True Records of Guanyin Bodhisattva's Miraculous Responses

Linyuan Buddhist Hall

Anyone who recites Guanyin's holy name will receive a response in proportion to the sincerity of the invocation—great sincerity brings a great response, small sincerity brings a small response; there is absolutely no case in which there is no response. When reciting the Bodhisattva's name, one must come with a pure and clear heart; one cannot come with a mind full of wild thoughts and excessive desires. The manifestations of karmic response are of three kinds:

First, Manifest Response to Manifest Invocation: In this very life, one sincerely prostrates and recites, and immediately receives protection and blessing—misfortune is transformed into good fortune, danger into auspiciousness, karmic obstacles dissolve, and blessings and wisdom increase.

Second, Subtle Response to Subtle Invocation: In a past life, one had cultivated sincere prostration and recitation, and although in this life one has not yet practiced, due to one's residual good roots, one receives protection without even knowing it—unknown calamities quietly vanish and blessings arise. If one harbors an unwholesome mind, even the most sincere prostration and recitation can only plant seeds of future goodness; no present response will be obtained. For Buddhas and Bodhisattvas only fulfill the wholesome thoughts of beings—they never fulfill unwholesome thoughts. If one does not resolve to turn from evil toward good, hoping that by reciting Guanyin's holy name one's evil deeds will succeed, there will definitely be no response, and one will not escape the karmic fruit of evil retribution.

In our present world, natural disasters and human calamities are unpredictable, and nuclear annihilation and terrorism are especially terrible—by what causes and conditions do we invite such karmic retribution? The Flower Garland Sutra states: "The beings of the Five Degenerate Ages do not cultivate the ten wholesome deeds, but exclusively create evil karma—killing, stealing, sexual misconduct, false speech, frivolous speech, harsh speech, duplicitous speech, greed, hatred, and wrong views. They do not honor their parents, do not respect the Three Jewels, and constantly quarrel with one another, mutually defaming and insulting each other." Since this retribution is summoned by one's own evil deeds, it can also be transformed by one's own wholesome deeds. Therefore it is said: karma is transformed by the mind; blessings are sought by oneself; fortune and misfortune both arise from within the heart.

I earnestly urge all compatriots at home and abroad to resolve at once to turn from evil toward good, cultivating the great mind of benefiting both self and others. Sincerely prostrate and recite "Namo Amitabha Buddha" and "Namo Guanshiyin Bodhisattva" to dissolve evil karma. Regardless of whether one is male or female, young or old, poor or wealthy, noble or humble, if one can be utterly sincere, there will definitely be a response, and one will not encounter any disaster or peril. Whether facing nuclear air raids, traveling by car, ship, or plane, or encountering all manner of dangers—floods, fires, drought, wind disasters, imprisonment, injustice, illness, demonic affliction, difficult childbirth, or hemorrhaging—if one single-mindedly recites Guanyin's holy name, one will immediately receive rescue, transforming peril into safety. Because the Bodhisattva's compassionate vow is most urgent, on behalf of the Buddha she shows mercy, saving the suffering and the distressed. Even when fixed karma cannot be transformed and life is lost, one can rely on the Bodhisattva's compassionate power to be guided to rebirth in the Land of Ultimate Bliss, settling the matter of birth and death, forever escaping the cycle of rebirth, with clothing and food naturally provided, blessings and longevity beyond measure. Moreover, with freedom to come and go between birth and death, one can return to the Saha world, broadly saving sentient beings, together taking rebirth in the Western Land, and attaining Buddhahood together.

◎ Laywoman Yu-zhi, residing at Jungongliao, Beitun District, Taichung City. In the 42nd year of the Republic, she joined the Amitabha class of the Lotus Society, reciting the Buddha's name and Guanyin's holy name morning and evening. Her four-year-old younger brother was playing by a nearby fish pond and accidentally fell into the water. The pond was over a zhang deep. Suddenly, a woman leapt into the water, carried him out and set him on the bank, then escorted him home, after which the woman suddenly disappeared. Her mother saw the boy's whole body soaked like a drenched chicken. After inquiring into the circumstances and changing his clothes, she brought him back to the pond. The water had not yet dried, and they asked around every household, but no one knew who had rescued him from the water. Later, they purchased a one-day Buddhist rosary with a small headpiece, inside of which was an image of Guanyin. The whole family crowded around to look. When her brother saw it, he jumped up joyfully and shouted: "This is the one who carried me up from the pond!" Only then did everyone greatly awaken and deeply feel the compassionate grace. Because his parents and elder sister constantly recited Guanyin's holy name, he was rescued when he fell into the water. For anyone whose children are in military service or traveling in dangerous places, please enshrine Guanyin at once and recite Guanyin's holy name—surely you will receive protection and eternal peace.

