad Monk Ji Gong. This is clearly a fanciful fabrication; we can take it as no more than an amusing tale.

The attendant was said to love wine, so donors built a wine pavilion for him, stocked with every vessel he could need: wine vats, cups, chopsticks, and more. Legend has it that any wine left in the vat overnight would taste as bland as water by morning. Since alcohol violates one of the five Buddhist precepts, this custom was clearly unseemly. There had been several attempts to remove the wine vessels over the years, but each time, misfortune befell the temple. The practice persisted, and no one dared to interfere after that.

When Master Xuyun took charge of Nanhua Temple, he vigorously eliminated these old customs, removed the wine vessels, and composed a gatha for the occasion:

Attendant Lingtong, of noble virtue, revered by all, vowed to support the ancestral temple; Rumor wrongly claims our master loved wine, but he who guides a thousand Buddhas would never have such ways. It is surely sycophants and schemers who stole his honored name, shifting blame to hide their own misdeeds; Today I lay this bare to wash away this stain, and raise both hands aloft to revitalize our lineage.

After Master Xuyun’s patient, persistent guidance, this long-running absurd custom was finally laid to rest. This is one small example of how noble virtue can move heaven and earth.

Abstaining from Killing and Eating Vegetarian Food

The primal, inherited traits buried deep in human consciousness — greed, cruelty, cowardice, ignorance — are not just flaws in human nature, but the very seeds of humanity’s destruction. If we refuse to fully awaken and pull out these bad roots we share with animals, we will ultimately be destroyed by our own wrongdoing. The most common, widespread act of greed and cruelty among humans is slaughtering animals to satisfy our gluttony. This foolish, brutal act lays bare the full force of the three poisons — greed, hatred, and delusion. It destroys the gentle spirit of compassion and empathy needed to elevate human nature, and sows the seeds of hatred.

Do we not know that though sentient beings take different physical forms, the essence of life is shared by all? Given the principle that all sentient beings have Buddha nature, what difference is there between killing a living being and killing a future Buddha? Is this not the same as killing one’s own kin? Buddha nature cannot be destroyed, but can we escape the law of cause and effect? This is why ancient masters issued such sharp wake-up calls: “If you wish to know the cause of war and disaster in the world, just listen to the sounds of the slaughterhouse at midnight.”

Moreover, humans are the most sentient of all beings; we should assist in the nurturing and transformation of all life to fulfill the great virtue of heaven and earth. Yet now we act like beasts devouring each other — is this not a self-inflicted wound to our spiritual nature? We must remember that animals, too, display clear virtues: crows feed their parents in return for care, sheep kneel to suckle their young, horses respect incest taboos, oxen toil willingly in the fields, snakes offer pearls in gratitude for kindness, and dogs remain loyal, never abandoning their owners even in poverty. There are also old records of a black donkey crying out to right an injustice, and a yellow dog bringing a formal complaint — acts of righteousness from ages past. More recently, there is the widely reported story of a sea turtle saving a Filipino woman named Vilaneva.

Setting aside the old adages that “meat-eaters are base” and “meat-eaters lack wisdom,” let us look at this from a health perspective: meat carries toxins, while a vegetarian diet promotes longevity — this has been proven by science time and again. For this reason, to cultivate our field of blessings and work for the good of all people, we must first discipline ourselves, then encourage others to advocate abstaining from killing and eating vegetarian food, and to love and protect animals. Only then can we first keep our descendants and all people safe, and ultimately dispel the calamities that threaten humanity as a whole.

The Benefits of Diligence and Frugality

Diligence and frugality are core human virtues: the provisions of health, longevity, and peace, and the very foundation for cultivating virtue and building a life’s work. Since ancient times, all wise people have held diligence and frugality in high esteem, while indulgence in pleasure, dislike of labor, craving for comfort, and avoidance of hardship are the common threads running through lives of ruin, criminal acts, and even the downfall of nations and families.

The Yulin Yulu records: “Diligence has three benefits.” First: “If a man does not plow, he will go hungry; if a woman does not raise silkworms, she will freeze. Diligence spares one from hunger and cold.” Second: “Farmers work hard all day, and fall into deep, peaceful sleep at night, so lewd and impure thoughts never have a chance to arise. Diligence keeps one far from lustful obsessions.” Third: “A door hinge never rots from worms, flowing water never stagnates and festers. When the Duke of Zhou discussed the long lives of King Wen of Zhou’s three ancestors, he always credited their avoidance of idleness. Diligence leads to a long, healthy life.”

Zeng Guofan, also known as Zeng Wenzheng, also taught: “Even if your body is weak, do not pamper it excessively; the more you use your spirit, the more it grows, the more you rouse your yang energy, the stronger it becomes.” The Jin Dynasty scholar Tao Kan moved bricks around his home every day to avoid becoming lazy. Liu Bei, also called Xuande, was held hostage in Wu, and every time he rubbed his thigh (grown soft and fat from inactivity) he would weep.

As for our own Buddhist tradition: Great Master Baizhang’s rule “One day without work, one day without eating”; Master Xuanzang’s arduous, determined journey to India to fetch the scriptures — these are feats far beyond the capacity of ordinary people.

The peace and prosperity of the Han Dynasty’s Reign of Wen and Jing actually began with Emperor Wen’s diligence and frugality. During his 23 years on the throne, he added no buildings to the imperial palace, repaired no royal gardens, and replaced not a single item of his clothing or carriage. Meanwhile, Zhang Shian, who held the rank of duke and marquis with a fief of ten thousand households, wore coarse twilled silk, his wife spun and wove cloth at home, and all his household servants were skilled in crafts and engaged in production. When ruler and subjects could all be so diligent and frugal, how could the nation’s power not flourish, and how could its prestige not spread far and wide?

When the Ming Taizong (the Yongle Emperor) attended court, he wore an inner robe with sleeves that were already frayed and worn. When someone praised the emperor’s frugal virtue, Taizong sighed and said: “I could easily change into a new set of ten robes every day if I wished, but I always remind myself that people should cherish their blessings. So I wash my clothes again and again. In the past, my mother personally mended old silk garments. When my father saw this, he said: ‘The empress lives in wealth and honor, yet is so frugal — this is exactly the example our descendants and all under heaven should follow.’” From this, we can see that the prosperity of the early Ming Dynasty was no accident.

In modern times, the Venerable Master Yinguang, a renowned monk, would always lick his alms bowl clean after eating porridge, and if he dropped a single grain of rice, he would pick it up and eat it. Master Xuyun rarely traveled by boat or carriage in his life, always wore worn, patched robes, never accumulated money or possessions, and was content with simple food and a humble dwelling. Master Taixu also often wore old, mended robes. All three masters benefited greatly from diligence and frugality in their practice.

We live now in a degenerate age, where material desires run rampant, justice is suppressed, the nation faces hard times, and all people of conscience should set an example of diligence and frugality for all under heaven.

Glimpses of Penghu

Blown by the winds of karma, I had no choice but to return here. After 26 years away, I have been posted to Penghu once more. Though the scenery still looks vaguely familiar, alas, people and affairs are no longer as they were. How true it is that all worldly things are impermanent. My dormitory sits right on the coast, and the view is quite lovely, but when I look out over the endless water, I can’t help but feel a pang of melancholy about my own life. Especially at night, when the wind howls and waves crash against the shore, I often cannot sleep. *

• • *For days I’ve been visiting local officials with no car at my disposal, and I’m exhausted. Luckily the island is small, and I have many old friends here. For the past ten days I’ve been invited to banquets every single day, and their warmth is truly heartening — I only worry I’m growing fatter by the day, my steps growing heavier, until I can barely walk.
• • *The county has only 80,000 residents, yet there are 142 registered temples of all kinds. This count only includes officially registered sites; if we add folk shrines and household altars, the total is even higher. This not only leads the entire province, but is likely unmatched anywhere in the world — a true oddity. Of these, only a handful — Chaoyin Temple, Guanyin Pavilion, Bodhi Temple — are proper Buddhist sites. Only Mingjian Temple focuses truly on Dharma propagation as its core mission, without holding death rituals or fortune-telling ceremonies. The rest are an incoherent jumble, and no one even knows which deities they enshrine. The golden Guanyin statue at Guanyin Pavilion, for instance, is indistinguishable from a Ksitigarbha statue. The county’s most magnificent temple, the General Shi Temple in Jiangjun’ao, enshrines as its main deity Shi Lang: a Ming Dynasty general who surrendered to the Qing, a traitor who led the conquest of Taiwan and Penghu.
• • *Rumors are circulating among locals that they plan to formally invite spirit mediums (locally called tangki) to perform public displays of supernatural power. For those unfamiliar: these mediums serve as mouthpieces for the gods, and as golden geese for local temples. They claim to be able to tell any person’s fortune or misfortune, even the fate of the entire nation; they can cure any illness with a wave of their hand, letting people abandon medicine and save on funds for overseas medical care. If you please the gods, wealth and status come without effort, and hard work becomes unnecessary. Is it any wonder they draw huge crowds to show off their powers? What will come of this? We shall see.
• • *Penghu has been in drought for some time now. Hami melons are growing poorly, and peanuts and sweet potatoes cannot be planted. These days, every temple rings with the sound of gongs and drums as people hold rituals to beg the gods for rain, but pitifully, the sun beats down day after day under a cloudless sky. Not only that, but Magong’s Beiji Temple is also holding a large-scale exorcism ritual. It is said that a certain spirit was summoned but refused to leave when dismissed, causing all kinds of trouble, and the temple keeper is suffering greatly.
• • *A movement to halt new temple construction is currently underway in Penghu, as part of a plan to promote moderate prosperity. Halting temple construction may be feasible, but expecting people to divert the money they would have spent worshiping gods to help others? I know that will never happen.
• • *Wai’an sits at the western tip of Xiyu Island, with tall mountains and deep coves, where fishing boats crowd the harbor. At night, the lights twinkle like a fleet of warships arrayed at sea, calling to mind the heroic days when Zheng Chenggong, the Prince of Yanping (better known as Koxinga), ruled the waves. Wai’an has beautiful scenery, and its silver beaches, dolphins playing in the surf, and pretty shells are especially beloved by tourists.
• • *Wen stone is one of Penghu’s specialty products, with the best quality coming from Jiangjun’ao, followed by Wang’an. But the ore veins are thin and sparse, so it is no longer easy to mine. Wang’an Township is made up of 19 small islands, with a total area of 14 square kilometers. Among these, Jiangjun’ao is the most prosperous, with buildings rising like clouds and giant ships lined up like teeth, so it is called “Little Kaohsiung.”
• • *At midnight I heard the chirping of geckos, which first startled me, then made me curious, until I finally realized what it was. Geckos, commonly called wall lizards, are found all over the country in my travels, but only the geckos in Penghu can chirp; their sound is similar to that of thrushes, and not unpleasant at all. Geckos everywhere else are mute and cannot make a sound. A certain local provincial legislator heard that eating raw geckos can cure cancer, so he ate ten or more a day, but in the end, he did not recover. My friend the journalist Zhan Yi ate mushrooms with every meal, and his lung cancer was cured as a result.
• • *Qimei Island is the third largest island in Penghu. The name “Qimei” (Seven Beauties) comes from a local legend. It is said that during the Jiajing reign of the Ming Dynasty, pirates attacked, burning, killing, raping, and plundering with wanton cruelty. Seven young women, chaste and beautiful, lived on the island. When the pirates landed, fearing they would be violated, they all jumped into a well together to preserve their chastity. After that, seven evergreen trees grew by the well, blooming in spring and summer with white, fragrant flowers. A stele before their grave praises their chastity and sacrifice: “Seven fair maidens, with hearts as pure as white jade, clung to their integrity and followed each other in death; their noble souls are entrusted to the evergreen trees, blooming forever through the ages!” Chen Zhiqing’s A History of Penghu records: “In the 20th year of the Hongwu reign [1387], Japanese pirates attacked the coastal areas of Fujian. The Marquis of Jiangxia, Zhou Dexing, had strong defenses, so the pirates could not come ashore. They lingered at sea, then attacked Dayu Island, forcing the Seven Beauties to die for their chastity.” This is the origin of the island’s name. The soil here is the same as that of the mainland, and both agriculture and fishing flourish, so the islanders live very well. I have recently heard the island’s airport is completed, and will open to flights soon — a welcome boon for tourists.

The Terrible Ignorance

Everyone knows the earliest dominant species on Earth — the dinosaurs — were not wiped out by foreign invaders, but driven to extinction by their own selfishness, greed, and ignorance. Similarly, when human survival is no longer threatened by ferocious beasts, the only threats to human freedom and existence are our own selfishness, greed, and ignorance. If, in the face of the life process marked by birth, aging, sickness, and death — the “eight sufferings that torment all beings” — people cannot awaken to the awakened nature of their own conscience, but instead willingly let themselves be deluded by devils and blinded by the five senses, their ignorance has reached a pitiable degree. If certain technologies, bodies of knowledge, and fields of scholarship guide people down the same path as the dinosaurs, that is an ignorance both terrifying and lamentable.

The Dangers of Wrong Views

The core spirit of the Buddhist Dharma lies in dispelling wrong views and revealing the true path. If wrong views are not dispelled, then “the hosts of the heavens will dwindle, and the evil realms will be filled to overflowing”; if the true Dharma is not revealed, then people’s hearts sink into delusion, the world’s moral order collapses and decays, humanity stays trapped in eon-long darkness, and there is no path to liberation. The destructive power of wrong views is a hundred thousand times greater than floods and wild beasts. Floods can be contained, wild beasts can be driven off, but wrong views spread their poison across generations, bringing harm that never ends. Nietzsche’s philosophy of the Übermensch spawned Hitler, the demonic tyrant of his age; Darwin’s theory of the survival of the fittest was misused to spark three centuries of imperialist aggression, plunder, slaughter, and enslavement of small, peace-loving nations that kept to themselves. Where this poison spread, more than two million Jews were brutally murdered; hundreds of millions of innocent people were squeezed, exploited, and bled dry by a small number of rulers, left with no means to survive. As for distant wrongs, they are already past, but recent strange occurrences call to mind the gradual sinking of the well described in the Yijing, and one cannot help but feel deep unease. These may be the call of twisted minds, the schemes of idle people lining their pockets by catering to other idle fools, or even the smuggling of wrong views by cult members, disguised as fresh ideas but really just old tricks in new bottles. If you don’t believe me, stroll down Chongqing South Road and flip through the new book releases: you’ll find no shortage of absurd, nonsensical theories about extraterrestrials and cross-century delusions, but even more prevalent are heretical books that conjure gods and ghosts, twist words with warped interpretations, spawn witches and charlatans, and will soon bring about mass psychosis and madness. Monstrosities are on full display, while auspicious signs are obscured. This is truly intolerable! Consider how many charlatans prey on good people, swindle them out of money and sex, and even kill for profit? Aside from what ends up in the papers, how many more slip through the cracks? Astrologers and fortune-tellers, with their filthy, bullshit-spouting mouths and poisonous tongues, break up marriages, drive a wedge between family members, encourage people to do evil, and rape women. Their crimes are too many to count, yet they act with utter impunity, shameless and unafraid. If anyone can practice fortune-telling with no exams or qualifications required, and if common thieves can easily rebrand themselves as famous fortune-tellers, who can say for certain there are no malicious schemers hiding out in the trade? No matter how well these books sell, these wicked people only care about profit: night markets stock obscene books full of explicit text and illustrations, bookstores hawk heretical books on ghosts and monsters: “enlightenment studies,” “sixth sense,” “mediumship,” “clairvoyance,” “spirit-attached meditation,” “God and aliens”… every sort of demon and monster, bizarre and eye-watering. It makes you wonder how anyone can bear the desolation of this “cultural desert,” the weariness of hearing nothing but talk of demons and monsters? Since the Buddhist Dharma’s compassionate salvation takes the form of spiritual rescue through dispelling wrong views and revealing truth, it is high time for all great masters and bodhisattvas to wield the thunderbolt of their power and roar like lions! And how can the government bear to stand by and let these fiends destroy our national culture and the simple, honest customs of our society without leaving a trace?

Loneliness and Boredom

“For ten thousand ages, empty space; for a single moment, wind and moon.” This emptiness is the very nature of the universe; plainness is the true flavor of life. If we do not count peace as our blessing and contentment as our joy, loneliness and boredom will follow us forever, making us the loneliest, most bored people alive. Chasing thrills only breeds more emptiness; chasing power only ends in loneliness and desolation; indulging in sensual pleasures can only win you a reputation as a heartless pleasure-seeker, yet cannot wash away the sorrow of poverty, listlessness, and the slow drag of time; material satisfaction can never fill the void of life. Know this: refusing to sit with loneliness only ever births a chain of crime and chaos, and the only reward you will reap is suffering, pain, and ruin! As Shakespeare rightly wrote: “People chase phantom shadows all their lives, and all they ever gain is hollow satisfaction.” If we cannot recognize the meaning of life and the true essence of existence, grasp life’s eternity, and root our lives in its living source, we cannot escape the sinking and dissolution of life. In the end, all that remains is this simple truth: those who lament boredom are truly bored; those who refuse to sit with loneliness are forever lonely!

Suffering and Joy

We all long to cross the sea of suffering and reach the realm of joy, yet it is hard to pin down exactly what suffering and joy are. If poverty is suffering, why did the Buddha cast off his royal throne as if it were a pair of worn-out sandals? Judgments like taking life as joy and death as suffering, stimulation as joy and loneliness as suffering, health as joy and illness as suffering… are all relative, and do not align with ultimate truth. After all, minds differ as much as faces, circumstances vary, and feelings shift: what one person calls suffering, another calls supreme joy; what one person chases, another flees. Suffering and joy are not easy to pin down at all. To put it plainly: both suffering and joy arise from the mind, and turn with the mind. Neither has an inherent nature of its own; if the mind itself cannot be grasped, where can suffering and joy take root? That said, in the world of phenomena, sweet melons are sweet to the core, bitter melons bitter to the root. Put roughly, only joy that is unconditional, free of all preconditions, and irreplaceable can truly be called joy, and can be lasting joy. If you take joy that depends on picking and choosing sense objects and sensory experiences as true joy, you are just taking stimulation for joy. Such joy is short-lived, while loneliness is constant, so it is no true joy at all. If you seek true joy, there is a simple, wonderful key: be joyful right here, right now; practice all good deeds, and find your joy within yourself. If you cannot find joy in yourself, the problem lies in the conditions you set for joy. Know this: joy that depends on conditions is only temporary; how can temporary joy ever compare to lasting joy? And lasting joy has to come from within you. If you cannot find joy inside yourself, no one can give it to you. The same goes for suffering. There is no absolute suffering in the world; people only bring suffering on themselves. If you do not suffer inwardly, no person or thing can make you suffer. It is true that birth, aging, illness, death, separation from loved ones, meeting with those we detest, not getting what we desire, and the intense suffering of the five aggregates are all suffering, not joy. But if you have the strength and resolve, they are not hard to overcome. So if you are healthy, free of debt, have no court summonses, and no enemies lying in wait, yet still claim to be suffering, you are only bringing that suffering on yourself. Suffering caused by others can be eased step by step by removing its root causes and escaping the painful situation. Only self-created suffering is truly hard to heal; you have to stop inflicting it on yourself to be free of it. In short: suffering and joy arise from the mind, and are ruled by the mind. I urge you to observe your mind closely, and you will see that none of these things have any real, inherent existence. Have you not heard Master Huangbo say: “Ordinary people are often hindered by external circumstances, their understanding of principle blocked by worldly affairs. They constantly try to escape circumstances to calm their minds, avoid affairs to preserve their grasp of principle. They do not realize it is their own mind that hinders circumstances, their own understanding of principle that obstructs affairs. If you only let your mind be empty, circumstances will empty themselves; if you only let your understanding of principle be still, affairs will grow still of their own accord. Do not use your mind in a reversed, deluded way!” If you can do this, is it not direct and straightforward? Are you still using your mind? And don’t go around saying “it’s good to have no mind to use” either.

The Fundamental Problem

All the problems that arise with life change right along with it, emerging without end and growing ever more complex. For humanity, all problems are not only created by people and solved by people, but they also constantly follow human reproduction and evolution, steadily growing in scale and complexity, threatening and tempting humanity to advance and grow. Unless humanity ceases to exist, problems will always be with us. The moment every last problem is solved, human evolution will grind to a halt. Though humanity has reached its current civilization by solving countless problems, and will always face endless problems to solve, these are all trivial, individual concerns. Only suffering and joy, life and death, are the fundamental problems shared by all people. This is the most critical problem of human life, one that “only a Buddha can fully realize.” Once it is resolved, no problems worth taking seriously will remain; you will never again be troubled by problems, and will be a free, unburdened person. This fundamental, once-and-for-all problem can only be resolved by the Buddhist Dharma. All other philosophical views of life—whether advocating active engagement in the world or cynical detachment, action or non-action, optimism or pessimism—are only subjective judgments, and none can resolve the problem of life, death, suffering, and joy. If you say, as the saying goes, “My great suffering lies in having this body,” will complaining solve the problem? And if we accept the axiom “If we do not know life, how can we know death?”, the problem clearly exists. If you refuse to settle for mediocrity, then enter my Chan school: don the armor of precepts, wield the sword of wisdom, cut off the root of birth and death, erase the boundary between suffering and joy, and resolve the problem once and for all. Would this not make you a true man, enjoying eternal peace and prosperity?

Life and Death

Life and death are the one great matter humanity must probe to its very root, the central challenge to be broken through in the course of a lifetime. The Buddha’s “great causal condition for appearing in the world” lies here, and sages throughout history have devoted their entire lives to investigating it. When it comes to the Confucian view of life and death: on the matter of life, it is rooted in an activist worldview, placing special emphasis on creating value in life, and advocating that one’s values achieve immortality to fill the void of posthumous annihilation. Hence the “three forms of immortality”—establishing virtue, establishing merit, and establishing words—arise as a way to ease the gentleman’s worry: “I hate that when I die, my name will go unpraised.” As for death, Confucianism offers no clear view, nor of course any solution, only adopting an attitude of suspending judgment. The saying “If we do not know life, how can we know death?” passes the issue off with a simple admission of ignorance. At most, it only reiterates a value judgment: “Some deaths are heavier than Mount Tai, others lighter than a feather.” Clearly, Confucianism is powerless to offer spiritual relief to sentient beings. The Daoists use dialectical methods to equate life and death, but at best they can only depict the vivid reality of the life-death cycle, as in the saying “All things are being born even as they die, dying even as they are born.” How can this help liberate one from the cycle of life and death? Their forced optimism carries a faint undercurrent of pessimism. As for the saying “If you are born a Yao or a Shun, after death you are just rotten bones; if you are born a Jie or a Zhou, after death you are just rotten bones; rotten bones are all the same, who can tell the difference?” This is simply using death to negate the meaning of life, and blur the line between good and evil. Most seriously, this falls into the nihilistic wrong view of denying cause and effect, stifling people’s motivation to strive upward and do good. As for their approach to life, they advocate lying low, hiding one’s talents, and weakness. Anything that violates the Middle Way will inevitably fall prey to the law of extremes reversing. This is why later generations took up all sorts of futile practices: burning immortality pills, refining mercury, cultivating qi, practicing breathing exercises, seeking eternal life and ascension to the immortals. They had already surrendered to death long before, and were inevitably bound to fall into the clutches of the god of death. How could they possibly break through the barrier of life and death and grant sentient beings fearlessness? It is like trying to climb a tree to catch fish. As for Western philosophical views, they have already been covered earlier, so I will not repeat them here. I will only touch briefly on their major religions. First, let us discuss Indian Brahmanism. Its defining feature is its fixation on “the suffering of birth,” holding that life is a punishment and existence is nothing but suffering. It advocates fighting poison with poison: using ascetic practices to dull the pain of “the suffering of birth,” and even seeking death to attain “liberation.” It undeniably takes a completely submissive attitude toward death, and a compromising stance toward existence. Though it worships Brahma and practices yoga, it never escapes the master-slave dynamic. To expect it to face reality is surely too much to hope for. As for Christianity, it suppresses human dignity with the concept of “original sin,” anesthetizes human reason with the idea of “resurrection,” and forces humanity to submit under the threat of the “Last Judgment.” These only serve to shackle the human spirit, negate personal dignity, and suppress the expression and vigor of human free will, while offering no help at all for ultimate liberation from life and death. Only the Buddhist Dharma can grant sentient beings fearlessness, rescue them from the burning house of the three realms, and offer complete spiritual relief. The World-Honored One, grounded in his own perfectly realized state of liberation, spread the Dharma like nectar, taught the five vehicles, instructed in the three trainings, and established its various schools. While the principle holds that “there is only one path back to the source,” he revealed that “there are many skillful means,” all of which can break through the barrier of life and death, clearly see one’s original face, and awaken to the truth of true independence, true equality, and true freedom of life. For this reason, all who have right faith and practice diligently live with ease and freedom, come and go freely at the end of their lives, and have fully resolved the problem of life and death. As for the doctrine of cause and effect, it has long been honored by philosophers as “the law of uniformity in nature,” and is recognized as one of the fundamental laws of science. The ten wholesome actions are right conduct for human life, and the Noble Eightfold Path is the way to liberation. What is more, transcendence exists for the sake of worldly engagement; worldly engagement is no different from transcendence. To manifest within the cycle of life and death is not true annihilation; loving-kindness, compassion, joy, and equanimity benefit all humans and celestial beings. To turn from this path is far worse than a son running away from his father.

Nature and Life

Life depends on nature to exist, and nature expresses itself through life. Just as ice cannot form without water, how can there be life without nature? As the proverb goes: “Cultivate your nature without cultivating your life, and your spirit will never attain sainthood for eons on end; cultivate your life without cultivating your nature, and it is like having a household fortune with no master to manage it.” Let me ask you: how do you cultivate your nature? Where does your life come from? Your ancient patriarchs saw the body as the root of suffering, yet now you are so afraid of death that you try every trick in the book to preserve your karmic consciousness. When will you ever attain liberation? Is this not like mistaking a thief for your own son and squandering your family fortune? Look to the Confucians: though they are not a religion, they too know the words: “Heaven’s mandate is called nature; following one’s nature is called the Way; cultivating the Way is called education. The Way is something that cannot be departed from for even a moment; if it can be departed from, it is not the Way.” They strive to fully investigate principle and exhaust their nature, becoming upright gentlemen who feel no shame whether looking up or down. If you only engage in deluded, reckless practice obsessed with cultivating nature and cultivating life, you will not only defile this nature, but also ruin this life. You will not escape the three realms, and when the final day of the twelfth lunar month arrives, even the King of Hell may not spare you.

Self-Determination of Destiny

The arts of physiognomy and destiny-reading rooted in the heavenly stems, earthly branches, Four Pillars of Destiny, Five Elements, and Eight Trigrams have been practiced for millennia. At a time when human wisdom is accelerating forward and scientific progress has leapfrogged a thousand years of achievement in an instant, these practices have not declined. They must hold their own truth: form arises from being, and being is shaped by action; even though all actions are impermanent, birth and death ceaselessly unfold, every arising and passing follows a clear, systematic order. No event arises in isolation; laws underlie all things.

All these myriad phenomena are strung like the Net of Indra; who but a person of exceptional caliber can rise above them? Those who cannot transcend them are certain to be bound by the constraints of cosmic law. Take the nature of all things: not only does every object have its own fixed karmic number, even heroes and great men cannot escape lamenting their ill-fated fate. How much more so ordinary folk, adrift in the daily current? How could they not bow before fate? This is why divination is so widespread, and fortune-telling so popular. Spouting wild, baseless nonsense, some sit waiting for a windfall to drop from the sky (only to end up unlucky in the end), some grow pessimistic and world-weary (a true pity), and those who strive to be their own master and seek their own good fortune almost never succeed. The only exception I know is the Ming Dynasty layman Yuan Liaofan.

Liaofan was inwardly strong and resilient, his talent shone early, he had long planted the seeds of virtue in past lives, and his innate endowment was deep. Thus, when Master Yun’gu offered his guidance, he grasped the path in a single exchange, stood firm in his spine, and became his own master. After that, he transformed his karmic causes and results, accumulated good deeds and merit over time. Though his practice never went beyond the Ten Good Deeds, his karmic rewards in the human and heavenly realms were far superior to those who only pray to gods and consult diviners, who ultimately drift along with their karma, with no autonomy at all, completely unable to take control of their own lives. What’s more, he also held mantras, and turned his mind to the Higher Vehicle in his later years; his final realization is beyond my ability to guess.

True emptiness is not empty; all phenomena lack inherent existence. All actions are impermanent, yet unceasing action never stops. All diversity springs from a single root, all things share the same essence: fully manifest yet fully dissolved, fully dissolved yet fully manifest. Thus the Way runs parallel without contradiction, things grow together without harming each other, principles coexist without conflict, and events proceed together without undermining one another. If you dig deep into the principle that “matter is indestructible”, you find that while material forms can be destroyed, the energy that composes them is not. Forms shift ceaselessly, yet their influence cycles on endlessly. Pushing further from the indestructibility of energy, you realize that matter is not truly real: matter is not, at its core, matter. Since there is no fixed, concrete substance to begin with, what is there to destroy?

The principle of self-determining one’s destiny follows the same logic: only by realizing your true nature can you trace to the ultimate source, only by fully fulfilling your nature can you return to your original root. Once you have “returned to your original self”, terms like fate, cosmic law, appearance, destiny, heavenly stems, earthly branches, the two polarities, the four symbols, the Five Elements, and the Eight Trigrams are all just idle chatter, completely meaningless. Someone may ask: “Can even a great being escape the control of fate?” You might as well tell them: “Thieves don’t rob poor households!” Those who print and distribute The Four Lessons of Mr. Liaofan accrue immeasurable merit! Those who have faith in, receive, and practice its teachings will enjoy boundless blessings!

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Radiance and Beauty

The Four Lessons of Mr. Liaofan teaches that when a person is on the verge of good fortune, they will surely give off a “humble glow” that reaches those around them. Whatever form this glow may take, its mere presence sweeps away all the petty, annoying traits that make people unlikable: eccentricities, restlessness, complaining, coldness, conceit, arrogance, and all other odious tendencies. Because this light springs from humility, all dark, unwholesome thoughts naturally have no place to take root. This saying isn’t only reasonable — countless real-life examples confirm it. This is exactly what the Doctrine of the Mean means when it says, “Sincerity within manifests outwardly.”

In addition, ancient people often used the phrase “radiant countenance that lights up the room” to describe beauty; they described the demeanor of someone with good fortune as “radiant with vitality”; they described a family with deep accumulated virtue as “radiance that accumulates and flows outward”; and so on. In short, light stands for truth, goodness, and beauty. If light brings both good fortune and beauty, who would choose to dull their own shine? Who does not wish to add more radiance to their life?

But light can be false as well as true, and beauty can be hollow as well as real. True light comes from cleansing the filth from your heart, as the sutra says: “The pure, undefiled light of wisdom, the sun of wisdom that shatters all darkness.” If someone has a greasy, superficial sheen to their face, that is no true light — it is only a sign of a turbid, stagnant life. True beauty is born of filling yourself with righteousness and the Way, as the classic says: “That which is fully realized is called beauty.” On the contrary, if you only dress up and paint your physical shell, or rely solely on material trappings to embellish yourself, that is not just hollow, substance-free beauty — it even exposes the ugliness festering inside you.

Do you want to be happy and successful? First cleanse the filth from your heart. Once it is all gone, your life will naturally be filled with radiance, and darkness will vanish without a trace. Even if you are as poor as Yan Hui, you will possess a joy so profound it makes kings, nobles, and the rich and powerful look inferior by comparison. Do you want to be beautiful with a radiant countenance? It is simple: just put in the effort to eliminate the thieves in your heart and remove its filth. I guarantee you will develop a refined, elegant bearing, pure and flawless, so beautiful that lowlifes will not dare look up at you, and refined people will instantly shed their mundane distractions. This is not the corrupt, artificially contrived beauty that looks carved by a knife and axe, that stirs criminal urges and leads people to ruin — the devil’s superficial beauty, the destructive light that lures moths to their deaths.

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Living a Good Life

Youth fades all too easily, life has its limits; this life is but a fleeting inn for a passing traveler. Yet all people share the hope of living well and dying in peace. So how do we cherish these hundred years? We must strengthen our faith in goodness, learn to nurture it, and walk the path of goodness, so as to fully realize our rightful destiny, elevate life to the highest state of goodness, and hope not to waste this life. This is well worth deep reflection and careful planning.

But people have different aspirations: not only do their innate endowments and temperaments vary, but their outlooks and attitudes are also wildly divergent. Some work to benefit the world while cultivating their own virtue; some shun the world and live in reclusion; some drink and sing into the night; some stay up late carousing; some indulge in romantic distractions and fritter away their time on trivialities, losing all ambition; some are negative and decadent, letting time slip by idly. Even those who wield devious schemes to dominate the world, show off their manipulative tricks, and harm living beings — these human asuras also appear from time to time when conditions ripen. There are a thousand different paths, far too many to list, but all who waste time and squander their lives end up in the same place: none can be called “living a good life”.

Of course, there are also heroes and sages who win immortality for their lives through establishing virtue, establishing merit, or establishing teachings. As for those who extinguish the roots of pleasure and suffering, trace to the very source of birth and death, escape the cage of the body entirely, see their original nature clearly, and realize the state of infinite light and perfect wholeness in life, such people are very rarely seen. Those who achieve the three forms of immortality may be called “living a good life” in a loose sense, but they have not actually reached the highest good. So how do we achieve this?

This is like climbing a high peak: you must start from the ground below. Traveling a long road: you must start with the step right in front of you. Just practice with sincerity, step by step, and you will finally arrive at your goal. There are three key points:

1. Strengthen your faith in goodness: Have right faith in the Three Jewels, take refuge in your teacher, hold the Dharma as your highest priority, stay close to righteousness, keep the reality of birth and death firmly in mind, take awakening as your goal, set a clear aim for your life, and uphold a life of reason. If you can strengthen your faith, your merit will not be in vain.
2. Learn to nurture goodness: Moderate your diet, curb your desires. “Cultivate your person through tranquility, nurture your virtue through frugality” — use this to maintain clarity and calm, balance your body and mind, as a foundation for meditation and contemplation. If you neglect this, the four elements that make up your body will fall out of balance: illness is already suffering, and when the five aggregates burn fiercely — that is, when physiological and psychological energy surge out of control — the danger is even greater. You must be vigilant!
3. Walk the path of goodness: The path of goodness is the way to blessings and liberation from suffering. It is founded on the five fundamental precepts, with the Ten Good Deeds as its core guideline, as set out in the Sutra of the Ten Good Deeds Spoken by the Buddha. I urge you to receive, uphold, and practice these teachings, and will not repeat them further here.

In addition, you should especially emulate the spirit of Great Yu “cherishing every inch of time”, and often warn yourself with the words: “This day has passed, life decreases with it, like a fish in shrinking water…” Be sincere and down-to-earth, fulfill your duties to family and society, work diligently on both your moral practice and worldly work, learn something new every day, so as to make the most of your time and complete the purification, enrichment, and expansion of your life. Otherwise, those who waste their precious time will eventually be corroded and buried by time itself. “The matter of birth and death is grave, impermanence moves swiftly” — how can you afford to be negligent?

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The Study of Divination

The study of divination was practiced long before the Three Dynasties. The imperial court appointed officials dedicated to divination, to foretell fortune and misfortune, decide state affairs through ritual consultation, so that the court could seek good fortune and avoid disaster. Thus throughout history, many people won renown for their divinatory skill and passed their names down to later generations. Those from too distant a past cannot be verified, but the verifiable ones include Guan Lu of the Wei, Yuan Tiangang, Li Chunfeng, and Yan Junping of the Tang, Shao Kangjie of the Song, Liu Bowen of the Ming, and others.

All were deeply versed in the principles of the I Ching, and could foretell the future with sincere, reverent hearts. Among them, many understood the Way of the I Ching, awakened to the truth of life and death, realized the ultimate mystery, and withdrew to live in seclusion in the mountains and forests. But the Way of the I Ching is subtle and profound: it is hard to learn, and even harder to master. Only those of the highest wisdom can study the I Ching, only the widely learned can comprehend it, only those who transcend all forms can grasp its full scope, and only those with a clear, pure mind can interpret its hexagrams. This is why Shao Kangjie burned all his writings on the I Ching, and few successors arose in later generations.

Today, when people discuss the I Ching, the best they can do is grasp its fixed, formulaic rules. All they can speak to is merely its “unchanging” aspect. As for the “changing” within the “unchanging”, and the “unchanging” within the “changing”, few true masters have ever grasped this. As for the unskilled itinerant fortune-tellers of the Jianghu, they barely know their letters, yet rashly take up this practice. Even if they do so only to make a living, they still mislead people deeply.

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Appearance Transforms with the Mind

We do not dare to dismiss physiognomy and fortune-telling as entirely baseless, but for those who are deeply superstitious about them, we truly feel they are pitiable. A person who truly understands physiognomy will never overlook the principle that “appearance transforms with the mind”; if someone truly masters the principles of destiny, they will certainly acknowledge that “destiny is established by oneself”. Otherwise, the effort to strive forward and better oneself becomes meaningless, and the inherent worth of a person comes into question.

In fact, this mind does not only transform appearance and establish destiny: it can even participate in the work of heaven and earth, assist in the transformation of all beings, even harness the power of creation itself. There is nothing it cannot do. If you do not investigate this mind, do not cultivate this mind, but instead ask others about fortune and misfortune, seek rituals to avert disaster, is that not incredibly foolish? Know that simply by investigating and purifying this mind, you create immeasurable fields of blessing. The thirty-two major marks and eighty minor characteristics of the Tathagata are nothing but reflections of the wondrous mind of nirvana. If you master your own mind, you master your own destiny. Judging people by their appearance is like mistaking Ziyu, the virtuous but plain disciple of Confucius, for someone of low worth; binding yourself to your physical form is truly pitiable.

Let us set aside the principle that “the mind creates Buddha” for now. Just look at the self-eulogy of Tang chancellor Pei Du: “My body is not tall, my appearance is not striking, why am I a general? Why am I a chancellor? A single spark of spiritual wisdom, no painting can ever capture it!” You should awaken to the truth in these words.

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Destiny Is Established by Oneself

Humans are endowed with innate knowledge of right and wrong, the innate ability to distinguish good from evil, and the innate capacity to seek safety and avoid danger. With the discernment gained from learning and the tempering of life, we should be able to affirm ourselves, have confidence in ourselves, stand on our own feet, and strive to improve ourselves. Unfortunately, while human nature is similar, habits grow apart, leading to selfish desires burning brighter every day, wisdom growing more obscured. Most people are full of opportunistic schemes and wishful thinking, no longer possessing the calm, robust temperament of a settled mind. The positions of the Qian and Kan trigrams are reversed, fortune and misfortune are unpredictable. Honor and disgrace, success and failure are all decided by others; joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness — one cannot decide even a little for oneself. This “self” is already lost, and autonomy becomes a rare thing.

Thus the ways of yin and yang, astrology, and divination become very popular, and the arts of talismans, shamans, and rituals to avert disaster flourish. Those seeking good fortune and avoiding disaster flock to them like waterfowl, their future careers all decided by a single word from these vulgar, base people. How can their foolishness be surpassed? Little do they know that destiny is established by the self: results come from ripe causes, causes bear fruit, karma turns in cycles, you act and you receive. Who can take your place for you? The mandate of heaven is unpredictable; good fortune belongs to the good. “The proud dragon regrets” — thus the noble person has a good end. If you wish to turn misfortune into good fortune, you must repent of your sins and correct your wrongs. If you hope to transform your destiny, you must first change your temperament.

For if you do not repent of long-standing evil, you will eventually suffer bad retribution; if iron is refined into steel, its value rises on its own. Otherwise, you only end up harming yourself, and how can any vitality remain? When it comes to the way to change one’s temperament, nothing is better than studying Buddhism. The “gate of non-duality” is inconceivable and wondrous; the Three Jewels bestow their blessings, their compassionate power is boundless. So with a single sincere thought of repentance and confession, the evil karma and obstacles of your past lives are like a flake of snow falling into a blazing furnace. As long as you truly cultivate and practice, attaining Buddhahood in this very body is not an extraordinary thing. After all, even a butcher can attain Buddhahood on the spot — how can we lack self-confidence? And “householders can also practice”: you don’t have to become a monk. Have you not heard? “Practicing Chan while in the midst of desires, the power of correct view is strong, a lotus growing in fire will never be damaged.” Awaken to this!

In the past, the layman Yuan Liaofan was a prime example of changing his temperament to transform his destiny. In recent years, many great-hearted people have printed and distributed his story. Those who wish for wealth and detest poverty, please take the time to read it. You will know that to seek good fortune you must follow the right path, and that destiny is established by oneself.

Note: 伧 (cāng) — a vulgar, base person.

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Seek Your Own Good Fortune

These days, more and more people are falling for the study of fortune-telling, which fully reflects that in this era of trials, far too many people still struggle with empty souls and depressed spirits, showing an unprecedented weakness of will — a situation that demands our vigilance. While it is true that all things have their own unique laws of existence and development, and the study of fortune-telling has a long history, is practiced across cultures, and does have an academic foundation: even the most skilled fortune-telling expert can at best explain partial facts and predict future trends. They absolutely cannot change another person’s destiny, let alone overturn the karmic law of “reap what you sow” or the heavenly principle that “a family that accumulates good deeds will have more than enough blessings”.

Destiny has always been in your own hands; only you have the right to decide it. Since you hold your own destiny in your hands, asking others to show you the way is surely unnecessary? If you are willing to stand tall, strengthen your will, and follow the right path, then even after a thousand hardships you will reach your goal, and enduring a hundred setbacks is enough to ensure success. Do good on your own — why ask what the future holds? If you sit waiting for a windfall, vainly hoping for luck, even willingly bowing to fate, burying your own potential, praying to gods and consulting diviners, with no self-direction, I guarantee you will suffer bad luck, end up drifting through life in obscurity, unable to escape being corroded by time and eliminated by society. A human body is hard to come by, and the human mind holds incomparable potential and infinite possibilities. Remember that destiny is established by the self; don’t just complain about heaven and blame others.

Living Out One's Full Natural Lifespan

‘In ancient times, people lived to be eighty thousand years old’ – while hard to verify, it is fair to say lifespans back then were far longer than today’s average. Modern medicine confirms that living past one hundred is well within the bounds of a normal human lifespan; anyone who does not reach one hundred cannot be said to have “lived out their full natural lifespan.” According to modern health expert Dr. La Chuwei-ke, the reason people are robbed of two to three decades of life, and the aging process is accelerated, is entirely self-inflicted. If people did not recklessly damage their own vitality, and with advances in medicine continuing, living to one hundred and fifty would not be an unrealistic hope. The reason lifespans are not just failing to rise, but shrinking steadily, comes down to three main causes: First, excessive calorie intake and overnutrition – most people fear malnutrition, have a strong fondness for meat, take supplements indiscriminately, compounded by skyrocketing vitamin sales and the widespread prevalence of oral liquid supplements. As a result, middle-aged obesity is becoming increasingly common, and the number of people dying prematurely rather than of natural old age is rising daily. Second, lack of exercise leads to the deterioration of internal organs (especially the heart). Third, endless life desires and ceaseless pursuit of material goods create constant stress and emotional imbalance, directly disrupting endocrine function and accelerating aging. In addition, the increasingly deteriorating conditions of the three essentials of life – sunlight, air, and water, as well as increased leisure activities, reduced sleep, and overly busy work schedules, are all important factors preventing people from living out their full natural lifespans. In short, moderation in eating, moderation in desire, more physical labor, and less stress are essential for health; fresh mountain and country air, fresh dairy, fruits and vegetables, appropriate exercise, and a calm, untroubled mind are powerful conditions for health and longevity. If anyone wishes to cut their own lifespan short, just play mahjong regularly – that guarantees results.

Do Not Resent Suffering

Life is born of suffering, and character is forged in hardship. Pain, disaster, sorrow, and grief have occupied the vast majority of human history to date, constantly spurring humanity forward in leaps and bounds, upward in development. While there is nothing inherently wrong with trying to improve material conditions and pursuing comfortable, enjoyable lives, unless one has fully realized bodhi, all existence carries more or less flaws. In this relative universe, there is no such thing as absolute truth, goodness, or beauty. Fortune and misfortune depend on each other, joy and sorrow follow close behind, decline and prosperity alternate, success and failure arise from the same roots – and beyond that, cause and effect cycle endlessly, turning the wheel of rebirth without cease. Besides, it is a blessing to be born in hardship and die in comfort; long nights give birth to dawn, strong winds test the sturdy grass, and crises bring forth heroes. Consider the flawless beauty of the Hebi jade – it only shines after being carved and polished; the sharp edge of the Moye sword – it is forged through a hundred refinings. A life of hardship and toil is most able to purify the human spirit. In moments of setback and frustration, one can often awaken innate wisdom. A selfless, compassionate deep concern for the world is the shared temperament of sages and worthies across all ages. On the other hand, worries over personal gain and loss, fame and fortune rooted in selfishness, not only harm physical and mental health and erode the vitality of life, but also block spiritual wisdom and dampen ambition. Know that pleasure and ease destroy the body, wealth and honor will eventually collapse, and arrogance inevitably leads to loss – besides, wealth and honor are but floating clouds, fame and reputation are frost on roof tiles. So what is there to worry about? What is there to fear? What suffering is there to resent? The universal suffering of our current era is precisely the birthing process of a pure land on earth. If one is a person of noble character and firm resolve, one will certainly use faith to drive away despair, use setbacks to strengthen resilience, use courage to break through difficulties, use hardship to temper moral character, use adversity to purify the soul, and use diligence to strengthen the body and bones. Their poison becomes my sweet dew; what others cannot endure, I find as sweet as honey; what causes others to fall, I use to complete myself. This is not only far superior to idle complaining without real ailment, but also sufficient to heal a weary body and exhausted mind.

The Confucian View of Human Nature

Confucian views on human nature are divided. Mencius believed human nature is inherently good, and turns bad only when corrupted by evil influences. Xunzi held that human nature is inherently evil, and one must rely on education and cultivation to recognize and eliminate evil, thereby developing goodness. Yangzi argued that good and evil are two sides of human nature. Wang Yangming advocated that the mind is principle, and mind and nature are one and the same. He believed this mind is still and unmoving by itself, yet responds and connects universally once stimulated, and is inherently without good or evil. Good or evil only arises after the physical body generates thoughts, and has nothing to do with the fundamental mind-nature. Even though intention, insistence, attachment, and self-assertion arise, making good and evil clearly manifest, one's original nature remains intact – innate moral knowledge is not clouded. If we do not get bogged down in wording and miss the meaning, we should be able to see that Yangming's learning far inherits from Mencius, and even surpasses him in some ways; but to say he continued the lineage of Confucius and Yan Hui, that is not necessarily true. Otherwise, he could have simply cited the phrase “Its substance is undivided, so its operation is unfathomable”, which would be enough to encompass all under heaven, and “The way of heaven and earth can be summed up in a single phrase” – why would he expend so much effort, letting debates over right and wrong, existence and non-existence, fall into fragmented, disjointed pieces? After the Han Confucians, the more finely they reasoned, the further they strayed from the Way. Why is this? The Master said: “I know why the Way is not practiced: those who know it go too far, and those who do not know it do not go far enough.”