◎ Mrs. Huang had been married for ten years without bearing children, and was very anxious! She heard that praying to Guanyin Bodhisattva would certainly fulfill one's wish, so she sincerely prayed, requesting the gift of a son. If her request was fulfilled, she vowed to enshrine and worship Guanyin Bodhisattva for the rest of her life, observe a vegetarian diet, and recite scriptures. She became pregnant and gave birth to a boy; the following year she gave birth to a girl. After the mainland fell to the bandits, the whole family moved to Taiwan. Her husband's career became more successful, and the children were intelligent and filial, all studying at National Taiwan University. Knowing that all this was due to the Bodhisattva's compassionate grace, she prostrated and recited morning and evening with even greater devotion. Because her neighbors mostly believed in Western religion, they saw her vegetarian diet and Buddhist worship and ridiculed and tempted her in many ways, but her mind was not shaken. In the 47th year of the Republic, a neighbor again said: "The son of someone and the daughter of a certain lady both went to study in America, and both were helped by the church. Your son is about to graduate; if he wishes to stay in America, with the church's help there will be absolutely no problem." Her mind was shaken, and she was willing to follow along, attending the church several times. She decided to listen to the pastor and the neighbors' incitement, accepted baptism, and tore up and burned the enshrined image of Guanyin at home. Yet the ashes clearly displayed the holy visage as a warning. Still unrepentant, she forcefully dragged her husband and children to attend church gatherings. Suddenly she went mad—dancing, waving her arms, weeping and laughing maniacally, completely losing her reason, and not even recognizing her husband and children. They forcibly carried her home, where she continued weeping and laughing uncontrollably, refusing food for days. The pastor and church friends prayed to God and Jesus, but the prayers were ineffective. They invited famous doctors who injected sedatives, still without effect. Her friend Mrs. Zheng told Layman Ma Shaoqian of the Great Compassion Buddhist Society, who interceded for her treatment. Ma said: "She has been sheltered by the Bodhisattva her whole life; every prayer was answered. Suddenly she forgot the grace and violated her vow, changing to Western religion. If she had not torn up the holy image, this present retribution would not have occurred. For destroying a Buddhist image, one must fall into the Avici Hell. The Bodhisattva, in compassion, has given warnings again and again, commanding her to quickly turn back to avoid falling. Please tell her husband and children to re-enshrine Guanyin Bodhisattva at home, kneel and repent, vowing henceforth to sincerely recite the Buddha's name and do good deeds, never retreating again. Pray to all Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, and Dharma-protecting spirits to forgive her ignorance. Her illness can be immediately cured, and there is no need for treatment." Yet she refused to listen to the advice and would not turn back. Though the Bodhisattva is compassionate, there was nothing to be done.

Regarding paper paintings and wooden carvings of holy images, written characters and stone inscriptions of the Buddha's name—all should be regarded as the true Buddha, honored and offered, yielding boundless merit. To slight or desecrate them brings boundless evil retribution. The Buddha said: "Destroying stupa and temple, burning scriptures and images, or taking the property of Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha—this is called the first fundamental grave offense; one should fall into Avici Hell and suffer endlessly." A certain man later built a house and took a stone tablet bearing a Buddhist inscription for a doorstep threshold, thereby desecrating the Buddha's name—he was warned by heavenly fire and returned it. Only Mrs. Huang had received blessings by honoring Guanyin, then suddenly believed in Western religion and destroyed the holy image, immediately going mad as a warning. Though all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas are great in compassion and would give up even illusory bodies, how could they bear hatred or seek revenge for a stone tablet or paper image? The Dharma-protecting deities wished to manifest present retribution, combining admonition with punishment, to cause immediate repentance and turning back, avoiding the later retribution of falling into hell. Moreover, punishing one warns a hundred, causing all to generate respect and faith, receiving boundless blessings—thus punishing evil is in fact encouraging good.

◎ Since Elder Master Wen-zhi re-established Buddhist practice on the Buddha-Crown Mountain of Mount Putuo, the spirit of the Way has flourished day by day. In the great kitchen there was a tea attendant, who was a layperson, who resolved to boil water in the great kitchen to nourish the assembly. He had the deepest faith in Guanyin Bodhisattva. Each morning at three o'clock he rose to boil water, continuing until nine o'clock in the evening. Holding a large copper ladle, with each ladle of water he recited one holy name. His hands moved and his mouth recited, working without pause, the holy name unceasing. He continued this for twenty years. On the copper handle of the large water ladle, the complete holy image of Guanyin Bodhisattva suddenly appeared—perfect and majestic. At first he suspected it was painted by someone, so he washed it with water, but the more he washed, the clearer it became; he wiped it with cloth, and the more he wiped, the more distinct it showed, inspiring respect in all who saw it. Moved by this, the tea attendant resolved to leave the home life. Elder Master Wen said: "The Bodhisattva has shown compassion, manifesting a rare event. We should give rise to a rare mind, preserve and enshrine it, eternally guarding the mountain gate." He invited Master Yuan-ying to compose "The Record of Guanyin Bodhisattva's Responsive Manifestation."

◎ Mr. Liu Shan-ying said that since the winter of the renchen year, after reading the Four Lessons of Yun-lu and Yu Gong Jing-yi's Record of the Stove God, he deeply believed in the principles of the heavenly way and that blessings reward the good while calamities befall the lewd. Destiny is established by oneself; blessings are sought by oneself. During the guisi year pilgrimage, he was able to joyfully submit a written confession of his faults. Thereafter, every day he knelt and recited the Sutra and Mantra of Guanyin Cundi's Praise, praying for his mother's longevity and even for the salvation of sentient beings and the benefit of all creatures, which he also joyfully practiced. His mother originally suffered from a chronic illness and a hot-tempered disposition, which suddenly erupted simultaneously with even greater fury than before. His mother told him: "My illness began thirty-one years ago; it flares up and then heals. Today, since you kneel and recite scriptures, my illness has instead worsened—could it be that I am old and lack the fortune to bear it?" He wept and said: "It is truly the fault of my insufficient sincerity, of my unremoved delusive thoughts!" He immediately burned incense facing heaven, knocked his head on the ground weeping bitterly, vowing to cast away all delusive thoughts, praying for his mother's illness to quickly heal. At that time his mother had not taken a single drop of water for five days; that day she suddenly wanted to eat thin porridge. That night she dreamed that the enshrined Guanyin Great Being invited his mother to sit with her, and gave her a cup of green water, telling her to drink it. The next day her illness was halved, and within a few days she was completely healed. The chronic illness of over thirty years never recurred. Hence he believed even more deeply in the principle of karmic response, like an echo answering a sound. From then on, his scripture recitation became even more devout. (Record of Faith)

◎ In the Qing dynasty there was Deng Cheng-zhao, a native of Guangzhou, Guangdong Province. He took the Three Refuges and Five Precepts early in life. In the wushen year of Kangxi, in the fifth month, his eldest daughter-in-law surnamed Huang suddenly developed double abscesses in her throat; for over ten days she had difficulty swallowing and suffered greatly. One day, Master Hong-zan was returning to the mountain and passed by his door by boat. Cheng-zhao met him and told him of his daughter-in-law's condition, asking how to treat it. The master replied: "The majestic spiritual power of Guanyin Great Being is inconceivable, and she can save sentient beings with the spirit of great fearlessness." He immediately taught her the ten lines of Guanyin's Life-Saving Sutra: "Guanshiyin, Namo Fo, yu Fo you yin, yu Fo you yuan, Fo Fa Seng yuan, chang le wo jing, zhao nian Guanshiyin, mu nian Guanshiyin, nian nian cong xin qi, nian nian bu li xin." After Cheng-zhao returned home, he instructed his daughter-in-law to recite this, and told her to place a copy of the scripture by her bed, reciting it once more before sleep. The next morning she awoke feeling refreshed in body and settled in spirit. Continuing the recitation, by the second night the pus and blood in her sores burst forth and drained out. She joyfully called out: "My illness is healed!" She quickly rinsed her mouth and knelt devoutly before the Bodhisattva's image to bow. The rapidness of her recovery brought joy to the whole household. At once, near and far widely circulated the news: "The Bodhisattva's compassionate power is especially swift in its spiritual response." (Collection of Guanyin's Compassionate Forest)