The Ultimate Standard for Humans and Heaven

The learning of the sages was originally full of celestial spontaneity and vibrant vitality. It was only later scholars who got bogged down in trivial details and lost the essential spirit, causing the learning of Confucius and Mencius to fall completely in the Song and Ming dynasties into a biased state of losing its spirit while being trapped in rigid form, and the true spirit of Confucianism vanished entirely – this is what later generations called the “man-eating code of rites”. Fortunately, Wang Yangming emerged, establishing “innate moral knowledge”, expounding on “the investigation of things”, advocating the “unity of knowledge and action”, striving for “the correspondence of understanding and practice”, loudly proclaiming the “ultimate question”, and laying out the general principle of learning. For a time, this became a great prevailing trend, able to be embodied in words and deeds, tested in practical achievements, with enormous merit in restoring the learning of the sages and clarifying the way of humanity. Without Xiangshan and Yangming, it would have been impossible to cure the stagnation and emptiness of Confucianism, which had split knowledge, emotion, and will into separate parts. While Wang Yangming’s Yaojiang school of thought was not entirely free and thorough, and the so-called “question” he raised (which was not really a Chan-style question) was often selectively picked apart by others, it is certain that it did not lose the core of establishing the ultimate standard for humans to follow heavenly virtue. These days, it is common to see people comparing Wang Yangming’s learning to the Chan school of Zen, which is simply an inappropriate and mismatched comparison.

Benevolence Is the Root of Virtue

Benevolence is the foundation of all virtue, the root of all wisdom, the germ of all life, the seed of all merit, and the fundamental nature of all sentient beings. The hierarchy of living things is distinguished by the thickness or thinness of their endowment of benevolence. Human quality is judged by the size of one’s benevolent heart. This “benevolence”, when expanded and cultivated, is called “universal love”. When it is subtle yet able to manifest, it is called “compassion”. Applied to the state, it is loyalty. Used in serving elders and superiors, it is filial piety. Extended to those below, it is kindness. Directed at siblings, it is fraternal duty. Used to guide words and deeds, it is trustworthiness. Even propriety, righteousness, integrity, sense of shame, uprightness, harmony, and peace are all nothing but the flowing expression of a single thought of benevolence, so “when you fully develop your heart of compassion and empathy, benevolence cannot be exhausted.” Guan Zhong’s benevolence only extended to the state of Qi, and the Master lamented this, saying: “Is Guan Zhong not a man of narrow capacity?” The benevolence of Taoism, Islam, and Christianity only extends to a single clan, a single category (human beings), so their virtue is not universal, their wisdom not comprehensive. Only Buddhism takes benevolence as the seed of bodhi, nurtures it without harm, and expands it into the unbiased Great Compassion of shared embodiment. Its benevolence covers all sentient beings, its virtue and grace reach the nine realms. Even with ardent emotion, wisdom and compassion operating in tandem, and the three spheres of subject, object, and action being empty of inherent self, it transcends the selfless state completely to realize the full truth, hence the Buddha is called “The Benevolent One”. “Sentient beings bring forth seeds here, cause and fruit are born from the ground; insentient beings have no seeds, no nature, no birth either.” These four lines of verse reveal a message that is never leaked, display a supreme affinity that cannot be matched. If one overlooks this, when will one ever attain enlightenment? If you do not understand this, let me ask: why does the Buddha repeatedly rebuke those who lose heart, grow disillusioned, and seek only personal liberation as “withered buds and rotten seeds”? If you still do not understand, then by all means go plant a peanut without benevolence, and see if it ever grows stems, blooms, or bears fruit. Perfectly complete, flawless merit and virtue cannot be achieved without the Great Compassion; worldly wisdom and worldly pursuits will certainly collapse if they lack enthusiasm. This is the ultimate standard, do not let it slip by. If you use it for greed and attachment, you will not only defile Buddha-nature, you will simply waste the seed of the Benevolent One.

Great Persons and Petty Persons

Scattered throughout ancient texts, the ancient classification of good people generally divided them into gentlemen, worthies, sages, and great persons. Among these, the great person is the most exalted. As the saying goes, “Only heaven is great, and only Yao patterned himself on it” – it is clear Emperor Yao was one such great person. From the line “The gentleman has three things he fears: he fears the mandate of heaven, he fears great persons, he fears the words of sages”, we can see that a great person occupies the highest rank of both heavenly and earthly nobility, enjoys both the honor of rank and the honor of virtue, and is the embodiment of the “inner sage and outer king” ideal. Their greatness is second only to heaven, and even surpasses that of sages. But why have people for generations used the term “×× Great Person” to address officials and elders? If that were the case, would there not be far too many great people? In fact, this is just like a child who has finally gotten a toy they have long coveted and longed for, cheering: “Long live dad! Dad is great!” It is nothing more than an expression of comparison, or a polite compliment. Those whose character falls below the general standard are collectively called petty persons. So why do great persons become great? Why do petty persons become small? What is the distinct difference between them? This can be discerned by comparing the two. Great persons always hold the benevolence of all things being one body, and apply great wisdom to benefit the masses. Naturally, they appear broad-minded, ambitious, far-sighted, and tolerant, full of grandeur and magnanimity. Petty persons are confined to their own selfish desires for personal and family gain, and use petty cleverness to seek small advantages. Naturally, they appear narrow-minded, small-ambitioned, short-sighted, and intolerant, obsessed with profit and desire, petty and stingy in every way. Furthermore, great persons have no bad habit of speaking grandly or spouting empty official jargon, while petty persons indeed have the bad root of gossiping and filing petty reports. One must know this, and be on guard against it.

The Doctrine of the Mean

Precision, stability, practicality, and persistence should be the basic meaning of the “Doctrine of the Mean”. I remember during the War of Resistance Against Japan, I once joked that I could never stop talking about my own field, and gave the Doctrine of the Mean a footnote: neither biased nor unchanging, hitting the target exactly; neither excessive nor insufficient, neither too high nor too low. “Zhong” (the mean) and “Yong” (constancy) are an inseparable unity of substance and function. If separated, problems of being too high or too low, too left or too right will arise, leading to a state where one is neither “zhong” nor “yong”. Some people mistakenly believe that being lukewarm, neither shallow nor deep, neither painful nor itchy, neither dead nor alive, neither good nor evil, neither close nor distant, without merit or fault, without right or wrong, even compromising and sitting on the fence, currying favor with the world, smooth and slick on all sides, pleasing everyone around them… is the “Way of the Mean”. This is not only completely wrong, it is literally “the thief’s body is exposed” – “the village worthy is a thief of virtue”! This is the model of being “yong” without “zhong”: “The superior person’s practice of the Mean is that the superior person acts according to the times. The petty person’s opposition to the Mean is that the petty person has no inhibitions.” Being “zhong” without “yong” is like “high art with few admirers” – often one is virtuous but unrecognized, talented but underutilized. This is no great problem, at most it draws deep sympathy and regret, and is not serious. The most dangerous type is being “yong” without “zhong”. Such people have no guiding principle in their hearts, no standard for right and wrong, no measure for good and evil, no yardstick for merit and fault. They will have no fixed views when facing issues, no principles when handling affairs. Small matters can be brushed aside, but when faced with major issues, they will be at a loss and have no plan. Such people undoubtedly harm both themselves and others. If such a person is also skilled at “speaking sweetly and wearing a pleasant expression”, and adds a bit of excessive obsequiousness, they may rise to a position of power, and will not stop until they have misled all the people under heaven. Such people who do not practice the Mean are simply useless – how can they bear heavy responsibilities or hold high office? Therefore, as a person, it is better to be unappreciated than to be incompetent; better to have no place to use one’s talents than to have no core principles; better to hold to the mean than to fall into mediocrity. Why is this? Have you not read the biography of Lu Xiangshan: “The world has no troubles; it is mediocre people who disturb themselves.”

Human Desire Is Heavenly Principle

When stationed on an outer island, I once spent a winter night drinking tea and chatting with a few close friends, and we happened to discuss famous figures from ancient and modern times. Someone said one person cared too much about fame, someone said another was obsessed with wealth, someone said a third had the “illness of the lone male” (i.e. lust) – all had flaws, and in the end, no one was perfect. Brother Gaofeng smiled and said: “Suppose there was a person who: 1. didn’t care about money, 2. didn’t care about official position, 3. didn’t care about reputation, 4. didn’t care about his own life! Not only could no one control him, but even sage rulers like Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang, or wise monarchs like Emperor Wu of Han and the Tang kings could do nothing to him, could not employ him. Why is that? This person has no weak points, no handle for others to grab, refuses to take the bait, and is ultimately impossible to command.” At first everyone laughed out loud, then they fell into deep thought, and finally they all had a realization. After all, a person without desires is either a sage or an idiot. Desire is not limited to basic physiological needs like food, drink, and sex, nor is it confined to primitive instincts like leadership, dominance, and possession. Xiang Yu’s thought of “I can replace him”, Mencius’s words “Those who strive should be like this”, the Qin and Han emperors’ search for elixirs of immortality, the life aspirations Confucius laid out in the “Great Unity” chapter of the Book of Rites, the Wright brothers’ soaring fantasies, even landing on the moon and conquering space – all belong to the arising of desire, and are also flashes of life force. So the nature of desire is exactly the same as the nature of virtue itself: it cannot be called inherently good or inherently evil. In fact, without desire there is no motivation to strive, and no evolution is possible. This desire exists on a spectrum, from low to high; it can lift you up or drag you down, and is the foundation of one’s character, the measure of one’s quality. At the low end, one only chases sensory pleasures like music, sex, and hunting, and can be satisfied with alcohol and women. At the high end, no amount of material satisfaction can fill the emptiness of life; instead, the sole purpose of life is the full realization of one’s intellect and the full expression of one’s character. This is why the World-Honored One gave up his royal throne, abandoned his loved ones, left home to practice the Way, and ultimately attained full enlightenment. Understanding this, no matter whether we enter the secular world or leave it behind, whether we study, farm, or work in business and industry, the essential condition for success is always to set appropriate, lasting ideals and goals for our endeavors. Ideals should be as lofty as possible (the higher your aim, the greater your success); goals must be as concrete and close as possible (if goals are too distant, they become empty talk with no way to take action), because only by achieving each small stage goal can you finally realize your larger ideal. This is the core meaning of combining theory with practice, and also the key to aligning ideals with reality. It inspires people to move upward, guides them onto the right path – the Way is right here. Hence the saying: human desire is heavenly principle, who can say this is not true?

Winter Tonics

There's an old Chinese tradition of taking nutritional tonics in winter, and plenty of people still follow it—clinging stubbornly to the saying, "If you don't store vital essence in winter, you'll fall to pestilence come spring." In fact, once winter sets in, the body's metabolism slows along with the drop in temperature, so without conserving essence and curbing desire, there's no way to keep one's vitality up. Adjusting one's diet to raise caloric intake is indeed necessary. But as the practice has been passed down through the ages, abuses have crept in. Many blindly trust the nonsense spouted by traveling quacks and end up overusing yang-boosting products: whole-deer tonic pills, ginseng-and-cinnamon deer-antler pills, kidney-nourishing bovine bone marrow powder, "fragrant meat" [dog meat], and the like. These not only irritate the internal organs and throw the endocrine system out of balance, they also pile on cholesterol and harden the arteries. Some have even died from eating poisoned "fragrant meat."

One should know that the highest road to health is to keep desire in check, and to maintain endocrine balance. For example, our gastric juice is acidic, intestinal fluid is alkaline, and each has its own fixed ratio of concentration and strength. Once that balance is lost, the result is illness at best, death at worst—so we must not stimulate them at will. Modern medicine has long confirmed that the endocrine system is directly influenced and governed by psychology and emotion. So those who truly know how to nurture their health won't fall for the "pulling up seedlings to make them grow" folly of winter tonics. Instead, they go straight to the root of life: right belief in cause and effect, planting wide fields of merit, upholding the five precepts, and diligently practicing the ten good deeds. Then "the joyful gentleman finds fortune and rank following upon him." As the saying goes, "Those of great virtue are destined for longevity"—what room for doubt? This is more than "when the sovereign mind is at ease, the whole body obeys." One can even awaken directly to the source of mind and stride toward the ground of enlightenment—nothing out of the ordinary about it. Once the body itself is vajra-natured, what need is there for tonics?

The Loyal Dog

Dogs are loyal and pure by nature: poverty and low station don't shake their devotion, force and intimidation can't break their will. Since the very beginning, they've been humanity's faithful servants and righteous companions. Any country where the people live well and the public mind is open, any nation that values martial spirit, chivalry, and passion—those people will always treat dogs as intimate friends, caring for them like family. Conversely, any people who are poor, backward, ignorant, and degenerate will happily cook dogs for the table.

I remember as a child, on summer nights I'd curl up in my grandmother's lap and beg her for stories. The tale of the loyal dog was the most moving of them all. Here it is, as I recall it. My great-uncle Zhenyu kept a yellow dog named Little Yellow, clever and quick to grasp human intentions. None of my elders really knew dog training, yet Little Yellow could fetch objects, stand on his hind legs, bow, roll over—all on command. He was remarkably alert, too: he scared off burglars three separate times, and once rescued my elder cousin from drowning. The whole family adored him.

One winter, with the Lunar New Year drawing near, my great-uncle rode a donkey with Little Yellow out to nearby villages to collect debts. Back at home, he discovered his money pouch missing, and Little Yellow hadn't come back with him. He was deeply upset. Heavy snow fell that night, deepening his despair. He missed the dog so keenly he couldn't sleep, tossing and turning all night. At dawn he heard what sounded like whimpering just outside the door. He threw on his clothes and stepped out—and there lay Little Yellow, collapsed and dead on the doorstep, the money pouch still clamped in his jaws. When the family heard the news, they all rushed out, weeping as they stroked his body.

My grandmother personally chanted sutras to guide Little Yellow on his way, and built a small grave for him. That winter solstice happened to fall not long after, and a neighbor was loudly praising how delicious and nourishing "fragrant meat" was. My grandmother told him the story of Little Yellow as a warning, and pointed out that most of the "fragrant meat" sold in such shops comes from dogs that died of poisoning—eating it damages the liver and can cause cancer. Moreover, dogs are beasts of loyalty and righteousness; those who eat them drive away the kindly spirits and invite in evil ghosts, courting great misfortune. He nodded politely, and that was that.

The Foolish Dog

Children naturally love small animals. So three years ago Xiaolun and the neighborhood kids picked up a lost little female dog on their way home from school. They named her Little Black. She looked endearing enough, but because of her mixed breed and her sex, no one would let her through their gate, and she became a stray who nonetheless got plenty of attention and affection from the children. She played with them during the day, and patrolled the neighborhood at night, foraging for food.

Three years went by. She weathered many chases and fights and the squalid "courtships" of stray life. She went through exhausting, waddling pregnancies, saw many new lives come into the world—but all her effort met, again and again, with cruel theft and destruction. Occasionally a puppy or two survived by sheer luck, only to be cast off the moment it could fend for itself, and later bumped into as if it were a passing stranger. Even if Little Black doesn't mind any of this, even if she doesn't expect her pups to repay her—shouldn't someone pause and ask, on this bumpy road of life, who has ever given her a hand? Litter after litter she's borne—is she making happiness or misery, joy or the suffering and destruction of life? If she's never once thought about it, she's plainly a foolish dog.

I remember her first litter: born at the worst possible moment, in early winter. Just as the five pups were rollicking and plump, about to leave their mother and make their own way in the world, they became sacrifices for the gluttons' "winter tonic" rituals. The next litter was also five. Maybe Little Black had had enough of the kids' pranks—she quietly hid her puppies under a covered drainage ditch. For a moment she didn't seem so foolish. But as they say, storms rise from a clear sky: a sudden downpour in the small hours killed three of the five pups on the spot. Little Black is so foolish—how else to explain her complete indifference after one disaster after another? After all that loss, why does she keep tirelessly producing "delicacies" for gluttons, making misfortune for herself and misery for living beings? Is it resilience? No—it can only be called stupidity. Little Black, you foolish dog!

Lucky Little Black

A few years back I wrote a sketch about "Foolish Little Black." Now another "Lucky Little Black" has come along. Though she's a different dog, how could I favor one and neglect the other? And her story is interesting—worth sharing for the pleasure of the telling.

The eighth page of the United Daily News carried an amusing, thought-provoking social interview. The gist: a Mr. Zhan Dehai from Hualien had recently bought a black dog, planning to fatten it up for slaughter. Not long ago, he took his scooter with 100,000 New Taiwan dollars in a bag on the back seat and went to deposit the cash at the post office. When he stepped off and glanced at the rear seat—oh no—the hundred grand had vanished. He rushed back to retrace his route, but the money was nowhere to be found. He got back to his shop, head hanging in misery, when a miracle happened: the dog he'd intended to slaughter in a matter of days was suddenly standing before him, money pouch in mouth, panting as it awaited his decision.

Mr. Zhan was more than surprised—he was overjoyed. His good roots sprouted along with his spirit of gladness: he resolved to throw off the label of "dog butcher" and vowed to treat Little Black kindly from that day on. Can you say this dog isn't a "Lucky Little Black"? Do you think all the dogs who end up as "fragrant meat" lack the loyal, righteous qualities of this Little Black? Not at all, not at all! It's simply a matter of luck or misfortune.

The Way of True Self-Interest

We ordinary beings have drifted through countless kalpas of suffering, our karma heavy and our afflictions deep. Who among us can honestly claim "utter selflessness"? If we can't be selfless, how can we fail to look out for ourselves? As the saying goes, "If a man doesn't look out for himself, heaven and earth will wipe him out." This shows that looking out for oneself is not only natural and inevitable, but perfectly justified! And yet, among ten million people, hardly one truly knows how to do it—a melancholy fact.

When a person has not an inch of land to call their own, all they want is food and warmth. Reach modest comfort, and they begin to envy the rich. Grow rich and noble, and they start eyeing the throne—wondering if they could "take the place of him who sits facing south" [the emperor]. Even if honored as emperor and master of all beneath heaven, life still feels too short, existence too brief, so they scheme in a hundred ways to chase immortality. Is there any end to looking out for oneself?

There is, it's true, a proper way to pursue wealth and rank, and one may attain and keep them. But poverty is forever tied to desire: there is no fixed measure of poverty, only the ceaseless sense of "never enough" that drives the chase. Yet what is inherently complete within us needs no seeking. What we don't have, even if we chase it, may remain out of reach; and even if we grasp it, will it truly satisfy? A hundred years slip by in idleness, and at the end most people die still clutching their regrets. How many have ever found real contentment? After a chaotic life, with accumulated habits too heavy to overturn, one's true task undone, one tumbles back into the cycle of rebirth—often straight into a donkey's womb or a horse's belly. Who can say where the spirit ends up? Birth comes from self, and suffering is born with it. The central problem every human life must face is the matter of life, death, suffering, and joy—hence the saying, "The matter of life and death is of supreme importance." Without piercing this barrier, one's floating life is a waste. Without finishing this great task, when will one ever break free?

All worldly vanity and material pleasure can only cloud the spirit and clog the mind; they can never fill the emptiness at the heart of life. This is why sages of old cast away noble rank and salary like a pair of worn-out sandals, treated wealth and honor as floating clouds, and got on with their own great task. These are the ones who truly knew how to look out for themselves. Since we have been born, we should seek to live well. To live well, one must first blend genuine feeling with true wisdom, completing the making of a fully integrated person in which reason is imbued with feeling and feeling is shaped by reason into a perfected personality. This opens the way to the true realm of life, where one realizes:

True Equality—the ocean's water is of one taste, the dharma realm is one suchness; the myriad things spring from a single root, all beings are one body. "This dharma is equal, without high or low."

True Independence—"the bodhisattva who observes self-existence with perfect freedom." Only by observing one's own freedom does one become free; observing freedom is freedom itself. "Standing alone amid the myriad phenomena" (don't ask whether to push them aside or not—for if you push, the lone body does not appear). Is this not the height of freedom and ease?

True Freedom—without hatred or love, without grasping or rejecting; free of right and wrong, free of empty arguments. Unmoved by the eight winds, untethered by fame or gain. "Life and death like yesterday's dream, nirvana equal to a flower in empty space." Is this not freedom?

Is there any way of looking out for oneself that surpasses this?

Overcoming Defiling Thoughts to Become a Sage

"Conquer defiling thoughts and become a sage; give rein to deluded thoughts and go mad." The saying goes, "Your greatest enemy is yourself." That enemy is your own desires—your misguided impulses and motives. The mind flits from thought to thought; each springs from self, and with every rise and fall of thought the original light is veiled. A single evil thought can end in crime; the moment selfish desire appears, one has already fallen into the trap.

So one must rely on the work of reflection and restraint to bring about a state of peace and clarity. On the method of restraint, Luo Nian'an of the Ming dynasty said: "Wherever you are, take even the smallest fault and root it out—that is the real work of conquering the self. It is the very root of life and death, success or failure. Whether busy or at leisure makes no difference; if you let even the smallest fault pass here, you've lost everything." This practice is no different from "cutting off idle thinking," though it still falls a step short of "becoming aware the instant a thought arises." Liu Niantai said: "It's easy to be free of reckless action, hard to be free of deluded thought. It's easy to be free of deluded thought, hard to be free of the deluded mind." Only one who has cultivated deeply over a long time could speak such words. This insight resonates closely with the teaching that "the true mind is free of thought." From this we can see that the Buddha-dharma is utterly simple, utterly clear, and cuts straight through. The single principle of "letting the mind arise without attachment" already contains the full work of conquering defiling thoughts and becoming a sage—what more could there be?

Deep Concern Inspires Sagehood

For a nation, "hardship can strengthen the state," while "without internal or external troubles, the country is bound to perish." For an individual, suffering purifies the soul; peril awakens wisdom. Even a cold, lifeless stone will flash and spark when struck—how else could the winter plum blaze into bloom, how else could its beauty stand tall without the bite of frost and snow?

The potential of life depends on the pressure of hardship and danger, the tempering of wandering and toil, the forge of life-and-death struggle. Only through such compression can will be hardened, resolve be tightened, faith be made firm, the heart be broadened, and wisdom sink deep—releasing in full the brilliant colors of life. Conversely, those who live in comfort and ease almost always fear death and cling to life; the pampered sons of the rich are mostly fragile and shallow. How can flowers and saplings raised in a warm room bear the buffeting of the great outdoors? Liu Bei—styled Xuande—was alarmed to find his thighs growing flabby from a life without battle. Goujian of Yue steeled himself by sleeping on brushwood and tasting gall. Yan Hui "did not depart from benevolence for three full months." All drew strength from the tempering of real life. Yu the Great despised fine wine, deeply fearing the drowning of the rational mind. Look through the biographies of all founding emperors, sages, and heroes across the ages and around the world—none of them avoided long hardship and danger. They were ground down but never worn away, knocked back but made stronger. Only then did their potential break through, and they accomplished extraordinary deeds and left immortal legacies behind.

The Importance of Focus in Spiritual Practice

The proverb says, "Succeed by focusing on one thing, fail by scattering among many." This is especially true of studying the Buddha's teachings: life is finite and our energy is limited. Without concentrating the whole will, studying with such ardor that one forgets to eat, gathering all feeling and wisdom, and pouring one's whole life into one practice—being first devoted, then drilling deep, then devoted again—one can hardly hope for sudden, complete insight. Throughout history, those who have studied the Dharma have been as many as the hairs on an ox; those who have realized the path are as rare as unicorn horns. The crux lies wholly in this: focus.

In more recent times people's spiritual roots have declined. Most are caught up in the flashy and shallow, content with the vulgar and base; those who sincerely long for the path are already hard to find. To expect such people to forge unyielding resolve, to give themselves wholly without pause, to do in one day what others take a hundred, in ten what others take a thousand—to pass from ignorance to wisdom, from softness to strength—is that not a vain hope?

Elder Mr. Liu, well known in his early years, was somewhat full of himself. After he came to Taiwan, he was a rather solitary figure who rarely got along with others, but at least his purse was comfortable. Mindful of his past merits, I often urged him to turn his heart to the Buddha's teaching and find a place of peace for body and soul. He only nodded. A few years back, karmic obstacles surfaced, and he asked me to teach him the Cundi practice. He hadn't been at it half a year when his serious illness cleared and his circumstances changed for the better. Then he found the practice too fussy and wanted to try Chan meditation instead.

I encouraged him with the saying, "There's only one road back to the source, sweet at center and edge alike," and gently declined, confessing I really didn't know Chan. He ended up joining a spirit-worship hall. After a while he took up spirit-writing and inviting deities to possess mediums. I earnestly remonstrated with him, and he seemed to wake up to it. Before long he switched to reciting the Buddha's name, and I was glad for him. I never expected that within a month he suddenly began bowing and chanting the "True Scripture of the Wuji Holy Mother"—a text that had nothing to do with the Dharma at all. Soon he was claiming to see ghosts and spirits, raving incoherently, as if possessed.