◎ In Shanxi there was Zhang Yu, who had a daughter named Fo-er, who loved to recite the Guanyin Sutra (which is the Universal Gateway Chapter we now speak of). At fifteen years of age, she suddenly died, but revived half a day later. She said she had been seized by two underworld officers and carried over Cha Ridge (a place name), where she saw the officers first wrap two people in a black cover and send them to the Chen family, finally wrapping Fo-er in a flowered cloth. They told her: "You owe him 1,500 coins; today you should repay him." A person in green clothes came forward and said: "This girl recites the Guanyin Sutra—let her go for now." Thus she stumbled and fell to the ground, awakening with a start, and quickly told her father. The next day, her father visited Cha Ridge, and there indeed was a Chen family household whose mother dog had given birth to three puppies the previous night—two black and one spotted—the spotted one had died as soon as it was born. Zhang Yu then returned home, took money equal to the amount, and went to repay the Chen family. The Chen family would not accept it, so the money was used to make merit on behalf of the Zhang family. (Nanhai Ci-ban)

◎ In Linjiang, Jiangxi Province, there was a student named Shan Fan, who was very intelligent in his youth. At fourteen he entered school, and later married a woman surnamed Fan, whose childhood name was Jiang-cheng. She was beautiful but fierce, and Shan Fan feared her greatly. Not long after marriage, she began to humiliate him in countless ways, and even his father-in-law and mother-in-law could not stop her. Unable to bear the suffering, Shan Fan separated from his wife. He grew thinner day by day, and his mother saw this and was greatly worried. She suddenly dreamed an old man told her: "This is karmic retribution from a past life. Jiang-cheng in her previous life was a longevity mouse raised by the pure-action monk. Your son in his previous life was a scholar who once went to the temple and killed the mouse. Thus the evil retribution is in this life and cannot be reversed by human power. Only by sincerely reciting the Great Compassion Mantra (Guanyin Mantra) one hundred times each morning can it be effective." Upon awakening, she told Shan Fan's father, so both elders followed this instruction and devoutly recited the Great Compassion Mantra. After more than two months, the woman was still as tyrannical as before, even more unruly. One day, an old monk outside the gate was lecturing on Buddhist karma; many people gathered to listen. The woman went out to look, and shortly after, the monk abruptly ended his lecture and asked Jiang-cheng for a cup of clear water. Facing Jiang-cheng, he said: "Do not be angry; the previous life is not false, the present life is not true. Tsk—little mouse, retract your head; do not let the cat seek you out." After saying this, he took a sip of water and sprayed it toward Jiang-cheng, soaking even her lapels and sleeves. The onlookers were all stunned, but Jiang-cheng said not a word, wiped her face, and returned home on her own; the monk also departed. From then on, Jiang-cheng deeply repented of her past faults, becoming as shy as a new bride. She pleased her in-laws with joy, humbly submitted to her husband, and vowed never to decline again. (Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio)

◎ There was an Elder Shi, a native of Suzhou. He was generous and righteous. Past forty, he finally had a son, with the single name Huan. One day, carrying cash to Tiger Hill to build a hall for the Great Being, he suddenly heard weeping by the side of Sword Pond (a place name). He hastened forward and saw it was his childhood classmate, a certain Gui. Upon inquiry, he learned Gui was burdened by debt and pressed to the point of wanting to come there to kill himself. He immediately gave him three hundred taels of gold. Gui kowtowed before the Great Being's image and vowed: "I have received Shi-lao's great kindness. If in this life I cannot repay it, in the next life I am willing to become a dog or horse to repay him." Elder Shi also gave him a piece of jujube orchard land to live on. Gui had a daughter, and Elder Shi arranged for his son to be betrothed to her. Beneath the jujube tree, Gui dug up over a thousand taels of gold that Elder Shi's father had buried, and gradually became a wealthy household. Meanwhile, Elder Shi's family declined day by day, and the husband and wife died one after another, leaving his son Huan with no one to rely on. Gui, listening to his wife surnamed Sun, avoided acknowledging the previous debt and schemed to break off the marriage, moving to Kuaiji. Huan went to seek him out, but Gui would not accept him. When Huan mentioned the three hundred taels, Gui refused on the grounds that there was no IOU. Several years later, Gui went to the capital on business and was deceived by a villain, losing more than half his wealth. Lodging in boredom, he dozed off and arrived at a great mansion with a hole beside it. Unconsciously he entered on hands and feet, and saw the hall brightly lit with candles, with an old man seated at a table—it was Elder Shi. Gui was greatly ashamed and wished to bow, but his hands pressed on the ground could not lift. Then he went to the rear garden and saw his wife and his two sons; upon close inspection, they were all in dog form. He looked back at his own shadow and saw he had become dog-shaped. Terrified, he asked what this meant. His wife answered: "Don't you remember the vow you made before the Great Being's image? What more is there to say!" He suddenly awoke with a start—it was indeed a dream. He hastily packed his luggage and returned home. Upon arrival, he saw two small coffins placed on either side, and on the tea table were spirit tablets for his two sons. Even more alarmed, he rushed into the inner chamber, but his wife was already at death's door, her breath about to cease.

Gui called out to her, and his wife suddenly opened her eyes, speaking in the voice of their eldest son: “Father, why have you only just returned today? The King of Hell in the underworld ruled that our family owes a debt of gratitude to the Shi family, and you made a vow to repay it long ago. Our brothers and mother will be reborn as puppies in the Shi household tomorrow morning: the two males are us two brothers, the female with a tumor on her back is our mother. You, Father, will also become a dog for the Shi family this coming autumn to fulfill your earlier vow. Only our younger sister and Young Master Shi are fated to be husband and wife in this life, so they alone will be spared this suffering.” With that, she died. Gui was overwhelmed with grief upon hearing this. He had barely begun arranging for her funeral when a fire swept through his home, reducing all three coffins to ash. He took his daughter and traveled to Suzhou to look for news of the Shi son. He learned the young man had passed the imperial examination and already married the daughter of an official surnamed Zhi (the title Canzheng denotes a senior administrative post in imperial China). Overcome with shame and anguish, Gui begged repeatedly before the young man finally agreed to see him. As he entered the gate, three dogs burst out of a hole in the wall, whining and circling him. One of them had a tumor on its back, just as described. Heartbroken, Gui knelt and wept as he told the Shi son the whole story. “My family is ruined, I have nowhere left to go,” he said. “I only ask for your great mercy: let my daughter serve as your maid, and I will work as your servant for the rest of my days to repay this karmic debt. That would be more than enough for me.” The Shi son, moved with pity, agreed. That night, Gui dreamed his wife came to say goodbye: “Thankfully, you have repented of your vow. The Shi ancestors (referring to the Shi family patriarch) have interceded on your behalf to spare you from being reborn as a dog, and our mother and children have been freed from this karmic body of suffering.” The next morning, he learned the three dogs had died overnight. Gui lived past the age of seventy in good health. (From the Zi Qiu Collection)

◎ I am a 41-year-old man from Xinhua, Tainan, and I had no connection to Buddhism or any religious faith to speak of for most of my life. In the autumn of 1973 (the 62nd year of the Republic of China), I developed a seminal emission disorder. I knew a bit of traditional Chinese medicine, but nothing I tried could cure it. I was worrying over this one day while waiting for a bus to head to another town, when I passed a small used bookstore on the roadside. I stumbled on a copy of the Great Compassion Mantra published by the Dazheng Jingshe, and bought it home for 15 New Taiwan dollars. The introduction said the mantra could cure 84,000 types of illness and karmic obstructions. I thought to myself: if it can heal sickness, I should chant it with sincerity. I began chanting in October 1977 (the 66th year of the Republic of China). After chanting day and night for roughly a month, the illness vanished entirely. Whenever I chanted, my mind stayed perfectly focused, without a single distraction. After six months of practice, something even more extraordinary happened: a current of qi rose from the sacrum below my dantian, up to my brain, then followed the front of my face down to my throat and back to my dantian, circulating nonstop. Now I rarely get sick at all, and I feel more vibrant than I did in my youth. The power of the Great Compassion Mantra is so vast, so beyond comprehension—I am deeply grateful for the compassion of Guanyin Bodhisattva. I have chanted the mantra every day since. When I do, my mind grows as calm as still water, and my qi and blood flow smoothly; I have never felt such peace before. Lay follower Le once wrote to advise me not to cling to these experiences, and to distance myself even more from desire. I have taught this chanting practice to others: people with insomnia saw improvement in three days; those with chest tightness and nervous exhaustion regained their health in a short time. Once, a man in my hometown jumped into the water to take his own life, and his body could not be found. I went to the site, chanted the Great Compassion Mantra fewer than ten times, and the body floated to the surface immediately. There was also a child who cried inconsolably for no obvious reason all night; one chant of the mantra stopped the crying at once. For knife cuts on fingers, one chant eased the pain, and the skin healed in three days. I have seen countless cases like this. I only try my best to teach everyone to chant this mantra. It is truly sad that so many people do not know to chant it, miss out on great blessings, and fall into unnecessary suffering. I hope all fellow practitioners share this practice widely; no good deed goes unrewarded. (May 31, 1978 (67th year of the Republic of China), Ciyun Monthly Vol. 2, No. 11)