I couldn't bear to watch him suffer, so I chanted the Great Compassion Mantra to make blessed water for him, and he recovered. Shortly after, I was transferred to Dongyin Island. Less than half a year later, the sad news reached me: he had passed away. I'd always known that once poisonous teachings take root in the heart, there's no medicine for it—yet the sorrow is still hard to suppress.

The Death of the Heart

Zhuangzi, observing the moral decay of the world, lamented, “Nothing is more sorrowful than the death of the heart.” But does the heart truly live and die? It does. It is the deluded mind, born of conditions, that experiences this cycle. What is born of conditions arises when conditions are present, and fades when they pass—what sorrow is there in that natural ebb and flow? The true tragedy is when base desires burn unchecked, innate wisdom is blocked, moral intuition is snuffed out, the original mind is wholly obscured, and one’s true nature is lost, with no room left for even a moment of self-reflection. This leads first to chasing profit at the expense of righteousness, then to a state where there is no righteousness left to abandon at all—where profit is mistaken for righteousness. It degrades further still: people cling to fleeting conditioned thoughts as their self, treat harmful actions as “following their nature,” until the accumulated grime on the original mind grows ever thicker, the spirit and intellect shrouded and unable to shine. Eventually, people take utilitarianism as the core of their character, hedonism as life’s only aim. With the original mind lost and no spark of spirituality left, they are tossed about by the eight worldly winds, drowned in the six desires, no different from walking corpses. Hence the lament: “Nothing is more sorrowful than the death of the heart!”

The Apex of Learning

Whether you are studying worldly or transcendent subjects, the learning process always starts simple: you move from the shallow to the profound, from the uncomplicated to the complex, and the deeper you go, the more dense and challenging the material becomes. But when you reach a higher level of mastery, the process flips: it shifts from obscure to clear, from complex to simple, until in the end, all that remains is a handful of core formulas, a few fundamental laws, or even a single defining principle. If your learning never reaches this stage, you cannot “master the complex by holding to the simple,” and you will never be able to “apply what you learn to real life.” Few people achieve true mastery of a field, but every person has the innate conditions needed to succeed. If you have those conditions yet still fall short, the missing piece is sincerity. The simple, core meaning of “sincerity leads to enlightenment” is this: when you pour every ounce of your life force into your learning, dedicating all your passion, reason, and focus without the slightest distraction, concentrating all your mental energy into a single point, the flowers of wisdom will bloom, and the radiance of life will burst forth.

The Buddha taught: “When the mind is fixed on one point, no task is impossible to accomplish.” An ancient master shared this gatha: “Studying the Way is like drilling for fire; do not quit when you see smoke. Wait until the golden spark appears, only then can you say you have reached the end.” If you cannot bring your whole heart and focus all your mental energy to your learning, you will never achieve true mastery. Even if you push yourself with sheer rational self-discipline, at best you will become a two-legged walking bookcase: full of information, but no spark of insight or spirit, and you will never reach great heights. Only when you pour both passion and mental energy into your learning will you taste the flourishing springtime of “the scholar finds joy in this learning, the joyful one finds learning in this joy.” Only then will learning become a form of joy itself. Naturally, in that vibrant, carefree state where you forget to eat and forget your worries, where no other pleasure can compare, you will complete your true scholarly achievement. If you approach learning with a frustrated, annoyed mindset instead, it will only become a punishment and a waste of your time. In the end, all you will get is rigid, unoriginal thinking, and no real benefit at all.

Only when you unify knowledge, emotion, and will with your learning can you forge a fully integrated, rational character shaped by your studies: merging emotion into reason, letting reason merge into will, making passion the wellspring of wisdom and infinite creative power. If learning is cut off from thought and irrelevant to real practice, it is not “the learning of a noble person,” and it will damage the wholeness of your character and the balance of your spirit. This is the same bias as “eating without digesting”: just as food that sits too long in the stomach is equally “hard to stomach” and equally harmful and useless. Reaching the state of “mastering the complex by holding to the simple” through learning, and making thought the core of your character, is no small feat, and deeply precious. But even this is not yet the apex of learning. You must keep simplifying, until there is nothing left: no principle stuck in the mind, no matter weighing on the heart. Only then will you see that your learning has been fully digested and completely absorbed. Then you can act without overthinking, attain without scheming, succeed without striving, and “act without acting, act without attachment” — following your heart’s desire without ever overstepping the bounds. Only when you reach this state will you understand that “the sage is not a fixed vessel,” and only then can you be said to embody “supreme clarity while walking the middle way.”

As for the Buddha’s teachings, there is no such tedious back-and-forth: all principles, all phenomena, the moment they are touched, melt like a flake of snow in a blazing furnace, leaving not a trace behind. This is what is called “sudden entry into the inconceivable through total dissolution.” This is what true learning is; all genuine learning follows this pattern.

Vitality

While human worth can be positive or negative, the value of each person’s life and their impact on space and time is always directly proportional to that worth, and the scale of that impact is directly tied to the strength or weakness of their vitality. Speaking from my own experience of practicing and studying the Buddha’s teachings: all phenomena in the material world are differentiated expressions of the flow of life. Though causes and conditions differ, and appearances are not uniform, they share the same fundamental essence even as they appear distinct. Narrowing our scope to human beings: we all have our own origins, and none of us are isolated, random occurrences. If a person forgets their roots, clings to ego-centeredness, and even positions themselves in opposition to the dharma realm, where all distinct phenomena share a single source, the relative insignificance of their life and the triviality of their value is beyond doubt. How could they possibly radiate the light and warmth of life? It is like a table lamp: if it insists on staying isolated, disconnected from its power source, the value or meaning of its existence is “not worth noticing.”

Scholars of the Yoga school hold partially similar views, and have a set of methods for attaining “union” or “correspondence” with Suchness (ultimate reality), but these methods are somewhat mechanical and overly attached to form, and they never escape the temperament of occult practitioners and their own ego-centeredness. Setting that aside for the moment: whether inspired by tradition or self-motivated, if a tiny, seemingly insignificant life hopes to radiate like nuclear energy—thoroughly, unreservedly unleashing its full potential and value—it cannot afford to belittle its own capacity.

The great Confucian sages and gentlemen, through expressing their profound compassion—their “sorrow for the world’s suffering, sharing the people’s hunger and hardship,” their care for all beings as one family—and through their steadfast, heroic spirit of “not being corrupted by wealth and honor, not being swayed by poverty and low status, not being subdued by power and force,” affirmed the meaning of “the Way is not far from people” and “people expand the Way, the Way does not expand people.” They fundamentally corrected people’s decadent ideas of self-desecration and self-abasement, establishing the core truth: humans create gods, not the other way around.

Is the Buddha’s teaching any different? Put simply, studying the Dharma means cutting straight to the core: thoroughly severing the root of self, shattering ego-consciousness and all the entanglements that spring from it. By aligning with truth to realize ultimate reality, you can fully and unreservedly unleash your power to nurture all beings with compassion, devote your reason to their welfare, transform them through moral example, guide their actions, lead their lives, spiritually inspire them, and touch others through the infectious power of your character. You take the entire boundless void as the magnetic field of your life, extending for all eternity. Any other talk of vitality is just life without true aliveness, breath without strength—all false, all unreal.

A Wise Plan

In the Song Dynasty, Zhu Zhongxin, in his Record of the Great Death Hermitage written for the abbot of Nanhua Temple, observed: “People’s lifespans vary, but seventy years is a rough average. At ten, you are a child, staying at your parents’ side, learning to adjust to changes in cold, warmth, dryness, and dampness, and to eat, dress, and live appropriately, until you reach adulthood. This is the ‘plan for livelihood.’ At twenty, you are a grown man, strong in body and sharp of will, entering the fray of fame and profit, sharpening your skills and gearing up for battle to come out on top, like a fine steed in the stable dreaming of galloping a thousand miles. This is the ‘plan for the body.’ Between thirty and forty, you think day and night of how to act for gain: you crave high status, great wealth, a large household, many children. This is the ‘plan for the family.’ At fifty, your mind is weary and your strength spent; looking back over your life, your ambitions and strategies are exhausted, the Western Mountain’s setting sun draws ever closer, the horse that crosses the gap will not tarry. You should follow the flow of conditions, quiet your mind and end your restless thoughts, sheathe your sword and put it away, like a silkworm spinning its cocoon. This is the ‘plan for old age.’ After sixty, one full cycle of the sixty-year zodiac has passed, the sun dips behind the mountains, and death comes in an instant. You look inward at your own mind, and make sure there is not the slightest regret. This is the ‘plan for death.’” Zhu’s words are a vivid portrait of human life across all ages and cultures. As the old saying goes, “To know the bitterness of the world, you must taste gall; to understand human nature, just look at the flowers.” These five plans are certainly crafted with great care, but none of them escape the grip of “self.” You inevitably end up a slave to your body, your nature sinking into material pursuits. These plans are not foolproof, so how can they be called a “wise plan”?

What’s more, at the age when you are just coming to understand your destiny, when your wisdom and discernment are finally maturing, to hastily lower your sails and drift aimlessly with the world, with no direction of your own, is no acceptable life path. Still, this five-stage plan is still several steps better than the Qin First Emperor and Emperor Wu of Han, who foolishly hoped for eternal life, or Cao Cao and the eunuch Wei, who built deceptive tombs long before their deaths. Ultimately, though, it falls far short of the truly wise path: taking refuge in the Three Jewels, upholding the Five Precepts, practicing the Six Perfections, cutting off the view of a permanent self, realizing the patience of no-birth, and resolving everything once and for all. As the saying goes, “Planning for this life is not as good as planning for what comes after death, and delaying your plan is never as good as starting early.” Since you know life must end in death, why not prepare for it now? If you wait until you are old and senile to turn your mind to calming your thoughts and purifying your intentions, it will be too late. On top of that, the habits you have built over countless past lives are impossible to erase in an instant, and the two kinds of deep-rooted clinging—to self and to dharmas—are nearly impossible to break. A mind bent on taking shortcuts leads people to procrastinate, putting off what matters most. For those who do not plan early for their return to their true home, this is a wrong plan.

Peace and Security Are Blessings

Balance and tranquility are life’s greatest blessings. When the body is in balance, you avoid the suffering of the four elements falling out of harmony and the five aggregates burning with desire. When the mind is in balance, you feel no excess excitement, impulsiveness, loneliness, or depression. When your income and spending are in balance, you avoid the embarrassment of living beyond your means and having creditors knock at your door. The reverse is also true: if you indulge in the pleasure of fine food and drink, your body falls out of balance, and illness follows. If your mind is enslaved by material things, it falls out of balance, and afflictions spring up like weeds. If you spend without restraint, your income and spending fall out of balance, and you will often be pushed into poverty. This is why only balance can bring peace: if you seek peace, you must first seek balance. If we can strive for balance in every part of our lives, we will not only have a clear conscience and feel at ease, but the great path to enlightenment will also be contained within it. Have you not heard the Sixth Patriarch, Master Huineng, teach: “If the mind is even, why bother upholding the precepts? If your actions are upright, what need is there to practice Chan?” As long as you can follow the middle path with composure, nurturing your innate nature without harm, you will see the four marks dissolve completely, the eight worldly winds will not move you, and you will attain great equality and great stability. What worldly blessing could possibly compare? Hence the saying: peace and security are blessings!

The Primacy of Stillness

Stillness is vitality fully stored and accumulated; movement is vitality fully expressed and extended. Only by understanding the interplay of stillness and movement can you skillfully regulate body and mind to enrich and unleash life’s full potential. This is why Confucius and Yan Hui practiced the “fasting of the mind” and “sitting and forgetting,” entering virtue through stillness. Most Confucian scholars of the Song and Ming dynasties also advocated for the primacy of stillness. All people across history and around the world who have dedicated themselves to unraveling the big questions of the universe and human life, seeking a thorough, perfect answer, have also started from stillness and concentration. Only then can your body and mind become “as steady as a rising sun, as rooted as a heavy tripod,” and only then do you have the conditions to “fully explore the principles of all things, exhaust your own nature, and fulfill the mandates of heaven.” It is not only Buddhist practitioners and those cultivating the Way who need to restore their vital energy: even a politician or military leader capable of bearing great burdens relies on inner clarity, cultivated through tranquility, to achieve far-reaching goals.

Nietzsche divided people’s spiritual states into the “Apollonian” and the “Dionysian.” The former symbolizes the wise person unmoved by the eight worldly winds, standing atop the peak of life, using the gaze of wisdom to illuminate all things, with a mind of perfect equality, free of love or hate. The latter represents the flow of life where the six desires run wild, the seven emotions overflow, all things are impermanent, and fantasies are endless. The former is a metaphor for a state of spiritual tranquility; the latter for an unbridled, restless mind, like an untamed horse or a hyperactive monkey. It is clear he advocated for the unity of wisdom and meditative concentration. In Dante’s Divine Comedy, the devils that embody lust are cast into an endless, unceasing hell, where they suffer eternal torture with no end in sight. This makes us suspect that the souls being punished in hell may well be disciples of the Dionysian. In short, stillness elevates wisdom and brings balance to body and mind; impetuousness, wildness, impulsiveness, and arrogance, by contrast, only cause life to sink into the muck.

When the True Path Flourishes, Demons Fade of Their Own Accord

“We live in the age of the Dharma’s decline, when demons are strong and the Dharma is weak” is an undeniably harsh truth. But when it comes to the degenerate signs of “heavenly beings growing fewer, and the evil realms filling up,” who is truly responsible? It is not right to lay all the blame on demons. To be frank, the root cause of the True Path fading and demons flourishing is human beings: it is the people of today who are fueling the flames of demonic energy. The rise and fall of heavenly beings and the evil realms has always depended on no one but us: if every person upholds the Five Precepts and practices the Ten Good Deeds, the heavenly realms will naturally be full of beings, and the hells and asura realms will naturally cease to exist. When most people hold fast to deeply entrenched dualistic clinging, and the three poisons burn fiercely, heavenly beings will naturally be as scarce as morning stars, while the evil realms will inevitably grow in power. That old saying about “when the path rises one foot, the demons rise ten feet”? It is clearly an empty excuse we tell ourselves to avoid responsibility: people are willingly wallowing in degradation, choosing to become demonic minions. But as long as we follow the true Dharma, abandon wrong views, quiet selfish minds, expand public integrity, fulfill our duties and obligations, and strive to be good people, how could ghosts and goblins dare to act with impunity under the light of the Buddha’s teachings? We will see the Pure Land filled with those of the highest grade, the heavenly realms populated with more good deities, the human world transformed into a pure land, and hells left with nothing but an empty name. Is this not wonderful? How marvelous.

Literati Should Study the Dharma

Yasunari Kawabata, the Japanese writer who was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, took his own life following a line of earlier Japanese literati including Kitamura Hidekoku, Takeo Arishima, Ryūnosuke Akutagawa, Yukio Mishima, and others. This has left many with the impression that pessimism and world-weariness are a common trait among Japanese writers. In fact, we have had similar precedents in China since ancient times, with figures like Qu Yuan and Li Bai. The old saying that "literary genius is spurned by fate" holds true across all eras and cultures, and there is no doubt that a causal relationship lies behind this phenomenon. For any independent-minded pure literary writer, there is inevitably a degree of contradiction between their thoughts, emotions and the realities of the society they live in. If their inner cultivation has not yet reached a state of clear, empty awareness—that is, abiding in form without being attached to it, immersed in the world while remaining transcendent of it—then the ethereal, otherworldly cast of their thoughts, the unorthodox nature of their feelings, the aloofness of their character, and the void at their core are more than enough to weave a tragic fate for them. A keen sensitivity to the world around them, paired with sharp, reflexive thinking, is a shared trait of all writers, whether realist or romantic... When this comes through in their work, they often channel their subjective experiences to give readers fresh, stirring spiritual resonances. Even realist writers, unless they are churning out lowbrow commercial fare designed to pander to popular taste, tend to maintain a certain distance from everyday society, thanks to the sharp, specific focus of their themes. This is even more evident when we look at the unique lifestyles of most writers. Most writers prefer the quiet of deep night, alone in a room, working under a lamp. At first, their thoughts fly freely, blurring the line between reality and fantasy; then, all their emotions surge like heaving waves; suddenly their face lights up with joy, and they grab their brush and scribble feverishly; finally, they toss down their pen and sigh deeply, drained and listless. How is this any different from a spring silkworm spinning its cocoon, binding itself layer by layer? It spins every inch of its soft silk into a tragic, lingering drama of life, casting itself as the lead, almost as if it has merged with the character it created. It burns through every last spark of its life, and the moment it thinks it can catch a breath of rest, the pot of boiling water is already waiting. Clearly, for those who make writing their entire existence, when they have no way to work through the countless contradictions of real life, they fall into a state of utter dejection, all joy in living drained away. They spend their whole lives striving to beautify and elevate reality, only to end up completely severed from it. As the line goes, "How could one with such deep feeling ever be free of this burden?" Those who can withstand it are no longer mere literary writers. If one is blessed with good karmic affinity from the start, and fortunate enough to be close to wise spiritual teachers, able to settle their mind in the Dharma, then even if they only glimpse a single facet of ultimate truth, how can illusory, empty phenomena cloud their eyes? Every line they write will glimmer with spiritual insight, and they will partake of the wondrous samadhi of words. How could they ever end up with a dried-up spiritual spring and withered vitality? For this reason, it is said: Literati should study the Dharma.

Choosing Friends

Friendship is one of the five core relationships in Confucian ethics. As long as we have not shed our social nature, and do not live in isolation like Robinson Crusoe, friends are a necessity. When it comes to spiritual practice, choosing the right friends is also one of the key requisites for progressing on the path. There are many beautiful stories of friendship from ancient times: the life-bound bond of Zuo Botao and Yang Jiao'ai, who laid down their lives for one another; the friendship of Guan Zhong and Bao Shuya, who prized righteousness above gold; the kindred pursuit of Hanshan and Shide; the close camaraderie of Yangshan and Xiangyan. Take Xuefeng Yicun, for instance: if he had not had the encouragement and inspiration of his close friend Yantou, when would he ever have realized the truth that "all of it flows from your own bosom, spreading across heaven and earth!"? For this reason, Confucius also said that "learning alone without friends leads to narrowness and ignorance." He advised making friends with those who are upright, trustworthy, and knowledgeable. Interaction between individuals, and even between groups, is a defining feature of how human culture develops and takes shape, and friendship is no exception. Spending time with good friends is like entering a room full of orchids: after a while, you stop noticing their fragrance; spending time with bad friends is like entering a shop selling dried fish: after a while, you stop noticing their stench. The saying "he who stays near vermilion gets stained red, he who stays near ink gets stained black" also speaks to the immense power of mutual influence and assimilation between friends, warning us to choose our companions with care. But there are many ways to choose friends; what should we prioritize above all? The most important priority is shared ideals and values. Only with that foundation can we be open and honest with each other, our hearts and minds in perfect accord, support each other in times of need, and uphold moral principles together. As the saying goes, "if our paths are not the same, we cannot make plans together." How could we even speak of sitting together by the west window with a trimmed candle, sharing our innermost thoughts?

If You

If you'll approach work as a source of joy, work will give you happiness, health, bountiful results, and honor you never had to chase. On the other hand, if you go to work with a sense of weary, helpless resentment, work will only leave you feeling drained and burdened. In the end, all you will gain is failure and dejection. If you pursue your studies driven by an ideal, with genuine enthusiasm, you will gradually feel as if you are chewing an olive: slowly you'll grow addicted to it, even forgetting to eat and sleep, unable to stop even if you wanted to. If this is the case, your learning will take root in the soil of your heart; as long as you keep pouring your heart and effort into it, it will gradually sprout, grow strong, and bloom with joy in your chest. On the other hand, no matter if you are motivated by utilitarian goals, or have the dogged perseverance of the Foolish Old Man Who Removed the Mountains, if you are studying something you do not love, even if you spend your entire life memorizing every volume of the Encyclopedia, the Siku Quanshu (Imperial Library of the Four Treasuries), and the entire Buddhist canon, at best you'll only be a walking bookcase with two legs. You will have made no great contribution to others or to yourself. If you constantly reflect with an open mind, repenting of your faults and holding yourself accountable, others will have no cause to criticize you. On the other hand, if you're accustomed to making excuses for yourself and letting yourself off the hook, it will be very hard for you to gain forgiveness from others. If you view the suffering of others as your own suffering, and rush to aid others in their crises as you would your own, no extra disaster will befall you. On the other hand, if you never curb your habit of watching fires burn across the river, your delight in others’ misfortunes, then all the things you take pleasure in seeing will eventually become your own personal experiences. If you enjoy the blessing of peace with a grateful heart, and savor the quiet joy of tranquility, then it is truly said that "bright moon and cool breeze cannot be bought with idle money." With your plain, unassuming mind alone, you already have a solid foundation for cultivating virtue. On the other hand, if you find peace too dull and tranquility too boring, then you are not just "bad at idling at home." Mark my words: sooner or later you will stir up trouble, ruin your character and morals, bring disaster to your family, all because of that one impulsive thought that cannot bear to be alone. If you are a cultivated lay Buddhist, you will surely know that while the various Buddhist schools have branched into many different lineages, each has its own unique mission; the countless Dharma paths are valuable only insofar as they suit the capacity of the practitioner. Though the hundreds of thousands of samadhis do not intersect with one another, it is said that "like eating honey, it is sweet from the center to the edge." This "great matter" that only Buddhas can fully realize, I believe you will surely uphold with the view that "all dharmas are equal, none are superior or inferior," rejoicing in and praising it, and strengthening the faith of others. On the other hand, if you have barely scratched the surface of the Dharma yet pretend to be an expert, spouting nonsense and confusion, slandering one teaching while praising another; or if you cling to superficial, sectarian views, limit your own mind and capacity, stir up conflict and slander, and blaspheme against sages and holy beings, then you can be sure that you will be driven mad by afflictions, lose your innate wisdom, and even if a thousand Buddhas were to appear in the world, they could not break open your sealed, deluded mind. If you...

How Admirable, Yuanming

Those who enjoy reading the poetry and prose of Yuanming (Tao Qian) should not only admire the mournful, solitary frustration reflected in his writings, born of his loyalty to his sovereign and state. We should especially revere the icy, unyielding character and transcendent, free-spirited sentiment he displayed after the Liu Song regime usurped the throne of the Eastern Jin. His literary style is a secondary matter, after all: his ancestors had served the Jin court for generations, and when he personally experienced the grief and resentment of a lost state, it was only natural that he would pour out the grief and indignation filling his heart. Take his "Ode to Jing Ke" and his third "Imitation of Ancient Poems":

In my youth I was vigorous and bold, I wandered alone, sword in hand, Who says my travels took me only near? From Zhangye all the way to Youzhou; Hungry, I ate the ferns of Mount Shouyang, Thirsty, I drank the waters of the Yi River, I saw no friend I knew, only ancient graves; Two tall mounds stand beside the road, Bo Ya and Zhuangzi lie beneath, Such men are hard to find again, Where is my path to take me now? These lines carry a powerful sense of great ambition unfulfilled, and the pain of finding no kindred spirit who understands you. He could only watch as the Song dynasty grew prosperous and powerful, its governance reaching a state of peace and stability, with no power to turn the tide of history, so he could only pour his unfulfilled longings into poetry and wine. Reading his Biography of Master Five Willows and Returning Home, his longing for nature leaps off the page. In the end, he was able to shake off the dust of the mundane world, open his heart wide, settle his mind beyond material things, free and unrestrained; picking chrysanthemums by the eastern fence, raising his cup in the western pavilion—how admirable he is! His poetry and prose lay his true heart and character bare; his integrity and resolve in life were flawless. As he wrote, "When you fail to achieve your goal, look inward to blame yourself." How admirable Yuanming is!

Promoting Both Buddhism and Confucianism

What enables any nation to endure for generations, growing ever more vibrant and leaving a lasting legacy, is ultimately its unique inner character, shared external expression, and the national culture that crystallizes from these. Whether any given culture can grow brighter the more it is polished, grow firmer the more it is tested, and remain fresh and relevant through the ages, depends entirely on the strength of its ability to permeate, solidify, and radiate. Chinese culture, represented by Confucianism, is the pinnacle of humanistic thought. In terms of scholarship, the Six Classics and Six Arts are all essential to human life. In terms of governance, the Confucian values of caring for one's kin and benevolent rule over the people are rooted in the fundamental needs of human beings, and the needs people have for one another. The core spirit of Confucianism is thus to elevate the quality and dignity of human beings in order to meet these needs. The very character rú (儒, the Chinese term for Confucian) is composed of the radicals for "person" and "need," carrying the core meanings of "people being needed" and "people needing one another." Confucianism was fully formed two thousand years ago, actually earlier than Indian, Hebrew, Greek, and Roman thought, and it places special emphasis on the value of human beings, which is why it has remained fresh and relevant through the ages. Its teachings of "illuminating virtue" and "loving the people," its path of "investigating phenomena to extend knowledge," and even the axiom "the mandate of Heaven is what we call human nature; following human nature is the Way..." all accord with the universal principle that unites humanity and the cosmos. The Master’s Four Avoidances, the Four Virtue Sprouts, and the Four Topics He Did Not Discuss are all the righteous path for both humans and the cosmos, and the ultimate standard for human moral conduct. At a time when material desire runs rampant and the human heart is drowning in it, promoting both Buddhism and Confucianism can remedy the one-sidedness of Western culture and the atrophy of Eastern culture, laying the foundation for a Pure Land on earth. Who could argue this is not necessary?

Karmic Obstacles

Some people often feel that in their work, studies, and social interactions, they are constantly bound by an invisible restraint, an inexplicable pressure that makes their words and actions seem awkward and clumsy, leaving others with the impression that they are unnatural, withdrawn, even cold and ignoble. This shows that the problem is not just excessive self-consciousness; it extends to the need to compensate for karmic debts accumulated from past wrongful actions. The karmic record people accumulate from erroneous or malicious thoughts and actions is just like personal debt. Before bankruptcy is declared, the mandatory interest payments create a vicious cycle that overwhelms people, causing them to lose their usual composure and calm. This is much like what is called "karmic obstruction": once your credit is completely ruined and bankruptcy is declared, it mirrors "karmic retribution" when evil deeds have reached their full measure. Of course, if you owe too much monetary debt, your finances will collapse and you will struggle to make ends meet; if you owe too much in the debt of conscience, it will ferment in your subconscious all the same, producing a disruptive effect on your body and mind. When it reaches a severe degree, it will exhaust the living spring of your soul, cause the light of your life to fade completely, and plunge your life into a bitter, dim state. This state is what the ancients called "Heaven robbing one of their soul." It leaves their spiritual clarity blocked, their thoughts muddled, every step they take inviting blame, every path blocked, until they "destroy themselves" at last. This is exactly what we commonly call karmic obstruction and karmic retribution. Karma is the accumulation of the "value" of our actions, the basis for the recompense we must pay. It is divided into pure and defiled, good and evil. Here we only discuss evil karma; you can "draw inferences from one example" for the rest. Obstruction carries meanings of covering, hindering, disturbing, and deluding. Any person who has not committed evil deeds will not encounter obstacles that block their spiritual nature and bind their mind. They will naturally have an open, cheerful heart, clear and bright wisdom, pure enthusiasm, and natural, graceful conduct. If they have accumulated a great deal of good karma, even if their current life is hard and poor, they will constantly feel a sense of light ease and joy welling up from within. The oppressive, corrosive, and binding effect of karmic obstruction on life is indeed terrifying, but this is only like a debtor paying interest. Once karmic retribution manifests, it is like a formal ruling of "bankruptcy"—that is the truly devastating blow. The good news is that before karmic retribution manifests, there is still a chance to turn things around. As long as you are doubly vigilant and diligent, actively practice all good deeds to seek mitigation, hold firm faith in the Three Jewels, earnestly purify your karma, accumulate pure merit, dedicate it to the entire Dharma realm, and extend it to both friends and enemies, then karmic knots can be untied, sins can be erased, heavy retribution can be lightened. Karmic obstruction will not only be eliminated, but you will even find joy in the sight of the bright moon once the floating clouds have scattered! I urge you to take this to heart, and be careful not to plant the seeds of such causes.

The Mind as Master of Form

"If one can turn things around, one is like the Tathagata." The key difference between sages and ordinary people is this: the sage's mind transforms things, while the ordinary person's mind is enslaved by them. Because the mind transforms things, one can churn a river into ghee and press the earth into gold. Because the mind is enslaved by things, the spirit is trapped in the body, and the mind is held captive by material objects. As material civilization advances by leaps and bounds, our deepest worry is the inverse relationship between material progress and spiritual decline. Simply put: the more developed material civilization becomes, the more the human spirit shrivels; the higher the material standard of living, the more spiritual life withers. In the future, steeped in extreme utilitarianism within a highly industrialized world, humanity may well mutate into a pathological society that embodies utilitarianism—a reversal of human evolution itself. Today’s widespread confusion of decline with progress—mistaking sinking for rising—is merely the overture to such a society. If you doubt this, just wait and see.

Setting aside for now how material desire drowns out humanity and how vanity smothers simplicity—just look around: where aren’t there vitamin fanatics, beauty obsessives, and gold-digging frenzies? They’re everywhere! The so-called vitamin fanatics treat vitamins as their primary life source. They’re so obsessed that some even take them as their “staple food,” popping every kind of pill, tablet, powder, and injection, not to mention oral supplements. As for those tasty chewables, they keep them in their mouths all day, and vitamin C candies are especially popular with women. From overuse and careless injections, some have gone blind from vitamin A toxicity, developed hepatitis, or suffered liver damage. Kids accidentally eating cod liver oil candies and getting sick is even more common. And the number of people suffering chronic poisoning from manganese-fortified milk is especially high. Then there are the many who’ve developed cancer from hormone shots, breast implants, or buttock enhancements. This obsession—losing your mind to things and martyring your body for material gain—isn’t just a waste of money and a health hazard; it’s sheer madness. It’s pure folly.

Take those oral supplements: the actual medicine costs at most fifty NT cents, packaging maybe two dollars, yet they sell for eight or ten. Making such huge profits is practically fraudulent, yet the brands are endless and sales are phenomenal. Who knew there were so many newly rich and suckers out there! With this in mind, a clever entrepreneur might consider a new venture: all that free hormone and excess vitamin in public and private urinals surely has economic potential.

As for the beauty-obsessed, from noses and teeth to breasts, hair, and buttocks, hardly anything is real anymore. They end up completely unrecognizable. A popular new facelift procedure for “rejuvenation” does erase wrinkles, but unfortunately, in eight or nine out of ten cases, the ability to express emotion vanishes along with them. If you force a smile, it often looks worse than a frown. What’s the point? The gold-digging frenzies are the worst. Their unscrupulous money-making methods are too appalling to describe. These people don’t just sell their face for money; they literally love wealth more than life itself! Just read the papers—what day goes by without someone getting nabbed for money?

Today, if you talk about “eating late as if it were meat, and walking calmly as if riding a carriage,” you’ll be mocked as pedantic and out of touch. And trying to explain how the mind turns things feels too lofty for most people to grasp. So let’s just chat about the commonsense idea that the mind rules the body—that might strike a chord. The nervous system controls our five senses, four limbs, and five organs, centered in the brain and governed by the pituitary gland, which regulates our hormones. So when the mind is calm and clear, “the sovereign is at peace, and all parts obey its command.” If no internal thief arises, external evils cannot enter. Since each organ does its job, even coarse rice and vegetable roots can keep you healthy. Don’t believe it? Look at dairy cows: fed only dry grass with carbs and fiber, through sugar conversion and liver processing, they produce milk full of fat, lactose, protein, and vitamins. You can’t compare that caloric and nutritional value to dry grass.

In daily life, we should certainly choose nutritious, clean food to keep our liver and kidneys from overworking. But if we just flood our bodies with excess “finished products”—supplements—our organs stop doing their own processing and go idle. Not only will they lament, “Am I but a useless gourd?” but their functions will degrade and eventually disappear. Once that happens, if the supplements run out, vitality collapses, and nothing can save you. Whose fault is that? As for hormones: unless you’re congenitally deficient or need them medically, don’t use them casually. Otherwise, over time, even if you dodge cancer, your gonads will atrophy and stop functioning. How is that not self-harm?

“A person is a vessel of the mind.” The mind is the master of the form. Humans are the spiritual beings of all creation precisely because of this clear, luminous mind. If that luminosity is blocked, even with a six-foot body, one is nothing more than a walking corpse. How does that differ from beasts? Physiology alone shows how the five organs and every bone are shaped by the mind. Take longing: if you pine for a lover you can’t have, thinking of them day and night, desire sparks a surge of sex hormones. This excess stimulates the central nervous system, creating agitation. In mild cases, this leads to nocturnal emissions, nervous exhaustion, dulled intelligence, and low spirits; in severe cases, it causes mental breakdown, obsession, or hypersexuality. When secretion spikes here, it drops there. The heart, liver, stomach, and lungs all weaken; this is endocrine imbalance. If you don’t wake up, cultivate sincerity, and steady your mind to restore balance, your once vibrant spirit will soon grow listless.

Or consider mouth-watering: seeing food you can’t eat triggers digestive hormones to prepare your gut. Sudden fright makes you lose control of your bladder—bile secretion spikes. And “looking at plums to quench thirst” is a classic example of the mind conditioning the body. Sorrow harms the liver, worry damages the spleen, grief attacks the lungs, and overexcitement disrupts the heart. These are fixed laws, not possibilities. There’s no doubt left: the mind affects the body.

Know this: nothing preserves life like reducing desire, and nothing protects the body like cultivating virtue. “Keep your thoughts pure” naturally means “virtue nourishes the body.” Talking about health while ignoring this is like “climbing a tree to catch fish”—you’ve abandoned the root to chase branches. If you pin your hopes on drugs and supplements, it’s not just foolish—it’s actively harming yourself and shortening your life. Shouldn’t we reflect on this, beware of it, and choose wisely?

The Mechanism of Fortune and Misfortune

“To have absolute sincerity allows one to know things in advance” does not rely on spiritual powers or mystical calculations. Because “things have inevitable outcomes, and principles are naturally so”; objects have signs, and phenomena have omens. Thus, the wise see the subtle and know the significant; philosophers rely on principles to make decisions, and they never err. From great affairs of the world to the good or bad fortune of individuals and families, all have mechanisms. When the allotted time is fulfilled, the mechanism is triggered. Mechanisms all have underlying principles; understanding the principles allows one to know the mechanism and control it before it is triggered. As it is said, “To know the mechanism is to be divine!” “Truly steadfast, without any other skill”—one merely understands the ultimate principles and is well-versed in the laws.

Someone might ask: Can a mechanism be known before it has even sprouted?
The answer: Yes. By examining the trends, one can know the mechanism; by reflecting on the past, one can understand the present.

The questioner continues: This is the principle of the I Ching, where the hexagram lines are signs and omens. But as the lines multiply, the texts become more obscure. I have yet to see the secret of simplifying the complex and controlling the complex with the simple. Can it be summed up in a single sentence?
The answer: Why a whole sentence? It can actually be encompassed by a single word: “Open”!

Heaven and earth take their places, and all things are nurtured—this begins with “opening.” Chaos opens, and heaven and earth are established; the three yang lines open, and the era of peace arrives. Opening up matters and accomplishing tasks is the common phenomenon of human evolution; being open and above board is the shared virtue of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors. Everything has a beginning, and in Buddhism, enlightenment (literally “opening awakening”) is highly valued. Just this single word “open” is saturated with the spirit of creation and brimming with boundless vitality. From ancient times to the present, all things and all matters depend on opening to be completed; they must open to survive, and without opening, there is no way to develop. Opening is the beginning of accomplishing tasks, and it is also the highest ideal of human evolution—“leaving the outer gates unclosed.”

If you still have doubts, I am willing to provide concrete examples to prove it:

▲ Our curtains and windows: open, and it’s bright; closed, and it’s dark. Open windows let air circulate, refreshing the spirit; closed windows make the air stale and the mind sluggish.
▲ Pond water is muddy because it doesn’t flow; ravine water is clear because it runs free.
▲ It is true that “the way of the superior man has its origins in the relationship between husband and wife, and in its highest reaches, it can be observed throughout heaven and earth.” Yet if our ancestors had refused to open tribal society to wider relationships, “extratribal marriage” could never have happened. Had we remained in “intratribal blood marriage,” how could we have “broken through” the murky currents of “species evolution”? If we only knew our mothers and not our fathers, how could we speak of “affection between father and son, righteousness between husband and wife,” or “fatherly kindness, filial piety, brotherly friendliness, and fraternal respect”? Such kinship would be inconceivable, let alone any dignity of human nature!
▲ Look at fruits, vegetables, and grains: new varieties bred through open selection and crossbreeding are far superior to the originals in quality, yield, and growing conditions. This goes without saying.
▲ Why did the civilizations of Babylon, Egypt, and India flash like an “epiphyllum bloom”? Why did Chinese, Greek, and Roman cultures multiply and innovate? There is no other reason: the former were “closed-circuit,” inevitably suffocating and decaying, losing all vitality; the latter were “open-ended,” undergoing stirring integration and thus renewing themselves day by day.
▲ The Han and Jin dynasties governed by promoting the filial, honest, upright, and principled, so governance was simple, punishments light, the people secure, and goods plentiful. Once they prioritized personal ties and factionalism, the troubles of maternal relatives arose, the disaster of the Partisan Prohibitions emerged, and the Rebellion of the Eight Princes broke out. Thus we know: loyalty, if public-spirited, achieves great things; understanding, if not open, inevitably breeds disaster.
▲ The “Taiping Heavenly Kingdom” fell not because of Zeng and Zuo, as some commentators claim. In truth, Hong, Yang, and their ilk didn’t fall to pedantic scholar-militias; they fell because they forgot their roots, betrayed their ancestors and the Way, and fought amongst themselves for power. Since they refused to open their hearts and manifest justice to practice kingly benevolence, and couldn’t recruit talent or enforce fair rewards and punishments to achieve magnanimous rule, how could they not perish, being so self-enclosed? They destroyed themselves. Zeng, Zuo, and the others merely pushed over an already dead tree and pulled down an already rotten wall—they certainly didn’t claim credit.
▲ In Buddhism itself, the great masters of the Dharma have mostly been nurtured in the open monasteries of the ten directions. “Descendant temples” only produce decadent, lazy monks who care only for their food. Why? Because the former uphold selfless precepts, jointly observe pure rules, and handle public rights and wrongs without exception; the latter have family rules, deep affection between master and disciple, and handle private rights and wrongs in a slipshod manner.
▲ A greenhouse can usurp nature’s work, cultivating winter lotuses and summer plums, but it cannot grow pillars of state. The Green Standard Army consisted entirely of Eight Banners scions—well-treated and handsomely paid—yet they couldn’t withstand a single blow from roving bandits. Why?

In short, from top to bottom, from ancient to modern, from China to abroad: only public-spiritedness brings clarity, and only openness accomplishes tasks. The work of creation, the mechanism of fortune and misfortune—all hinge on this. What more is there to doubt?

Note: “相聚而麀” — “麀” (yōu) refers to a female deer. The term “聚麀” (jù yōu) describes the promiscuous practice of fathers and sons sharing the same woman.

Joy

Joy is the pure essence and sweet dew of spiritual life, the vibrant spring of existence, the essence of happiness, and the manifestation of truth, goodness, and beauty. Though joy is not morality itself, it can eradicate evil and dissolve resentment. Though it does not rely on sacrifices or prayers, it naturally summons peace and makes all things prosper. A person filled with joy would never do anything that violates the laws of heaven or human decency. Have you ever seen someone steeped in joy harm others or destroy themselves?

Yet joy is not pleasure, and excitement is by no means joy. True joy is a serene comfort that rises from the soul—a blend of optimism, contentment, gratitude, open-mindedness, altruism, selflessness, and non-attachment that heralds all that is good. Excitement, on the other hand, only disrupts the harmony and tranquility of your body and mind, leaving you emptier and lonelier. Pleasure often demands an extravagant price; not only is it hard to come by, but it’s even harder to maintain. Yet apart from churning up a splash in the calm lake of your mind, it offers no real benefit to true, lasting happiness.

Joy alone is impartial to wealth or poverty, regardless of status. Hold onto it, and it’s yours; reach out, and it’s there. Since this is so, why don’t you grasp it tightly? Spread it and expand it in all directions!

Hong Tong Finds His Own Way

The exhibition of native painter Hong Tong was like a stone dropped into a still pond, sending ripples through the stagnant art world. As the water splashed, those ripples spread outward in all directions. Why did Hong Tong’s exhibition produce such a shock? Beyond his legendary story, it’s his stubborn character—unbowed by poverty, untroubled by technique, unbound by rules, and unconcerned with the mainstream—and his fierce drive to express himself. He lacks the purely subjective, illusion-prone qualities of abstract painters, so his work doesn’t confuse or obscure. He has indeed paved his own path—faithfully expressing himself.

If we refuse to accept that only Hong Tong can paint a truly Hong Tong painting, and instead judge him by traditional styles he both uses and transcends, modern techniques he both employs and beautifies, or freehand brushwork that is both rustic and profound, we’re not really critiquing art—we’re imposing a monopoly that limits who can paint and silences those who dare to differ. That’s not art criticism. Such arbitrary evaluations, meant to intimidate rather than encourage, are not only deeply unfair to Hong Tong but also strangle the budding talents brimming with creative desire. If you admit that artists don’t have to follow the academic route, then surely you must also admit that breaking the mold and creating a new style is precisely what is most difficult and most valuable in an artist. If that’s true, then it’s clear: Hong Tong has his own road to the heavens. Don’t force him to walk yours.

A Level Heart

Low follows high as shadow follows light; what stands out sharpest is what most reveals the flaw. Comfort is shadowed by worry; excitement gives way to deflation. All the pairs—light and dark, rise and fall, openness and blockage, adversity and ease, gain and loss, beauty and ugliness, honor and disgrace, safety and peril, life and death, suffering and joy—can only flicker across the surface of churning thoughts and outward-running mind, and in the end must vanish into the balancing play of opposites, where positive and negative cancel each other and suchness-as-such alone remains—leaving not the slightest trace.

Don't talk of "in stillness, all things find their own." Apart from suffering, emptiness, impermanence, and no-self, who has ever truly obtained anything? Always we grasp at empty air, snatch at echoes, and toil in vain. Why not curb the Three Dukes and Six Ministers, enthrone the Mind-King, and let him reign with folded hands? Practicing the governance of non-action, the seas calm and the rivers clear of themselves. Already we hear the old folk singing their songs—what has imperial power to do with us? No matter how gifted you are, however brimming with stratagems your mind may be, once every official does his duty and the four quarters submit, where is there room for you to gallop and charge? If you truly believe peace is a blessing, then take to heart: "a level heart dissolves wholly of itself."

Note: Three Dukes—body, speech, and mind. Six Ministers—the six sense faculties.

Gods and Buddhas Walk Different Paths

Many who have practiced long and studied hard, yet found no place to rest, show how boundless the Dharma gates are—the further shore is hard to glimpse. Yet the Buddha-Dharma does have a single, essential key that can reduce the complex to the simple. What is it? Release from clinging. Let go of one degree of clinging, and you realize one degree of the Way; let go of ten degrees, and ten degrees of your innate luminous nature are revealed; once all clinging is utterly cut away, in that instant the Dharma-body is perfectly realized. The saying "all sages differ only in their realization of the unconditioned" points precisely to this: the stages of cultivation and the gradations among the saints all reflect how far clinging has been released, and the only difference is whether clinging is present, and how thin or thick.

Suppose a Dharma student keeps the precepts strictly, understands the teachings deeply, practices the Noble Eightfold Path, and unites conduct with understanding—yet at every turn of right and wrong, at every mark of good and evil, a clinging mind arises; he delights in denouncing the false and despising evil; is pleased to see the good rewarded and the wicked punished; when injustice appears, his righteous fury swells; when inequity meets his eye, the spirit of the knight-errant leaps awake. In worldly terms, he is no doubt a righteous man; his sense of justice, his sympathy, his chivalric heart—all are rare and precious. But from the standpoint of one who has set out on the Buddha-Dharma, having given rise to the supreme mind, one should not take up another vehicle. To drift instead toward the divine way is neither wise nor worthy. Why does studying the Buddha end in becoming a deity? Only because clinging has produced bias, and where bias grows heavy, one falls.

One is "upright as a human"—how could one then escape becoming "bright and upright as a deity"? If one constantly harbors a heart that blesses the good and punishes the wicked, and a fury that hates evil as an enemy, then one ought naturally to wield the power to reward the good and chastise the evil, exercising awe-inspiring majesty—this, after all, would match the working of cause and effect. Besides, such a person fails to see that those who err cannot escape affliction, and those who commit evil cannot evade the clear decree of heaven that destroys. Yet he goes on sighing, "how deaf and blind is heaven!" Having piled up within himself the resolve to "act on heaven's behalf," he naturally reaps the karmic return of "patrolling for heaven." The importance of arousing and gathering the mind, the deeper meaning of "purifying one's own intentions"—of this there should be no doubt.

My friend Ying-lin has studied the Dharma with me for more than twenty years; in character, view, and self-discipline his strictness is rare indeed. But whenever he meets with injustice, color rises to his face and his anger will not be contained. Each time I cite these very points to caution him, he nods in agreement to my face, yet a moment later has forgotten everything—what is one to do with such a man! That he has sunk into the divine way is beyond question; I only do not know where, once this life's span is exhausted, his awe-inspiring majesty will find a place to manifest.

The Difference Between Humans and Beasts

Apart from the obvious differences in outward form, the essential distinction between human and beast should be this: human beings follow reason; beasts follow the senses. Because we follow reason, understanding principles, we act by them—"to starve is a small matter; to lose one's integrity is great." Through exhausting principle, we see into our nature; seeing our nature, life and death become like an illusion, self and other merge into one. By degrees, when principle is exhausted, thought is exhausted; when thought is exhausted, nature appears; when nature appears, principle is whole; when principle is whole, the whole of principle is nature—principle is nature, nature is principle—and so we reach the perfect ground of human life.

Because the beast follows the senses, it cannot escape being driven by appetite under the reflex of the organs of digestion—craving delicacies, seeking sweet flavors, even killing other creatures and devouring its own kind to appease the stomach. Where there are reproductive organs, there is sense-desire; to obey the urge of lust, it will exhaust every art of courtship; when its tricks run out, the senses still goad it on, until it casts off all gentle mask and resorts to violence, content only when the demands of the senses are met. The difference between human and beast, between reason and sense, by this point is clear enough. Setting aside the outward form, if we judge a being by reason versus sense, by principle versus desire, then plainly: one who abandons reason and obeys the senses, or who has only senses without reason, is a beast and not a human; one who can restrain the senses and curb their impulses is human and not a beast.

Because many people, even today, retain to some degree the ignorance, cruelty, cowardice, and other base instincts they share with beasts—relics of an earlier evolutionary stage—and because certain beasts often display the natural qualities of peace, fidelity, righteousness, and filial devotion, or show the fine virtues of wit, kindness, and loyal courage, on this dazzling "mixed dwelling-ground" one often encounters sages whose outer aspect is turbid but whose inner nature is clear, monsters clothed as humans but beastly within, and marvels beastly in form but human-hearted. In daily contact, in what meets the eye and ear, one finds it hard to trust the five senses: is this human? beast? sage? ordinary being? Truly, the difficulty of measuring high and low is real. If we try to tell by outward appearance alone, we shall always be deceived by surfaces; it seems we can only "watch what a person does, examine why he does it, see where he rests content," and then "perhaps we shall not be far from the truth."