◎ I grew up in a comfortable household, but my mother died when I was very young, and I came of age during wartime. I never knew the security of a full stomach or a warm home, and I missed out on a mother’s nurturing love entirely. I left home while still a child, working part-time to pay for my schooling. Through years of social upheaval and hardship, I grew steadily stronger. My time in the military forged an unshakable will, and the discipline of service shaped clean, simple habits: I never touched tobacco, alcohol, or gambling, I cared little for fine food or entertainment, and I preferred a quiet, solitary life. For years I focused on my studies and mentoring young people, living as simply as a blank sheet of paper, unmarked by excess. I was perfectly content with this life, with no other ambitions or desires. In the spring of 1976 (the 65th year of the Republic of China), my wife accumulated enough karmic merit to take refuge in Buddhism. She listened to Dharma talks at night and worshipped the Buddha each morning, full of Dharma joy. Buddhist scriptures covered her side of the table, and she read them constantly, often sharing what she learned with me over meals or before bed. I told myself a quiet, simple life was no different from worshipping the Buddha or chanting sutras, and a character that was upright even in private was no different from the practice of cultivating virtue and letting go of wrongdoing. So even though my wife spoke with the eloquence of a lotus tongue, I turned a deaf ear and stayed unmoved. That summer, she insisted I go with her to Tucheng to take refuge with Venerable Qingqin. I was hesitant at first, but her earnest persuasion won me over, so we went together. As soon as I stepped into the Dharma hall, I felt my outlook broaden and my mind shift. Maybe my Buddha roots were planted deep in a past life, and this was the first time I had encountered a Buddhist affinity in this life. Soon after, Master Beiguang gave a lecture on the Lotus Sutra at Zhilian Jing She, and I went with my wife to listen. It was my first time receiving the Dharma rain, and I felt a cool clarity bloom in my heart, like being drenched in sweet ghee over the crown—a wonderful, indescribable feeling that words cannot capture. After that, I never missed a Dharma lecture, rain or shine. I have not yet achieved full enlightenment, but I have gradually let go of my fixed views, moving from faith to understanding, from understanding to practice, and on to benefiting both myself and others—this is far richer than merely “perfecting oneself in isolation.” As they say, no one can predict the weather, and misfortune can strike anyone without warning. In the fifth lunar month, my wife was hit by a car and injured her foot, and I was hospitalized at the Veterans General Hospital for rectal bleeding. The internal medicine team ran a cytology test and told me I had multiple malignant sarcomas (early-stage cancer cells). They did a biopsy at the same time and transferred me to surgery to schedule an operation. The attending surgeon said I would need to have my intestinal tract closed off, stop using my natural anus, and get a colostomy to ensure safe treatment. In the span of a single day and night, a devastating illness descended, and the impermanence of life filled me with dread. I told myself this was karmic retribution from a past life, unavoidable, so I prepared to face it with an open mind. But my wife was completely shaken by the sudden turn of events. Lay follower Le guided my wife to chant the Great Compassion Mantra 108 times a day for seven days, praying for Great Compassion Water to heal the illness. Master Beiguang taught her to use the practice of great samadhi to overcome the disease. Master Jingkong advised her to make great vows to shift the weight of karmic power. Master Yuan told her to let go of all worldly attachments to cure all sickness. Fellow practitioners at the Pure Gate accumulated merit through mountain pilgrimages and life liberation releases to transfer to me. These teachers and friends showed such warm, genuine care that I am deeply grateful, their kindness etched in my heart. For the three weeks I was in the hospital, I chanted Guanyin Bodhisattva’s name in my mind all day long, and vowed that if I recovered, I would take as much Dharma lecture training as I could, and seek out every opportunity to spread the Dharma. Every word of that vow came from the deepest sincerity. The Universal Gate Chapter says: “When living beings are trapped in difficulty, tormented by countless sufferings, Guanyin’s wondrous wisdom and power can save all the suffering of the world.” Sure enough, the karmic response came, and a miracle unfolded: both biopsy results came back benign. I only needed to have the affected area tied off, no surgery required. I have been safe and well since leaving the hospital. The power of the Dharma is boundless, the power of the Buddha is infinite—if I had not experienced this for myself, how could I ever have believed it so fully? I am now in Dharma lecture training, preparing for the work ahead. I hope all beings trapped in the sea of suffering will sincerely take refuge in the Triple Gem. Human life is hard to obtain; do not waste this precious birth. (October 31, 1978 (67th year of the Republic of China), Ciyun Monthly Vol. 3, No. 4)