The Foundation of Happiness

A soft sandy shore cannot bear the weight of a tall building; a thick heap of refuse only breeds bacteria. An iceberg is pure and lofty, but you cannot lean on it. A rainbow is gorgeous, yet in a blink it is gone. If this is so of things, are people any different? Filial piety, brotherly respect, loyalty, and forbearance naturally pile up deep and stream forth in light; shallowness and narrow-mindedness can never be a vessel fit to carry blessing. A level heart and a straight mind are the sharpest root-capacity for studying the Buddha; a harmonious state of mind is the true foundation of happiness. If one still covets supernatural powers, delights in the strange and wonderful, and so turns one's back on awakening to join the dust of the senses, how could one escape becoming part of the demon's retinue? If one does not bind the monkey-mind nor rein the will-horse, the spirit's wisdom is blocked, and calamity follows hard upon foolishness.

Only through harmonious human relations, a worldly bearing that mingles light with dust, a balanced handling of affairs that holds the mean, words and deeds that are ever humble and cautious, self-discipline that keeps sincerity in solitary watch, a heart open and bright and unashamed—only through these can a tranquil, harmonious state of mind be cultivated and kept. And only a harmonious mind is the true fertile field, the true foundation of happiness.

On Music

If we do not take up the extreme view that "the five colors blind the eyes..." but rather, with the vajra mind that abides nowhere, look upon all dharmas equally, then music's work in cultivating and bringing peace to human life is something we cannot afford to overlook. True music is the language of great nature itself—its heavenly sound—and through the medium of the human mind, it sublimes and crystallizes into immortal movements of the true, the good, and the beautiful, so that listeners forget worry, forget the world, and at last forget themselves, their minds becoming one with nature.

When Confucius, in Qi, heard the "Shao" music performed, his mind entered a state of deep absorption: "for three months he did not know the taste of meat." We would not for a moment suspect that a sage like Confucius could have been bound by music; clearly, through music's guidance he entered "the samadhi of joy." And among the ancient masters of our school, how many have awakened upon hearing a bell, a drum, the sound of bamboo struck, or the clatter of a falling bowl! Music can awaken human nature, cultivate disposition, purify the heart; it can also dissolve restlessness, sweep away troubles, and lift the spirit. A sorrowful movement may wash the wounds within with hot tears; a tragic-heroic one may make the blood surge, the sleeves shake, the body leap to its feet, stirred by the righteous spirit of "though thousands stand against me, I will go forward!" A joyful one bathes one in spring wind and morning dew, fills the air with serenity, and melts away all harshness; a majestic one, like a Marseillaise, can rouse a whole nation into wakefulness and vigor. Near a mountain temple, especially, a few tolls of the morning and evening bell often give rise to reflection and a sense of caution, while the pure chanting gives an impression of solemn reverence that banishes all coarseness of mind.

Though music takes many forms, styles, and genres, each carries its own life, its own cultural background, its own way of felt expression. If so, why is it that today's Chinese youth prefer so-called "popular music" and love to imitate the dress of the "Beatles"? This is something I have puzzled over a hundred times without finding an answer. As for decadent music, it has always been an omen of a nation's decline. The tune of Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Garment once helped brew the An Lushan Rebellion; now, it seems, the lewd tunes of Zheng fill the air—a warning we should heed.

The Harm of Mahjong

Inability to bear solitude is the true cause of boredom; poverty and base conduct are the inevitable fruit of greed. When people are caught in hardship and worry, they can often draw on hope to spur the will to survive, lean on ideals to lift the spirit, purify the heart through setbacks, and in moments of crisis bring forth hidden powers, so that life brims with confidence and vitality and takes on a touch of poetry. But once a sense of security is won, the very things one used to long for and dream about suddenly seem flat and dull. This proves how hard it really is to eat one's fill each day and have nothing at all to occupy the mind.

Since idleness at home does no good, and eating and drinking soon cloy, and prostitution and gambling are going too far, those gentlemen and ladies who have food to eat and nothing to do, seeking some piecemeal way to pass the time and draw a little on life in advance, have nothing left but "hygienic mahjong." Take mahjong: at first you hardly seem to know the tiles, yet it draws you in; later, practice makes you clever, and the fascination only grows. The loser, beaten again and again, swears to wipe out the shame of old Kuaiji; the winner presses on—who ever minds winning more money? Caught up in this tangle, the game is hard to leave; they play by day and by night, as if their very lives hung on it. Though they begin as "tile-friends," many later become enemies. Old friendships worth a few dollars one way or the other are tossed aside: at the mahjong table, over a single tile, faces flush and voices rise. Some care nothing for winning or losing—they only play to kill the boredom. Some cannot bear to lose—they're clearly putting on swollen-faced airs, pretending to be rich.

Without doubt, a bored crowd can do nothing good; sure enough, much scheming and base dealings happen right beneath the mahjong table. Perhaps you think these are small matters of daily life, hardly worth mentioning—but in truth, under that degenerate consciousness and corrupt behavior, who can say how much of a nation's vitality has been eaten away, how many innocent seedlings have been destroyed? They have robbed countless children and young people of the care and affection they should have had, of the warmth of family they should have enjoyed; countless promising youths have been twisted in mind, have taken on vile habits, and walked the road of the hoodlum, the thug, the thief, the lecher. Tell me—who is truly to blame? To barter the family's happiness, one's own integrity, one's children's future, one's health, and one's spouse's career for the thrill of the mahjong table—can it be worth it? Do you not know that "this day has passed, and life has shortened with it"? Must we wait for the sun itself to perish, dying together with our tiles? Families ruined and children harmed by mahjong addiction are common in the papers; cases of lewdness bred by mahjong play, told in full, would only soil the page. Let me set down here only three incidents of mahjong-killing that I saw with my own eyes, for all virtuous readers to use in teaching and guidance.

The first: while I was living in ×× New Village at Nanjichang, one morning as I left the village to buy groceries, I saw a beautiful little girl of just over three horribly run over by a car—brains splattered, half-chewed buns spilling from her mouth, another bun still clutched tight in her hand. Her five-year-old brother stood to one side, stupefied—neither crying nor moving. (Please don't blame the child for not feeling the depth of sibling love; consider: a child of five, what experience or dream could have prepared him for such a scene?) When the parents heard the news and ran to the spot in their underclothes, beating their breasts and weeping, the grief was already beyond all filling and beyond all remedy. Surely you would blame the parents: how could they have stayed in bed and calmly sent two toddlers who could barely walk across the street to buy breakfast? But in truth the couple deserves sympathy too. Think: their mahjong battle had gone on all night, and only just ended; sleep was upon them, deepest of all; the children were crying they were hungry—what could they do but hand over a few coins and send them on their way? Who could have known it would end in disaster?

The second: in the fourth year after I moved to Banqiao, among my neighbors there was a couple. The husband was simple and honest, but long henpecked—he had long given up the rule of the house and let his wife play mahjong all day. One night the wife came home from her game; the night was black and windy, she had no patience to wait, and hammered on the door with great urgency. The husband, afraid she would be angry if he was slow, hurried over, tripped on something, suffered a cerebral hemorrhage, and died on the spot. One would think that, looking at the mahjong tiles, grief would stir—being a feeling man, a normal reaction would be heartfelt anguish. One would think, facing such endless sorrow, that the sight of mahjong would wake some remorse. But no—far from it; that lady has only redoubled her efforts since, dragging people together to play mahjong all day long. What can one say about a person like this? Only: "I desire to be silent."

The third: during a week in late August (lunar), I was riding past the RCA electronics factory near Zhongli when I saw a crowd blocking the road around an accident scene. Having some knowledge of first aid, I feared that any delay might cost the victim his chance of rescue, so I got off and went forward to look. I saw a boy of about six or seven lying on his back by the road, clothes and shoes neat, features delicate; beside him a middle-aged man had fainted from grief. From the conversation of two women I learned what had happened: the dead child's mother had been playing mahjong at a friend's house across the road and had not come home all night. In the morning, the maternal grandmother came to visit; the father told his son to call mother home. The boy, obeying, ran hastily across the road and was struck by a speeding motorcycle; the wheel ran over his chest and crushed him to death. While the boy's father wept beyond all holding, that gambling-mad mother was still calmly playing her last round.

These three incidents I saw with my own eyes cost me not a few tears, and I am deeply convinced that the original inventor of mahjong is at this very moment receiving his just reward in the Avici Hell. In closing, what I would urge our people to beware of is this: that which destroys our human bonds, eats away at our culture, harms our public order, breaks our discipline, slays our young seedlings, and ruins our country—is it not mahjong!

Cherishing Blessings

The saying "scrimping on food and clothing isn’t about saving money—it’s about cherishing blessings" is well worth sitting with. Before Tang Dynasty chancellor Li Linfu rose to prominence, a physiognomist told him he had thirty years of blessed fortune as a peaceful, influential prime minister. Sure enough, he later took the position, but not even a few years into his tenure, he was convicted of corruption: his reputation was ruined, his family destroyed, his children reduced to slavery, and he became a laughingstock across the land. He felt no shame, and instead blamed the physiognomist for his prediction not coming true. The physiognomist smiled and said: "My lord, you did indeed have thirty years of blessed fortune as a peaceful prime minister—the only shame is you didn’t know how to hold onto it, and burned through it all far too fast. Think back: in your early days, a single bowl of duck tongue soup (costing a thousand lives), a single plate of goose knuckle (costing a hundred pieces of gold), every sensual pleasure laid out before you, treasures filling your home, even your servants lived better than the households of the most powerful aristocrats. Your extravagance was extreme, far exceeding the fortune you were fated to enjoy in those thirty years as prime minister. Your descendants will even be forced to work as prostitutes and slaves to repay what you overspent, and yet you blame me for my prediction not coming true? Is there any logic to that? Besides, frugality breeds integrity, and extravagance leads to corruption; all corruption ends in ruin, that is only natural. Why can you not see this, and be so deluded? If you burn through a full month’s worth of living costs in a single day, going hungry and cold for the other 29 days is only natural, no? What right do you have to blame fate or other people?" When Li Linfu heard this, he fell silent, drenched in cold sweat.

In our modern age, industrial progress has put resources to use to raise living standards a hundredfold beyond earlier eras, but humanity’s craving for material comfort has only grown more lavish as desires swell. These days, making do with simple meals and walking where you need to go is dismissed as foolishly old-fashioned. People willingly let themselves get caught in the gears of the social machine, turning round and round without end; they would rather dive into the whirlpool of desire, sinking deeper with every turn. This is how modern "spiritual neurosis" has taken root. People who are unattached to gain and loss, who put the world’s suffering before their own comfort, are vanishingly rare now, and the vitality of our nation and people has been deeply wounded. Nowadays, if we remind people of the old adage "Every bowl of porridge, every bite of rice, should make us mindful of how hard it is to come by; every thread, every strand, should remind us of the labor that goes into making goods"—how many people would not scoff at the sentiment? Do they not know that nearly all the merit, achievements, and blessings of past sages were built on diligence, frugality, and cherishing blessings? Even as the old saying goes, "It is easy to slip from frugality into extravagance, and hard to return from extravagance to frugality"—at a time when the entire world is gripped by severe crises of food, paper, energy, and more, when we gaze on the suffering regions of the world writhing in pain and misery, and look back on the twenty-plus years of hard, quiet work we put into building our economic foundation, if we are to talk of saving ourselves and saving others, there is no more powerful call to action than to lead the world by example in diligence, frugality, and cherishing blessings.

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Home

"Home" is the line that separates humans from beasts; the root of ethics and morality; the starting point of humanistic spirit; the cradle of sages and heroes. If the family unit had never come into being, humanity would have been doomed to remain forever in primitive barbarism, living alongside wild beasts. Only with the rise of the family could humanity break free from the squalid state of knowing only one’s mother, not one’s father, and practicing intra-clan blood marriage and generational marriage within the clan, and establish sacred marital bonds, and claim the most basic dignity of being human. From this, the radiance of human nature gradually emerged, giving rise to the harmony of husband and wife, the kindness of fathers and the filial piety of sons, the friendship of elder brothers and the respect of younger brothers, as well as the growth and establishment of the Five Great Ways and the Three Great Virtues. As the saying goes, "The way of the gentleman begins with the relationship between husband and wife; when carried to the utmost, it permeates heaven and earth." Another saying goes, "Filial piety is the means by which one serves one’s lord; fraternal respect is the means by which one serves one’s elders; kindness is the means by which one leads the masses." These sayings make clear that all virtue, wisdom, and blessings spring from the home, and are nurtured within it. If most families are not healthy and harmonious, the future of society and the nation requires no further explanation. The health of the family in turn rests entirely on the great sacrifice and contribution of housewives who endure every hardship. As Master Yinguang taught: "In the past, the Zhou Dynasty enjoyed eight hundred years of rule thanks to the virtuous ladies Tai Jiang, Tai Ren, and Tai Si, who supported their husbands and taught their children with noble character and good deeds. I, Yinguang, have often said that the power to govern the country and bring peace to the world lies largely in women’s hands. This is because in the home, those who manage the household are almost always women, while men mostly handle affairs outside the home. If the mother is virtuous, her children, spending all their time at home, will absorb her teachings through constant exposure, and the benefits of this are immeasurable." Therefore, I pay my deepest respects to our great, frugal, and hardworking housewives, and with utmost sincerity, urge the sisters who fritter away all their emotion and energy at the mahjong table to come to their senses.

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Guarding Against Laziness

No effort goes to waste; diligence is the only standard worth upholding. If you turn away from dedicated practice, the five pāramitās cannot be fulfilled. Know that skill is forged by diligence, while virtue is eroded by laziness. At its core, laziness breeds ignorance, poverty, and decay—three of the root causes of all wrongdoing. Every ailment has a cure, but laziness is the hardest to heal. As the old proverb goes, "Beg for three years straight, and you won’t even want to be emperor." Especially for those scholars of old who spent ten years burning the midnight oil, poring over their books only to master the craft of poetry, prose, and essay writing, and the skill of penning flattering official reports—once they rise to officialdom, they easily fall prey to laziness. If their learning and conduct are not good enough to win them a place in officialdom, they end up neither scholars nor warriors, neither here nor there: too proud to work the fields in peacetime, too cowardly to fight in wartime. They either say, "I am a follower of Confucius and Mencius—how could I deign to do such menial work?" or, "Of the four classes of scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants, only we are noble; we are the seed of the nation, how can we be expected to serve as soldiers?" When the nation’s best and brightest detach themselves from productive labor and avoid fighting, tell me: how can the nation not grow poor? How can it not grow weak? Even a sage like Confucius, who taught all four branches of learning and held the six arts in equal regard, was still mocked with the question, "Your four limbs never toil, you cannot tell the five grains apart—what gives you the right to be called a master?" What hope, then, do the rest of us have?

Ming Dynasty scholar Chen Baisha, who emphasized practical learning and action, and strove to align his words with his deeds, was held in high regard by all. After retiring from office, he spent his days fishing, cutting wood, farming, and studying, content with his simple life. In his later years, he taught at the Spring Terrace in Baisha Village, with students flocking to him from far and wide, and became one of the leading figures of Neo-Confucianism. Seeing young scholars gradually drifting toward idleness, averse to work, relying only on empty talk and failing to practice what they preached, he wrote the Song on Guarding Against Laziness, hoping to warn and inspire them. The song goes:

Yu the Good rose at cockcrow to do good, The Duke of Zhou paused his meal three times for the sake of duty, Confucius stayed up all night in deep thought— The work of sages and worthies rests on diligence alone.

I have heard of Kuang Heng boring a hole in the wall to steal his neighbor’s light to read, Of Che Yin catching fireflies in a silk bag to use as a lamp, Of Han Yu burning through his lamp oil late into the night, Of Sun using the glow of snow through his window to read by— Never have I heard of a lazy person leaving behind a name.

Are you even aware of your own laziness? Let me lay it out plainly: Lazy officials are deceived by their subordinates, Lazy generals lose their soldiers’ loyalty, Lazy mothers have children crying from hunger, Lazy husbands have wives weeping from starvation, Lazy cats let mice run free, Lazy dogs let thieves go uncaught. Look closely at all things under heaven and earth: Only laziness does the most harm!

Disciples, listen to my teaching: Advance day by day, month by month, do not grow complacent. Write this out from start to finish, Post it by your seat as a warning.

This is simple yet profound, accessible to all; any teacher with students should have them study it.

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Cherishing Time

Flowers fall and bloom again, the moon wanes and waxes full, winter passes and spring returns, seas turn to mulberry fields—only time, once gone, never comes back. Time creates miracles, but time also erodes all things; time births one glorious era after another, then casts them aside indifferently without a second look. Many lives are enriched and strengthened by time, steadily expanding the magnetic field of their life as time goes on—radiating the value of their lives out into infinity and eternity. Far more lives are worn down by time; even as they sigh at the ruthlessness of passing years, they still let time erode them until they are gone without a trace. In their haste, they can only mutter, "Looking back at the fading sunset, the sunset is even more empty and void"! They murmur to themselves, "This day has passed, and my life shortens with it; I am like a fish in shrinking water—what joy is there in this?" We should wake to this truth: if we cannot make full use of time, harness its highest power to create eternal meaning in our lives, we will suffer time’s ruthless erosion, elimination, and burial. If we only echo, "Drink and sing, for life is short! Life is like morning dew, the days gone by are few!" then that is only the moan of life, its final, fading notes.

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Time Is Life

The philosopher George Berkeley held that time is a concept that arises after our own existence, and space exists along with the existence of our mind. If this is true, then life manifests in time, and unfolds in space. From the standpoint of existence, it is clear that time is life. So how we choose to cherish time, to build and strengthen our lives, is the very foundation of our existence. Conversely, no matter who you are, if you cannot fully harness the power of time to complete the creation and unfolding of your life, you will inevitably be eroded and buried by time—of this there is no doubt. The ancient sage’s verse says:

Chan practice and Buddha recitation are originally one and the same; Look closely, and all is empty in the end. When effort is sufficient, all will naturally manifest fully; When spring comes, the hundred flowers bloom red as ever.

Know that all undertakings are completed through time, and all achievements depend on the right conditions and timing. Aristotle once wrote, "Time past gives you wisdom, time present urges you to act, time future rewards you with joy." Thus we who follow the Buddha’s path: if we cannot cherish every second and minute to complete the creation of our dharma body, we must heed the warning, "Years cannot be toyed with; old age and death will not wait for you." Wasting time is wasting life. Know that when the last day of the twelfth lunar month arrives, no one can take your place to face it. Some may say, "Time is infinite, so life is endless; the dharma body is boundless, corresponding to infinite space, all is already present as it is, why do we need to create it artificially?" You may as well say to such a person: "Since that is the case, then please go ahead and sit in the urn and be done with it!"

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Views on Value

Since we have taken on human form, if we have not yet attained full, complete enlightenment and are free from all defilement, we cannot do without a sense of life’s value and an upward, forward-looking goal for our existence. Otherwise, we are like a boat without a rudder, a horse without reins—it is only a matter of time before we capsize or stumble. What is more, how can we even speak of "seeking enlightenment for ourselves and delivering all beings"? When I have a moment to open a book, I am always moved by the breadth of mind, spirit, and profound insight of past sages: their words open the heart and seep into the marrow, as if their bearing and sincere feelings are right before my eyes. It is truly said that a thousand years are but a single day for a person of true character—some people do indeed achieve a kind of immortality. This is no lie.

So does life’s value have a fixed standard of measurement? I would say yes, but that would be unfair, as everyone has their own biases; I would say no, but as the saying goes, "Each being has its own path"—how much more so for humans? Since we cannot avoid the question, let me put forward the lowest, most general standard as a basis for discussion: the value of an individual’s life is directly proportional to the scope (strength), duration, and permanence of their influence on all living beings. However, this influence can be good or bad, beneficial or harmful, so there are also positive, negative, high, and low distinctions in the nature and degree of their value. The examples of past sages are still before us; you, the wise reader, need no further argument.

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Knowledge Is Wisdom

Knowledge is acquired through learning, and is an indispensable tool for survival in advanced societies. Wisdom springs from the intuitive insight of one’s life potential, and is the essential element for elevating knowledge and ability, and sustaining growth and evolution. To be sure, knowledge that is merely taken in at face value, not truly digested and made one’s own, is no true family treasure, yet knowledge is often the cradle of wisdom; without the nourishment of knowledge, the flower of wisdom cannot bloom. So the two should be held in equal regard, and neither should be prioritized over the other. Anti-intellectualists—such as the depraved, misguided figures in the West—are of course a sign of spiritual degeneration, but ignoring the value of wisdom will also lead to the decline of thought and the permanent closing of the door to enlightenment. If you doubt this, tell me: how many dull, ignorant people have attained enlightenment and become Buddhas? Or when has there ever been a person who only valued vast learning and extensive knowledge who realized the great Way? Otherwise, how could Deshan have been willing to burn his Blue Dragon Commentary and Sub-commentary? And if there had been no systematic intellectual groundwork laid by that Blue Dragon Commentary and Sub-commentary, how could there have been the event of realizing enlightenment upon hearing a single phrase? Judging by the state of the world, ignorance is the mother of poverty, the source of all evil, and a sufficient condition for the degeneration and ruin of any nation. So we know that both empty-headed arrogance and mere pedantry will lead to one-sidedness; "acting without attachment, while giving rise to the mind of enlightenment" is the true path to liberation.

Moreover, in the Śūraṅgama Sūtra, the seven inquiries into the mind and ten demonstrations of perception—without wisdom, where can knowledge take refuge? Without this mind, where does intuitive insight come from? As long as you know who is the master and who is the servant, what harm is there in having many attendants? As long as you do not lose sight of the present moment, you can enter the gate of non-duality. If you can reach this state, know that a wave is none other than water; because there is water, there are waves, so the discriminating mind naturally fades away. At this point, are you not free and at ease? What is there left to fear or avoid?

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Knowing One's Insufficiencies

A conscious awareness of our own shortcomings, a sense of dissatisfaction that transcends the ego, is the driving force that pushes humanity upward and forward. If we lack this quality, then the dissatisfaction centered on the ego is exactly what leads us to lose our true purpose in the pursuit of material things, have our minds bound by external conditions, and even sacrifice our lives for desire, becoming a force for destruction. The saying "contentment brings happiness" only reflects the complacent habits and self-soothing mindset of an agricultural society; how can it be held up as a golden rule? Otherwise, the evolution of the soul and material progress would become unnecessary, and the "pure land on earth" would forever be out of reach. Yet under the extreme individual utilitarianism of industrial society, where mind and matter are set in opposition and matter enslaves the mind, leading to the drowning of one’s spiritual nature and the lowering of one’s character, this dissatisfaction is by no means a meaningless complaint. At the very least, material satisfaction can never fill the emptiness of the soul, which is a universal fact.

Someone may ask: then how do we correct this imbalance? I say: it is not difficult. If we look down on material comforts, and strive upward in spiritual life, then great functions will flourish, and the Bodhi tree will grow day by day unobstructed; even if the seven treasures fill the land, they can be used to adorn the Buddha land, and we can perhaps remain balanced in the middle way.

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Inspiration

Inspiration is a spontaneous, impulsive stirring of the soul that bursts forth at the overlapping focal point of wisdom and enthusiasm, combining the qualities of insight, self-awareness, and discovery. Though it has no weight to the touch, no scent to smell, no form to see, no sound to hear, it often leads us to break through into entirely new realms of thought and states of life, becoming the key that opens the heart, the engine of artistic creation, and the hub of scientific invention. Yet it comes from nowhere, and cannot be chased once it is gone: like a spark or a flash of lightning, it arises and perishes in an instant. For this reason, only those with focused will, clear minds, and calm, restrained spirit can catch hold of it. As for mistaking impulse for inspiration, and taking hallucination for enlightenment—that is truly, truly dangerous.

On Interdependence — A Talk on Organization

All phenomena in the universe bear the imprint of a single dharma; the dharma gates are not two, yet appearances are a thousandfold. Because all things are empty of inherent existence, dependent origination is inexhaustible; and yet, though inexhaustible, it is empty nature itself, just as it is. The key point is that “the dharma never arises in isolation” — so nothing exists independently. If nothing exists independently, nothing solitary can endure; whatever exists is never alone. What is this state of non-solitude? Let us call it, for now, organization.

Organization is the universal law governing all being, the sole means by which anything is created. Every phenomenon in the universe exists as a form of organization. Look out across the cosmos: distant suns, the Milky Way, countless galaxies; close at hand, the earth, mountains and rivers, towns, homes. From a single blade of grass, a stone, to a grain of sand, a mote of dust, even to what Buddhist texts call the “neighbor of the void” — the atom — nothing exists that is not a manifestation of organization, a structure of organized parts expressing different forms and functions through different arrangements. Only those who align with the spirit of organization, who know its laws well and master its techniques, are fit to “assist in the transforming and nurturing of heaven and earth” and “stand as a third partner with heaven and earth.” Without organization, creation is impossible.

By the skillful employment of organization, the musician takes a few simple notes and weaves them into immortal music. The engineer takes rough materials and assembles them into towering palaces. The artist, by varied tones and lines, composes a dazzling picture. The statesman studies social structure, the balance of powers, and the organization of government, producing the modern state and the science of politics. The philosopher, drawing on point-event theory, devised the concept of multidimensional space. The scientist fires three neutrons into uranium-235, altering its organizational structure, and chain fission of the nucleus is set in motion. The scholar of Consciousness-Only, by analyzing the structure of mind, completes the great compendium of dharma characteristics. Elder Baizhang reformed the structure and rules of the monastic order and established the “Baizhang Pure Regulations.”

All these examples make clear: organization is creation, and all existence is nothing but organization. While this view may cling to outward characteristics, it aligns perfectly with the deepest truth of dependent origination, for organization has no inherent self-nature; in its very nature, it is empty. If you think otherwise, go ahead and name a single thing that is not born of causes and conditions, not formed through organization — and I will gladly present you with a Qingzhou cloth shirt.

Untitled One

Sunlight cannot wipe away the strings of teardrops; the spring breeze cannot brush away endless sorrow. We watch her delicate frame, and the springtime joy in the boughs, fade day by day: the once full, graceful curves are gone forever. And what of the crowds of worshippers who once thronged here? Do they have the heart to never look back, to abandon her like a cast-off shoe?

Snow Beauty, tears streaming, clings to the poetic days that are gone, weeping alone in the desolate, abandoned garden. Recall the past: in that world of glazed glass, with crystal railings and floors dusted with crushed jade, how many tall, handsome young men offered her their pure, unblemished love, soft and devoted? How many young, lovely maidens dressed her with such care?

“Oh! What a dainty, crystalline being, pure as ice and jade! When did you descend from the Broad Cold Palace to this mortal world?”

Unforgettable, forever unforgettable — those verse-lines of pearls, those honey-words piercing heart and bone, you mundane, practical folk! But how long did that last? The songs of praise for “spring” have already begun to rise in the distance once more. Forgetful ones! You are not worth hating — only time itself is so merciless! It brings forth endless lives, one after another, yet the moment our love for living is at its peak, it will not pause for even a second before coldly casting us aside.

O vanished time! What regret, that not even a wisp of it was held fast. How I hate you! You carried off all my beautiful past, leaving only endless grief and desolation!

The Half-Foam Elder shook his head. “Hah!” He sighed, full of compassion: “Wake up, foolish child! Why get lost in a dream someone idly wove? Don’t cling to the shadows in that dream — trading eternity for a single instant, is it worth it? Besides, who has never dreamed? Whether beautiful or ugly, dreams must in the end awaken. Have you ever seen a real life forever sunk in illusion? Think about it — this wretched, muddled, grotesque appearance — is it really your true original face, unbound by a single thread of attachment, rising and falling at will, coming and going without a care?”

“…moist, weightless, lively… mm, yes! I…” Snow Beauty suddenly glimpsed the truth.

“Ha! The nightmare’s over, the joy of your old karmic cause continues — you and me, me and you, how do you untangle that knot, how do you split it apart? Skip the talk of original source — what seems real is not real. Why not see that Zhang San, Li Si, Black Yama, White Ox, Blue Moth all share the one true reality? Chase the false, and you’ll only find more false; seek the true, and the true you find is not the true. Toss out all the seven pieces and eight fragments.”

The elder suddenly punched the rock garden: “It’s not me who’s hurting — it’s you!”

“Pfft—mm—Half…” The Half-Foam Elder sang and danced, wild and frenzied, until he coaxed Snow Beauty into laughing through her tears. “Half… you, who’s ever seen a half-foam? Ha…”

In the elder’s laughter, mountains, rivers, and the whole wide earth turned clear as crystal, merging with the endless sky into a single, seamless hue. In the misty blend of light and shadow, only the soft, lingering echo of the elder’s bright laughter remained.

Untitled Two

Brother Liang’s forehead broke out in beads of sweat as big as soybeans. Heat? Fatigue? Neither. It was deep autumn already — could he be sweating from the heat? Of course not. He had held up the main beam of this old house for over eighty years, and his frame was still plenty sturdy; this bit of everyday housework was nothing to him.

The reason was simple: he had watched his longtime companion, the Door couple who had stood by his side day in and day out, worn out from shielding the house from wind and rain. Instead of showing gratitude for their decades of loyal service, or making a comfortable place for them in their old age, the family had claimed they were “putting them to good use,” hacked them into eight hundred pieces, and consigned them to Zhu Rong [fire]. Pitiful, that loyal couple — watching their very bones vanish in the raging flames. Old Liang knew that sooner or later, he would meet the same end, cut down and burned just the same.

“Humans are the spirits of all things, so this is how you act like spirits, is it? You’re experts at faking affection when you need someone, going through the motions of politeness, and when trouble hits, you throw up a smokescreen, bluffing with empty threats — aren’t you just hollow on the inside, wearing a human skin? When the birds are all gone, the fine bow gets tossed in the trash. When the wily hare is dead, the hunting dog ends up in the sausage shop. You’re awfully clever, I’ll give you that — clever, and on top of that, brutally cruel. Isn’t that terrifying? Of course, the weak lean on the strong, and the strong are undermined by the weak. You lie to everyone else’s five senses, but aren’t you being deceived by your own five senses every day, whipped and driven by your own bodily organs?”

Old Liang’s sweat poured faster and faster, each drop bigger than the last, fed by his silent curse.

“Oh no!” The Kitchen God watched, growing worried by the second. He knew that if Old Liang kept sweating out every last drop of his remaining life force, he’d split right down the middle with a crack any minute. Could I, an old immortal, just take folks’ candy offerings for free? Fine. I’ll have to step in.

“Hey! Old Liang, you pretending-to-be-clever, truly-muddled blockhead! What on earth are you sulking about? Tell me, what has gotten you wedged into a corner, drilling in until your head’s dripping with oil?” This time, the Kitchen God didn’t put on his usual stuffy, self-important airs; he acted like a true friend. After all, Old Liang didn’t expect him to “ascend to heaven to report good deeds” anyway — the Kitchen God is like the broom spirit, never lifting a finger to do real work; if he wants to act the part of a higher power, you’ve got to humor him a little.

“Reporting to the Kitchen God, sir: you’re a real ‘corrupt official who takes bribes but never bends the law’ — you eat people’s food, and your mouth stays just as hard; you take people’s gifts, and your hands stay just as greedy. You’re an incorruptible official, all right.” Old Liang’s bellyful of rage turned in an instant to sharp, biting sarcasm.

“What! What kind of talk is that!” The Kitchen God’s face flushed.

“What kind of talk? It’s a Tang dynasty painting — nonsense! You be the judge: the Door couple shielded this family from wind, rain, thieves, and ghosts for over eighty years. This whole family has lived under their kindness for three generations. Now that they’re old and worn out, this family — hmph! — not only shows no gratitude, no care for their old, loyal servants, no comfortable retirement for their final years, but hacks them into eight hundred pieces and burns them all to ash! Tell me, aren’t the Door couple wronged? Isn’t this family shameless, worthless, and totally heartless? How could Old Liang not break out in a sweat?”

“Heh! I call you a pig, and you oink right back! I ask you, of all the myriad things in this universe, is there a single one that has, as happily as the Door couple, attained the perfection of life?”

“What? What kind of good fortune or perfection is that? Please, old sir, stop sitting there with eyes wide open spouting nonsense!” Old Liang, of course, did not swallow this old oily line.

“You muddled old rascal — hold still a moment, let this old man finish speaking, then draw your conclusion, will you? Otherwise, taking things out of context is just like farting in public, isn’t it?”

“Fine. Old Liang lost a bet to his brother-in-law — he doesn’t have a choice but to accept it, does he?”

“The fragrance and sweetness of fruit is meant for others to enjoy — to share the gifts of nature with everyone. Suppose a tree is laden with fragrant, beautiful, plump, juicy peaches, or five-pointed apples, and no one admires them; they end up falling one by one, rotting, breeding fruit flies — can their lives be called perfect? Those cows with swollen udders lowing — when people milk them time and again, don’t they appear both cooperative and content? When have you ever seen a cow demand the milker ‘pay cash’ or ‘put it on the tab’? Even Master Kong sighed: ‘Am I a gourd? How can I be hung up and not eaten?’ Would he, too, have caught the bug of office? He only hoped for the chance to practice ‘each according to ability, each according to need’ — the universal principle attaining the perfection of life.”

“Take the cow: it has milk, but no one wants it — is that suffering, or isn’t it? Without the sun, could you and all living things possibly grow and develop? If that were so, you little punk would amount to no more than a soybean sprout, useful for nothing. Have you ever thanked the sun, air, water, the earth? If not, are you not an ingrate? Not to mention — without this family’s heavy use of you, you and the Door couple might not have even existed for eighty-odd years. The light and heat you hold, where did they come from? Should you not dedicate them to others, transform them into function? Since you have stored up the light and heat received from nature, and yet are stingy in giving them forth, letting them become a mess, a mess that rots into useless waste — can that be called attaining the perfection of life? Muddle-head! If you’ve got something to say, spit it out!”

The Kitchen God, after all, is a true deity who meets the Jade Emperor in person every year. No wonder even the sages advocated “better curry favor with the Kitchen God” — the old fellow really has the knack. Look, not a single bead of sweat remains on Old Liang. What can he say, but sit there grinning like a fool?

Untitled III

After the autumn harvest, days seemed drearily idle. One afternoon, Brother Ox, Mother Pig, Mr. Huang... the whole gang happened to meet up and started chatting again. Dr. Chicken saw his chance: "Friends, shall we discuss something serious? Our little group, living together like this—isn't it also a small-scale society? As the saying goes, a snake without a head can't slither—so why don't we pick out the greatest among us to shoulder the responsibility of leading this society? Otherwise, when will we ever establish social order? Think about it, is it necessary or not?" Dr. Chicken spoke with such objectivity and reason, with an entirely public-spirited air.

"Strictly speaking, there's no need. First of all, we haven't a thing in common with each other—though we live in the same courtyard, we're not birds of a feather. Second, we each have different identities, duties, physiques, and habits—we simply can't get along. If you must talk about greatness, this old ox won't be shy about it—who can compare with me?" Brother Ox had always loathed Dr. Chicken's loud voice, squawking before dawn and forcing him out to plow at the crack of dawn.

"Brother Ox! You're off the mark there—don't draw your bow so tight, or it'll spring a leak!" Yellow Dog's words weren't unpleasant, but they carried a barb.

"This old ox is no weakling—tall, heavy, strong, big-bellied. Who disagrees? Let's compare! I'm certainly no less than you, Mr. Huang, right?" Once the ox's temper flared, he couldn't tell friend from foe.

"Brother Ox, haven't you tired yourself out enough? Take a rest, why bother? With your humble qualifications, you have the nerve to boast about being great? A bit too immodest, wouldn't you say?" Before Mr. Huang could respond, Mother Pig cut in mid-debate. Ah, right—she was always grumbling that beef shouldn't be priced higher than pork. Naturally, she had long nursed a grudge against the old ox.

Brother Ox, hearing this, flew into such a rage his eyes rolled wildly: "The world gets stranger by the day! Ha! Look at that! That sow who thinks she's another Diao Chan is actually challenging me, old Ox!" The old ox didn't take the sow seriously at all.

"Ha ha..." The whole gang burst into laughter.

"What's so funny? Think you can cover yourselves with laughter? Let me tell you blind fools, I, this old mother, dare to march through the Yangtze, Huai, and Si rivers—and I can still bring down the grain price. Look at that dumb ox lying on the ground in a heap—when it comes to brawn, he can't beat down wolves, can't trample ants; when it comes to brains, that belly as big as half his body is stuffed not with wisdom but weeds! A straw bag bragging about being great—now that's a novelty, eh?" Mother Pig smacked her lips smugly.

The old ox was so furious his eyes bulged like copper bells, foaming white at the mouth. Of course, the crowd burst into another round of uproarious laughter.

"I, Mother Pig, may not dare call myself great, but at least I'm far more blessed than that ox born to a life of toil. Liu Bei had earlobes down to his shoulders—a look fit for an emperor. Apart from that, I have bigger ears than him, plus a great mouth that samples everything under heaven. Setting that aside, just look at my output these past years—two litters a year, ten or more piglets per litter. Who among you can match that? Surely that's no exaggeration!" The sow was so carried away with pride that she boasted a bit too far.

"You! A dung beetle wearing flowers—don't be so smug and smelly! Big mouth, slurps slop, cackles away, talks big—big ears, you say? Useful, useful! You can shoo flies with them, or make a few appetizers—braised, marinated, shredded ear... As for those ears of yours, I've taken a fancy to them! As for your output? Better not mention it! Your precious offspring either end up as roast suckling pig on the table, get frozen for export, or get a little 'free surgery' from people. I say, our dear sister who thinks she's Diao Chan! Why not spare yourself? Why keep piling up bad karma?" After Yellow Dog's tongue-lashing, the old ox grinned broadly.

Mother Pig, at this point, was crying her eyes out.

"Friends, judging by your usual fine words and noble deeds, you are all models for me to learn from. But it seems your enthusiasm for serving the public is rather low at the moment. If you won't despise me, this errand-running task, I dare say, is well within my humble ability. This term's president of the self-governing council—it seems the duty is one I cannot refuse." Dr. Chicken seized the chance, hoping to pull off a surprise.

"Not so fast, not so fast! Though the Doctor is brimming with confidence, don't forget the prerequisites for being president! Why not let everyone hear about your greatness? Why the rush to hide yourself?" Miss Black Cat, who had been nursing a grudge ever since last year when she was teasing chicks and got slapped by a wing from the big rooster, wasn't about to let the cock grab an easy win.

The big rooster glared at Black Cat, then said humbly: "Alright! Alright! I obey. Friends, facts always triumph over eloquence. I know full well I'm not tall, not good-looking, possess no extraordinary strength, nor double the wisdom of others. All I have is a sincere heart devoted to serving others. As you all know, if our Earth were shunned by the Sun and we lost sunlight, you can imagine whether we could continue to survive."

"Not a blade of grass would grow; we'd be plunged into endless darkness—how could anyone live? It would be the end of all life!" Even Grandpa Sheep, who rarely spoke, grew anxious.

"Friends, surely you remember that day when, before dawn, I lifted my voice in song? Mind you, I wasn't practicing my throat—I was calling the sun for all living things! Consider, has the sun ever come out on its own without my summoning? Regarding this, I dare not call myself great, because I, like everyone, cannot live in a world without sunlight! Friends, let us have a public decision, a public decision—I will absolutely submit to the will of all!" Having said this, the Doctor politely made a circular bow.

He drew a round of applause from the crowd.

"Say, Doctor! You are indeed great enough." Mr. Huang spoke up.

"I dare not accept such praise. Please guide me and bear with me in the future!" The Doctor was very modest.

"Since you're greater than anyone, I can rest easy. Let me make a public announcement: from now on, if that white-eyed wolf, the yellow weasel, the fox, or the badgers pay a visit to your residence, you may handle them yourself. No need for me to meddle, lest people laugh at me for taking undeserved credit." Mr. Huang, silent for a long while, suddenly called the Doctor's bluff.

"No, no, that won't do! Second Master, Second Ancestor, please have mercy, have mercy! Let you be the president—I'm willing to be counted under your roof, consider it... consider it a sort of dependent..." The Doctor, panicking, was utterly incoherent.

"Scoundrel! You're not fit to appoint me! Just filled your belly, and you start playing with your life! Get lost!" Mr. Huang wouldn't have any of it.

"Alas! I say, let's each go our own way!" Brother Ox said, ambling out of the courtyard...

Winter Night Talks by the Stove

The Dharma in Outline — Dongyin hangs solitary off the Eastern Sea. Winter days are bitterly cold. By evening the sea-wind howls, great waves pound the rocks, and all manner of sounds rise together, robbing one of any peaceful rest. I have been tied to this place for two years. On idle winter nights I love to invite three or five companions of the Way, gather round the stove, brew tea, and discourse together upon the Unborn — a pastime with its own quiet charm.

One evening the friends proposed inviting an Old Man Ou to expound the Dharma for the assembly. When the old man arrived, he said: "Out of your kindness I dared not fail to appear. If we're simply chatting, that's fine. To speak the Dharma you must ask someone of real attainment."

The assembly pressed him. The old man said: "It's not that I'm hoarding my old strength and refusing to speak — the truth is I don't know how to expound. Besides, the Dharma is already complete and present — what need is there to speak it? Even if I forced myself to speak, how could the tongue range over empty space? There is no opening at all!"

I said: "This old fellow is skilled at turning himself into uselessness. Seems he won't confess unless pressed. Let's search out his stolen goods and see how he can deny them then!"

The old man quickly answered: "Don't, don't! Fellow travelers are kin — why must it be so? Can we speak loosely of Buddhist principle?"

The assembly said: "Fair enough!"

The old man accordingly said: "Worldly dharma itself is the Dharma of the Buddha. Apart from worldly dharma, no Buddhist Dharma can be established. Sentient beings themselves are the Buddha. Set sentient beings aside and the Buddha cannot be found. So the Dharma of the Buddha is: Independence, Freedom, Equality, and Fraternity."

The assembly broke in clamorously: "Who doesn't know these are the slogans of the French Revolution? Can the Buddhist Dharma truly be like this?"

The old man said: "Gentlemen, calm yourselves a moment. Today I'll simply borrow these slogans as a sketch for our talk: first, True Independence; second, True Equality; third, True Freedom; and finally, True Fraternity."

True Independence

"How can there be Freedom, Equality, and Fraternity if one cannot be independent? So when I speak of Freedom, Equality, and Fraternity, I must put Independence first as the precondition. Otherwise the logic falls apart, and no wise person would accept it. When we call Independence 'true,' we show it differs from the loose, everyday sense of the word. The independence usually spoken of is comparative and relative: non-independence gives rise to independence, or I am independent while you are not, or each person independently seeks his own independence. The True Independence of the Dharma is not like that. It is not only non-clinging and non-conditioning, without dependence or reliance — it is also without two, without three, neither one nor many. Search the whole empty expanse and you cannot find a single companion. Search for a single thing — even a particle bordering on void — and it cannot be found. 'The ten directions truly abide in cessation' — how pitiful! Even if one wished to be a slave, one cannot. Tell me — could It choose not to be Independent? It is not that It seeks Independence; It cannot but be Independent. So when the World-Honored One was born, he took seven steps, pointed one finger to the heavens, one finger to the earth, and said: 'In the heavens above and the world below, I alone am honored!' This was not merely looking upon no one — he did not even place mountains, rivers, the great earth, animals, plants, minerals — anything at all — within his sight."

(I interrupted: "Presumably they were all outside his sight.")

"This is the fine example of honoring oneself where no person is, of being a Buddha where no Buddha is. Yet later generations, alas — their bones grew soft, their spines bent. They couldn't stand straight, couldn't bear any weight. They only gazed upward in admiration and praise, feeling small before him. Not only could they not find a single one who'd say 'the man of action would also be thus,' they didn't even dare grand words like Xiang Yu. If Yunmen had not stepped forward to take it up, it would seem the World-Honored One had acted in vain."

(He looked around.) "Do you get it?"

(The assembly glanced at one another, smiling without speaking.)

"Don't go silent as cicadas in the cold! Even if you answer wrong, this old fellow won't report you to have your pay docked."

(The assembly burst out laughing.)

A senior layperson among those present said: "Could True Independence be what the ancients meant by 'Standing alone revealed amid the myriad forms'? Or 'One who is no companion of the ten thousand dharmas' — can such a one bear the name of truly independent?"

The old man said: "That's the talk of someone dragging through mud and water. Do you mean only a tall person can stand independent?" (The assembly laughed.) "A truly independent person has no companion at all."

The assembly said: "Please, elder, point it out for us clearly."

The old man said: "This old fool is still today stumbling here and crashing there, with nowhere to turn — how could I presume to guide anyone else? The ancient worthies have offered many skillful means on this matter. Why abandon gold to seek □? Don't you see what National Master Qingliang said: 'But a single thought unborn, the front edge and the back edge cut off, the illuminating essence standing alone…' — that is an entry point. In every adverse or favorable condition, the mind does not waver, the will does not shift — there's some flavor of True Independence there. If one can meet it, one obtains 'not falling into emotional dust, not abiding in conceptual thought, loftily beyond and detached; then the whole realm hides nothing, and each thing becomes wholly a great function, every one of them flowing forth from one's own heart and mind.' Is that not the joy of a lifetime? Why then beg leftovers from others? Do you get it?"

(The assembly still smiled without speaking.)

"True Independence is what we mean by True Spontaneous Presence. If you still don't get it, I'd advise you to go ahead and observe 'Spontaneous Presence.' Once observed, everything becomes 'self'; every place is where 'self' abides. Gradually compassion and wisdom grow day by day, until one sets loving-kindness in motion and wields compassion with skillful means — all flowing forth from one's own household treasures, nothing borrowed. Having reached this, the ten thousand dharmas have already returned to the One — where else can one seek the ten thousand dharmas? Who is there to seek oneself…? To speak of Independence at all is utterly superfluous."

True Equality

"'This Dharma is equal, without high or low.' The Dharma of the Buddha is the Dharma of Equality, yet it is not like worldly equality — equality of standing, or equality side by side. It is thorough, non-comparative, original Equality. Because it is unique, without a second, and does not even establish the one, it cannot but be Equal. Hence: True Equality. Like the single flavor of ocean water, the one truth of the Dharma-realm — all the myriad phenomena are stamped with one Dharma."

"Thus the Mahāratnakūṭa Sūtra, Mañjuśrī tells Siṃhavijaya: '…Good son, such Equality: because the various natures are all non-existent, those things and others — all dharmas being of one flavor — it is thus spoken. To speak of one flavor means: because of transcendence, no defilement, no purity, no permanence, no impermanence, no birth, no extinction, no self, no receiver, no grasping, no abandoning. Such exposition of the Dharma holds no notion of "I expound," and no discrimination. Good son, to know and cultivate within this Equality of Dharma is called Equality. Furthermore, good son, when a bodhisattva enters this Equality, he does not perceive various worlds — whether one or many. Within Equality he does not see Equality; within opposition he does not see opposition. This is because the original nature is pure.'"

"Also, the Buddha in the Sūtra of Resolved Vinaya tells Mañjuśrī: 'All dharmas attain without struggle; because the prior limit and the posterior limit cannot be obtained, only then can one see the Equality of the three times.'"

"Huangbo also says: 'This very original pure mind, along with sentient beings, Buddhas, worlds, mountains and rivers, the conditioned and the unconditioned, pervading the ten directions — all are equal.'"

"Know that upon realizing True Equality, one instantly becomes a Buddha. To pluck a single blade of grass and make it a sixteen-foot golden body, to stir a long river into butter — even palaces that follow one's person are still small affairs for servants."

"The Xinxinming says: 'If you would correspond in haste, speak only of non-duality. What is non-dual is all alike, embracing everything. The wise throughout the ten directions all enter this school….'"

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Quickly enter! Quickly enter!"

True Freedom

"Freedom is liberation. If you hope for True Freedom, you must have Great Liberation. Although no one binds you, what need is there for liberation? And yet — you must first be a person for it to matter. Otherwise, no matter how tough your mouth, how can a mute taste the bitterness of the herb? In short, to be able to 'be empty yet constantly function, function yet constantly be empty' — then one can be free without vexation."