◎ Six years before I wrote this, in the spring of 1964 (the 53rd year of the Republic of China), I suddenly developed a small oval tumor on my neck, right above my esophagus, for no clear reason. It was clearly visible, and firm to the touch, sitting just under the skin. It caused me extreme discomfort, and grew faster every day, bringing me constant, severe pain. Doctors told me I needed to have it removed right away, or it would turn cancerous. I saw every top doctor in Taiwan, including the leading surgical specialists of the time, and they all gave the same diagnosis. My anxiety and pain at the time were too great for my clumsy pen to describe. Not knowing what else to do, my mother suggested praying to the great merciful, great compassionate, suffering-saving, wonder-working Guanyin Bodhisattva. That night, she knelt to prepare Great Compassion Water, which I drank. For three days straight, I felt a warm, tingling sensation in my neck, like tiny needles gently pricking the skin. After that, the tumor disappeared completely, overnight. When I went back to the hospital for a checkup after the miracle, the doctors were shocked and asked how I had cured it. This was the inspiration of the great merciful, great compassionate Guanyin Bodhisattva, and the power of the Great Compassion Water that gave me a second life. I wrote this piece to thank the great merciful, great compassionate, widely miraculous Guanyin Bodhisattva for saving my life, and to thank my mother for her devout prayers. I share it with readers in the hope that we may all encourage one another on the path. (September 21, 1970 (59th year of the Republic of China), Jueshi Xunkan Issue 481)

◎ More than ten years ago, I was already in frail health, and postpartum imbalances left me even weaker. I spent all day either dizzy or with a throbbing headache, wracked by stomach pain and sleepless nights. Both Chinese and Western doctors diagnosed severe anemia and a duodenal ulcer, which was progressing into neurasthenia. I took medicine and got injections every single day, visited famous doctors all over the country hoping to recover, and spent untold sums of money—I was a total slave to medicine. Everyone wants to be healthy enough to enjoy life, but my body was so broken I also sought out local gods and fortune tellers for help (at the time I had not yet taken refuge in Buddhism, and did not know the difference between Buddhist practice and folk religious customs, nor did I understand that illness is the karmic fruit of actions from past lives). None of it helped. I wasted money and endured endless mental suffering, and still could not break free of my dependence on medicine. Three years ago, I had a wonderful karmic encounter: I stumbled on a copy of the Great Compassion Mantra with Mandarin Phonetic Notation, and flipped through it out of curiosity. Besides the mantra text itself, it included instructions for chanting practice and many accounts of healing miracles. I treasured the book and could not put it down. I followed its instructions to prepare Great Compassion Water, and drank it myself. Before long, it was as if an unseen hand lifted the weight of my years of dependence on medicine: my pain and illness faded with no medication at all. This is the unvarnished truth of my personal experience, so I can only say, believe it or not. Since then, my mood has lightened greatly. I chant the Great Compassion Mantra every morning and evening with devotion, and I also teach it to people new to Buddhism. Strangely, countless relatives and friends with chronic or strange illnesses that medicine could not cure were healed after I chanted Great Compassion Water for them. This is truly the inspiration of the great merciful, great compassionate Guanyin Bodhisattva! I hope anyone hesitating at the gate of Buddhism will step forward without delay. True faith is the very heart of religious practice. I hope we can all chant “Namo Guanyin Bodhisattva” together often. (October 31, 1977 (66th year of the Republic of China), Ciyun Monthly Vol. 2, No. 4)