"Grand Master Daoxin says: 'Just let your mind be free and at ease. Do not practice contemplation; do not clarify the mind; do not give rise to greed or hatred; do not harbor worry. Spacious and unobstructed, act freely in any direction; neither doing good nor doing evil. In walking, standing, sitting, lying down — whatever the eye meets, whatever conditions arise — all is the wondrous function of the Buddha, joyful and carefree. Therefore it is called Buddha.' See how simple, how effortless. Why do you gentlemen not each liberate yourselves, be free and at ease, joyful and carefree — become Buddhas!"

"Oṃ — vajra bhā ya, svāhā!"

True Fraternity

"Love springs from feeling; feeling is the seed of Buddhahood. Yet this single feeling has distinctions — great and small, pure and defiled, public and private, love and hate — and differences of Buddha, sage, person, beast, good and evil. So its fruits also differ: the six realms, the various heavens, Buddhas, bodhisattvas, arhats… and so on. The supreme of feeling is: True Fraternity — unconditioned great compassion, shared-substance great sorrow. Being 'true,' its measure equals empty space; feeling pervades without exception; and because feeling pervades without exception, wisdom too pervades without exception. This is compassion and wisdom in joint operation, fully revealing the virtue of the Dharma-body. If you gentlemen can, with ardent feeling, suddenly transcend the personal self, that is the arising of the supreme mind — and it corresponds to True Fraternity. If instead one broadly 'loves' yet still sees a self and others, one can never rise above the realm of politicians and religionists; one is still far from True Fraternity, and to become a Buddha one must wait until the year of the donkey. And yet you gentlemen may be teachers, fathers, sons — you cannot set aside the virtues of loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, love, kindness, and compliance; otherwise love has its gaps and cannot be called broad."

"In sum: cultivating human relations and fulfilling one's station is the foundation of becoming a Buddha; wild license and unrestrained abandon is the omen of falling into Māra's net. Be wary! Be warned!"

"'Whatever can be spoken is called worldly truth.' All that I have said above — feeling cannot be set aside — I have spoken at random, in fragments and snippets, with forced analogies and strained connections. It really doesn't sound like human speech; by the rules I should be slapped across the mouth."

(After a long pause.) "Given this old fool's dotage, shall we provisionally file it away and let it go at that?"

(The assembly laughed.)

"In truth, this is no joke. What I have said is all nonsense. Please don't mistake it for the essential meaning of the Dharma. If it were the Dharma, even 'one' could not be established — what talk of two, three, four, five, or six?"

The assembly asked: "What, then, is the essential meaning of the Dharma?"

The old man said: "If you wish to know the essential meaning of the Dharma, you must first take three blows, as a precedent."

The assembly eagerly said: "Then please administer them now."

The old man laughed and said: "You really don't know pain from itching!"

Late at night the assembly dispersed. The above is recorded from memory.

Winter Night Talks Continued — Further Discussion of the Fundamental Spirit of the Dharma

The layperson Gaofeng has been my Dharma-companion for many years. Plain and honest by nature, bold in character, he has no little root of wisdom. Though he could be carved, it is a pity he has never met a master craftsman. The other day, after completing official business and returning to his post, he brought me a jar of "Sparrow-Tongue" tea and two cylinders of Xiaogan sesame candy, which suited my humble tastes. But with the wind and snow of this far cape by the sea, fellow travelers are the more precious — how could I bear to enjoy such things alone? So I sent notes inviting several friends for a gathering round the stove to taste them together. In the evening the guests arrived. We sat around the stove, sipping tea, chewing candy, chatting — the height of contentment.

Among those present, Layperson Cha'an (who teaches at Dongyin Junior High), feeling that the meaning from the previous stove-gathering's casual talk on the Dharma had not yet been exhausted, proposed "let the situation continue." The whole assembly agreed. The Old Man Ou laughed and said: "What I said the other day was random talk — I was only trying to draw a smile from all of you. Layperson Cha'an, why take it so seriously?"

Cha'an said: "Not so. Pondering it these past days, what the elder set forth is in fact the essential outline of the Dharma, the pivotal meaning of the Three Vehicles, the Great Way shared by human beings, devas, and even Buddhas and bodhisattvas. Surely the elder is not hiding while seeming to reveal?"

The assembly said: "Agreed."

Only Gaofeng demurred, saying: "The four — Independence, Freedom, Equality, Fraternity — are the slogans emphasized by the French Revolution. This elder has just snatched them up and peddled them as the Dharma. The elder plays in samādhi; one shouldn't take them as actual dharmas."

The old man laughed: "Gaofeng's lofty view is certainly correct, certainly correct. If I were to speak the Dharma, my tongue would have to hang on the eastern wall. If you take it as the Dharma, you'll fall into hell as swiftly as an arrow."

Cha'an said: "Is it not so — 'All is the Dharma,' as the Buddha spoke? Why then may Independence, Freedom, Equality, and Fraternity alone not be the Dharma? And Brother Gaofeng, with your broad learning, surely you know that a nation that cannot stand independent has no national character, and a person who cannot stand independent has no human character to speak of. Would it then be that wealth and honor can tempt, poverty and lowliness can shift, force and might can bend? If the eight winds do not cease, one reels east and falls west; the six senses meeting their objects stick like glue — can such be called a great man? To speak of learning the Dharma goes without saying. Gaofeng has shown no brilliance here."

The old man laughed heartily: "It's all my fault for being topsy-turvy and confused, speaking at random. In truth the Dharma is already present — the moment it's spoken, it's already lost. So before opening the mouth, one should take thirty blows. The Dharma is never like that. Now, to speak of 'Independence' at all — it already has a pair. Otherwise, who is the 'Independence' that stands? Who establishes Independence? You must know: whoever 'establishes' cannot be alone; whoever is alone has no need to establish. So when the Buddha was born and said 'In the heavens above and the world below, I alone am honored!' — he was still crossed by his clever descendants, who said it was only 'a messenger of words,' leading Yunmen to imitate clumsily and say 'Strike dead with one blow — feed it to the dog.' What sort of person am I, an old fool, that I would dare refuse my offense!"

While they were speaking, Lin, the temple-attendant of the Eastern Sea Spirit Palace Temple, burst in through the door, calling out: "This time you can't slip past me, old Daoist! Bring tea, set out candy!"

I said: "You're an old Daoist. Let me ask you two proper questions. If you answer, you're worthy of receiving offerings; if you don't, you get the closed-door soup."

"What is meant by 'The Valley Spirit does not die'?"

"Empty, yet alive!"

"What is meant by 'The Mysterious Female'?"

"Birth without birth!"

I laughed and said: "With the cold of heaven and the freeze of earth, I'll let you pass for now. Please take the humblest seat and let me brew a fresh pot."

The friends talked deep into the night, because they had heard I might be returning to Taiwan, and they were grieved that a future meeting would be hard to count on, and that to gather everyone again would be hard to bring about.

A Few Remembrances of Master Ma Dashi

My impression of Master Ma Dashi was that he was warmhearted, forthright, and lived his life entirely for the Dharma — so wholly devoted that he set his own body aside. He endured countless instances of discrimination, insult, slander, and misunderstanding, yet never struck back against those who wronged him, holding fast to the principle of “not keeping score of offenses.” His mastery of yogic self-cultivation was well known.

I still remember during the time our community was based on Zhongshan North Road: at a Dharma assembly once, I saw him mixing incense ash into sandalwood powder, and my first thought was, how stingy to cut corners even when making offerings to the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas? That seemed completely unreasonable. There were crowds of people around at the time, so he didn’t glance my way at all. After the assembly ended, just as I was about to leave, he came over to chat with me. As we talked, the subject of burning sandalwood incense came up, and he said, completely unfazed: “When we hold a Great Compassion repentance ceremony, the first step is the vigil leader chanting ‘I bow with all my heart,’ and at that point we must not give rise to discriminative thinking — that is what is truly ‘unmixed.’ As for burning sandalwood incense, to make it easier to light, the top layer has to be a mix of incense powder and ash. If no one harbors doubts or discriminative thoughts about it, it is not ‘cutting corners’ at all; but if someone does start to discriminate, that is when true ‘mixing’ occurs, don’t you think?” He said it so lightly and easily that I was thoroughly taken aback — it was clear Master Ma had already attained the ability to read minds.

After we relocated from Zhongshan North Road, I visited him once and found him using qigong to treat a child with paralysis. I did not want to interrupt him, and I felt compassion for the sick child, so I stood to one side silently reciting the Great Compassion Mantra. After the child left, the first thing Master Ma said to me was: “Reciting the Great Compassion Mantra often dispels karmic obstacles and increases blessing and wisdom. Dispelling again and again until there is nothing left to dispel, increasing again and again until you reach the state of the Two-Footed Honored One [the Buddha], haha…” He did not say anything more, but I knew exactly what he meant — was this not yet another proof of his mind-reading ability?

The last time I saw him, there was far too much detail to set down in a diary; what makes that meeting stick in my mind most is that I’d heard he was preparing to retreat into the mountains for a closed retreat. As we chatted idly, I could feel pure light radiating from him, seeping straight into my bones and heart. Even though right view is the eye of the Noble Eightfold Path, and the saying holds, “I do not prize your supernatural powers; I only prize your correct insight into the Dharma” — it is also true that “supernatural powers are no more than trivial peripheral matters for a sage.” Take Master Ma, for example: he attained supernatural powers but never fell into attachment to them, he never struck back when wronged, he acted as if he had nothing even when he possessed everything, as if he were empty even when he was full — measured against the sages of old, could he be considered in any way inferior?

After Master Ma entered parinirvana, he was gracious enough to appear before me to say his goodbyes, and left me this parting instruction: “Transcend the marks of gender, separate from the marks of gender, abide in the marks while being separate from them, and forever eradicate all obstacles.” Master Ma also told me he had been reborn in the Pure Land of the Northern Quarter, the realm of Amoghasiddhi Tathāgata (the Unfailing Accomplishment Buddha), had entered the gate of the Great Vajra Vehicle, held all vajra seals, and would soon return to the saha world with his vow, to greatly spread tantric rituals, widely propagate the Vajrayana path, and would not forget his earlier promise: “Those who have not restored their original mind are not qualified to receive the samaya precepts; those who have not fully cultivated the virtue of the precepts, I vow never to grant formal empowerment to.” Before long we will see a forest of pure sandalwood, with no mixed trees [a metaphor for a Dharma community of only genuine practitioners]; the three secrets of the Vajrayana will flourish, and the fourfold reliances will be honored — this is sure to come to pass.

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The Drunken Bodhisattva and Me

Though I grew up in a Buddhist family, the thing that had the deepest influence on me in my early years was an old-style novel — The Tale of the Drunken Bodhisattva. It was a woodblock printed edition from the late Ming dynasty, with clear typeface and perfect layout, not a single missing character, typo, or sign of printing correction. The book depicted the monk Ji Dian (the legendary Crazy Monk Jigong) so vividly that he felt like he could step right off the page, brimming with a sense of warmth and closeness. On top of that, the text was so witty and packed with subtle, illuminating insights that I read it again and again, unable to put it down. Forgive my saying something embarrassing, but my penchant for heavy drinking in the years before middle age was influenced no small amount by Jigong.

After I left my hometown, I bought two copies of The Drunken Bodhisattva to relive old memories, but unfortunately I could never find a copy as flawless as that original Ming edition. After I came to Taiwan, I searched for over twenty years and never found one. Recently, I stumbled into a bookstore, and to my delight, found the book I had been dreaming of. I bought it immediately and could not wait to read it. But to my disappointment, this photo-lithographed reprint of The Drunken Bodhisattva was riddled with missing, wrong, and misprinted characters, to the point that the original text was barely recognizable, leaving me deeply frustrated.

Everyone knows that The Life of Jigong was adapted from The Drunken Bodhisattva, but it is far more mass-market, packed with supernatural and outlandish elements. Even with its massive reach among the general public via storytelling, opera, film, and television, the protagonist shared by these two books feels more and more dissimilar the more you compare them. For example, the Ji Dian in The Drunken Bodhisattva is clearly a Chan master who abides in the samadhi of playful activity; in The Life of Jigong, however, he wears a lotus-shaped woolen hat, chants the six-syllable mantra of Avalokiteshvara, and comes off more like a practitioner of the Vajrayana path. What’s more, it is cluttered and so bizarre that it strays far from the original source material, so I still favor The Drunken Bodhisattva.

These thoughts swirled in my mind until I felt a strong urge: to put together a revised edition of The Drunken Bodhisattva — preserve the original meaning exactly, leave all verses and sayings untouched, simply fix typos, fill in missing characters, and rewrite the entire text in modern vernacular Chinese. As soon as the idea came to me, problems arose: should I write it just for myself? There is no need for that at all. Should I serialize it in Hai magazine? That would be highly inappropriate, because Jigong presents as a figure who ignores minor precepts and cares nothing for formal decorum. To ordinary people, he is a “precept-breaking, meat-and-wine drinking madman who spouts nonsense” — and for a monastic still in the stage of study, this is hardly a fitting role model. What’s more, he goes around calling people “bald donkeys” and “thieving monks” — how many people can truly remain unmoved by harsh words? Who has genuinely realized the equality of all sounds? If I caused a stir and the monastic leadership blamed me, would I not be causing trouble for Venerable Le [the editor of Hai]? Should I self-publish? I simply do not have the means. I thought it over and over, but there was nothing I could do. So I could only pour these frustrations into a short song:

Ji Dian! Ji Dian! I’ve wasted forty years studying you in private. It’s true we’re kindred spirits, but we share a root yet grow on different branches. So you drink your great elixir of the Way, I drink my humble yellow wine; you grow in bodhi with every day you’re drunk, I make a fool of myself in front of others when I’m drunk; you only feign drunken madness to veil your Chan insight, I fuel my ignorance and court disaster. Don’t speak of realizing bodhi while drunk — at best, it’s just long days passed with a pot of wine. I’ve long seen through all that! No need to hide or hedge. If you find the ocean-seal samadhi, with its hollow abiding in emptiness and stillness, too stiff and unfree, why not let rough wine moisten your withered gut? Let’s not debate whether bodhi is truly drunk or not — what gladdens me is the unobstructed interpenetration of principle and phenomena, the unobstructed interpenetration of all things, unchanging yet following conditions, following conditions yet unchanging, wild and addled, carefree and slovenly, unrestrained, unattached, making a Dharma altar wherever I am! All say you’re truly awake but pretending to be drunk, outwardly soiled but inwardly pure, feigning madness to hide the traces of a sage — you’re exactly a cold-faced, warm-hearted soul. I only love how your laughter, anger, scolding, and praise are all perfect works of art, tossed off without effort! Forget all this talk of the Bodhisattva who turns the dharma ship back — it’s clear you regret leaving the Lotus Sutra assembly early, so you gave up your small single-log raft and came to the sea of suffering to be a ferry for beings. Do you remember when we heard the Dharma together in the Jetavana Grove? All this playing in the dusty world feels like a dream long past!

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Dream Ramblings

When I served on Dongyin Island, the environment was simple, my duties were focused and undivided, and I made good progress in my personal practice in my free time from official work, though I still had my share of small mishaps. One evening, I was reading The Record of the Mind Lamp, intending to tweak a few characters to correct its claims, but before I could pick up my pen, as I sat in meditation I vaguely entered a state of samadhi. I saw an old man with a ruddy, healthy complexion, gray hair and beard, his hair coiled in a topknot, wearing a simple patched cotton robe, who smiled at me and gave me a teaching on the character yi (以, meaning “with/by”): “Use your own awareness to awaken your own mind; use your own mind to awaken your own awareness. That which awakens is the mind, and the mind is that which awakens; the awakening mind and the mind are not two, hence it is called right awakening.” I wanted to ask for further guidance, but the old man opened his palm in a gesture to me, then floated away and disappeared. The reason he taught the character yi rather than speaking of the “Way” was that his lips never moved at all — the teaching was transmitted directly from mind to mind.

The night before I left Dongyin, I had just laid my head on the pillow when I suddenly saw men and women of all ages sitting together in my room, as if to bid me farewell. Among them, an old man recited: “Everyone speaks of the White Horse King, but few in the world know him…” (There is a White Horse King Temple on the island.) Suddenly, the sound of a sentry roll call cut him off, and all of them vanished. The next morning, I boarded a ship back to Taiwan, and schools of sea snakes followed the stern without letting up, which many on board took as a marvel. After I prayed silently in my heart, they finally disappeared.

These are the sorts of things the Sage [Confucius] declined to speak of, yet I ramble on about them foolishly, hence the title “Dream Ramblings.” It has been three and a half years since I left Dongyin. Looking back on those bygone days, speaking of dreams within a dream, all I can do is lift my eyes to the clouds and sky, and pray that all my old friends are safe and well.

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The Joy of Living

Serenity is the sweet dew of life, joy is the sunshine of daily existence. A life without serenity is a bitter life; a life without joy is a sinful life. However, unless we can “remain self-aware in every moment, know our own mind with every thought, and find peace in every task,” serenity is hard to come by. Joy, on the other hand, is not difficult to reach. As long as we turn away from wrong, are content, and grateful, joy will be ours. What’s more, chasing thrills only leads to deeper emptiness; chasing pleasure only leaves more loneliness in its wake. Because what stands out most sharply highlights defects; after every high tide comes an inevitable low tide. Only those who cherish the interdependent arising of all things, and know contentment and gratitude, can know “the joy of living.”

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Roots

Water has a source, trees have roots. All living things have their own individual and shared origins. Roots reach far to connect to the lifeblood of a thousand branches and ten thousand leaves, making them the most compelling thing of all. African Americans traveled all across the African continent in search of their bloodline roots. For those committed to “fully exploring the principles of all things and exhausting the nature of all beings,” the root of life is even more worthy of longing and seeking. Because this is the only path to “when the root is established, the Way is born” [a saying from the Analects]. In fact, anyone who can hold fast to the resolve to never give up until they reach their goal, brave wind and waves, swim against the current, will eventually find the root of their life. At that time, you will understand what “the valley spirit never dies, this is called the mysterious womb” [from the Daodejing] means, and exclaim “all things are fully contained within me” [from the Mencius].

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Arrogance

Arrogance is the cancer of the human heart. It eats away at the heart more than any other ill. All disloyalty, unfilial behavior, injustice, lack of brotherly respect, disrespect, dishonesty, disharmony, and failure to grow… all spring from a single character: arrogance. The essence of arrogance is “self-clinging”; its manifestation is the insistence that “I am right”; its effect is to lock the doors of the heart, block the springs of wisdom, cut off connection with others, and rigidify one’s life. Its most common complications are face-saving, jealousy, competitiveness, and dissatisfaction. Once you contract this disease, unless you are determined to undergo major surgery to cut out the root cause — self-clinging — it is truly incurable.

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Begone!

Who extinguished the lamp of the Dharma in my heart? Who filled my mind with too many idle daydreams and lustful thoughts? Who polluted my pure, sincere feelings, and made me cunning and worldly? Who stole my freedom and authenticity, and made me look petty and awkward in front of others? Who destroyed my open, fearless heart, and made me cling to life, fear death, and hesitate at every turn? Who stirred up my original, inner fire, making me often forget that I am a man who stands tall and proud between heaven and earth? Who made me greedy for unmerited gains, constantly worrying about personal losses and gains? Who made me cling to the path, so I stagnate and stop halfway? Who made me forget “respect, responsibility, effort,” and neglect my mission in life?

Oh! I understand now. It’s you! You — “thief of happiness” — begone!

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Demons

Mention demons, and people don’t just feel a sense of mystery — they often get goosebumps and shiver with fear. Who is a demon? I’m afraid even a demon would not realize or admit that he is a demon. What exactly is a demon, anyway? I can’t lay out every detail of what a demon is. Simply put, a demon is anyone who uses their own wrongdoing to torment themselves and disturb those around them. So any being, human or otherwise, living in any realm or state of mind, who insists on acting out, developing, and expanding their one-sided, biased nature, cannot know peace. They can only live in affliction and pain — that is what makes them a demon.

“All words and actions have consequences; all deeds will be repaid in kind.” Error breeds affliction; evil cannot escape destruction. Those who live in affliction should be vigilant and reflect on themselves, because to demons, you are a “good conductor” [of negative energy]. Under the law of “like attracts like,” demons may choose you at any time. There is no need for people to fear demons, for demons are not frightening in the least. What is truly frightening is human self-clinging. As long as you can live with constant self-awareness, knowing your own mind with every thought, and peace of mind in every affair, demons will be completely helpless against you. And there is no need to curse demons, either — they are more pitiful than anyone. After all, demons are also children of the divine, just “unfilial children who have run away from their father.”

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Beauty

Though loving beauty is human nature, when that love strays too far, isn’t it repulsive? What exactly is beauty? There have been many definitions throughout history. I find that beyond the saying “beauty is fullness,” which holds the deepest meaning, there is also what Youzi said in the Analects: “The function of ritual lies in harmony; this is what makes the Way of the ancient kings beautiful.” Is there really anything more beautiful in the world than when a sage governs, and every person shows their own self-respect by respecting others, creating an atmosphere of joy and harmony? In fact, without harmony, there is no beauty at all.

As for a person’s beauty, beyond the worth of a beautiful soul formed by a full, bright heart, when it comes to outward dress and appearance, harmony is all that is needed. Excessive makeup only destroys harmony, and only has the opposite effect. Don’t people know that true beauty must be rooted in truth and goodness? I ask you: without sincerity and kindness, what can possibly be called beauty?

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Seek the Answer from Your Own Mind

The most obvious difference between sages and externalist paths is that sages teach only to turn inward and work on one’s own mind and heart. Because of this, those accustomed to seeking profound truths outside themselves naturally put up barriers for themselves, and find it hard to accept the sages’ teachings. In the past, I always wondered why my afflictions were so heavy, but I could never find the right answer, so I could only chalk it up to fate. It was only after I awakened to the Dharma that I learned to turn my practice inward. Slowly, I discovered that all affliction is entirely of my own making. When a person abandons constant self-awareness, lets go of knowing their own mind with every thought, and stops seeking peace in every affair, instead willingly letting their five senses lead them, driven by sensory desire, they are essentially living in the darkness of sin. How can they avoid affliction?

Over the years, I have found two unshakable truths: error is the cause of affliction; destruction is the result of sin. If you want to know the joy of living, you must first clear away the accumulated grime in your own heart. If you want to hold a serene mind at all times, you must avoid wrong thoughts, wrong actions, even wrong speech and wrong perceptions. Similarly, if you refuse to resolutely renounce unwholesome thoughts and actions, destruction is only a matter of time. If you are willing to seek the answer from your own mind, you will find contentment wherever you go; if you can fully understand your own original mind, you will simultaneously understand everything there is to know.

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Forgiveness

The two characters shu (forgiveness) and kuan (tolerance) are often paired together as the word “forgiveness” (kuan shu). It is a sign that one has room in their heart; dissatisfaction is one of the main sources of life’s suffering. People fail to grasp that every person has their own independent autonomy, that everyone’s state of mind is different, and that in the entire universe, there is only one you. They also refuse to accept that it is only natural that other people’s thoughts and actions do not align with your own wishes. Instead, they use themselves as a standard to measure and demand of others. This traps them in the affliction of dissatisfaction.

If you want to reduce and eliminate dissatisfaction, unhappiness, and discontent in your life, you first have to admit that everyone makes mistakes, everyone has flaws, reflect more on yourself, and be less demanding of others — your afflictions will inevitably lessen a great deal. If you can take the saying, “Do not demand of others what you have not first demanded of yourself; do not criticize others for faults you have not first corrected in yourself,” and broaden it even further — even if you are capable of doing something yourself, do not force others to do it; even if you have never made a certain mistake, do not harshly demand that others never make that mistake either — then life will grow more harmonious, and it will be far easier to resolve conflicts and transform ill will. Because the person most willing to forgive others will most easily win others’ loyalty; the person most skilled at excusing their own faults will find it hardest to win others’ forgiveness.