◎ This is a true story I experienced firsthand, which happened around 5 PM on June 5th of this year (1978, the 67th year of the Republic of China). I was chatting in the courtyard with three friends when my younger cousin Xiuzhu (my fourth uncle’s eldest daughter, 11 years old) ran over shouting: “Big brother! Big brother! My older brother (my fourth uncle’s eldest son, Jiancheng, 13) wants to see you.” I could tell something was wrong from her expression, so I hurried after her to the edge of the fish pond. There I found my 9-year-old cousin Jiancun sitting on the ground, his right hand clutching his left index finger, sobbing loudly. Jiancheng was squatting in front of him, holding a pair of scissors with a worried look on his face, staring at me. A nail clipper and two crossed fishing rods lay on the ground nearby. I knelt down to take Jiancun’s small hand, and saw that a fishhook (its line already cut) was caught in the first joint of his left index finger, the barb sunk deep into his flesh. When I touched it gently, he cried out in pain. Looking at the hook buried deep in his finger, I was at a loss. The only option I could think of was to take him to the hospital for surgery, but my home in Fuxing, Zhanghua is at least 3 kilometers from Lukang Town, where the nearest hospital is. My family had taken all the motorcycles and bicycles to work that day, so there was no way to get him there quickly. Carrying him three kilometers on foot would only cause him more pain. That small glimmer of hope vanished in an instant, and I fell back into anxious frustration. Suddenly, inspiration struck. I started chanting the name of “Namo Great Merciful, Great Compassionate, Suffering-Saving, Wonder-Working Guanyin Bodhisattva.” After chanting about a dozen times, I pulled the hook free in a trance (it was a medium-sized hook, about half an inch long). When I held the removed hook up in front of Jiancun, I was shocked: his face was completely calm, and he had stopped crying. When I asked if it hurt, he just shook his head, tears still in his eyes, and said no. In that moment I realized the miracle had happened entirely because I had chanted Guanyin Bodhisattva’s name. Just then, Xiuzhu said to Jiancun: “Look! If big brother hadn’t come, I don’t know what would have happened to you.” I said to them: “Did you see what your big brother was chanting just now? I asked Guanyin Bodhisattva to come help pull the hook out of your finger. Think about it: the hook hurt you so much you cried. When you hook a fish in the mouth, doesn’t that fish hurt too? You can cry out when you’re in pain, but the fish can’t. You’re happy when you catch a fish—what would happen if you were the fish, caught on a hook?” After I spoke, I saw they were still shaken. Jiancheng immediately went to pick up the fishing gear on the ground. I put a little anti-inflammatory ointment on Jiancun’s wound (the hook came out without enlarging the wound at all—this is the source of its miraculous nature.)

Upon returning, I told the three friends what had actually happened, and they too found it utterly incredible. That evening, when the whole family came home, I shared the matter with them as well. Several uncles who had always been stubborn in their refusal to believe in immortals, Buddhas, or spirits—after hearing the truth once more from the honest mouths of the three children—dared not say they disbelieved. My grandmother then asked me on the spot to recite once more the sacred name, "Namo the Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate Guanyin Bodhisattva, Savior from Suffering and Difficulty." So ends this factual account. Yet afterward, in my heart, I was still at a loss, asking myself: why was it that I, who had never once recited the Buddha's name and was, on the contrary, opposed to chanting sutras, would suddenly begin invoking the Buddha—and a spiritual response would actually occur? (Although the writer keeps a vegetarian diet and studies Buddhism, I have always sought only the meaning of the scriptures, and I do not recite sutras or chant the Buddha's name.) On reflection, I realized that the day before (June 4th) I had respectfully read a text called "The Practice Methods and Stages of Enlightenment of Guanyin Bodhisattva." That is why, on a sudden inspiration, I immediately invoked the sacred name, "Namo the Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate Guanyin Bodhisattva, Savior from Suffering and Difficulty." On Sunday evening (June 6th), when I returned to camp (the writer is presently serving in the military at P.O. Box 7503, Annex 407, Zhongongling, Taichung), I told the story to my fellow soldiers as well. Very few of them disbelieved. So, disregarding the humble plainness of my words, I set this account down in writing, and earnestly request that Zhenglun Magazine publish it openly. May all who read it come to know the compassionate truth of Guanyin Bodhisattva, who hears the cries of the world and rescues the suffering—and may they come to appreciate the vast, boundless Dharma. May all who believe in the Buddha be freed from suffering and attain happiness, forever bathed in the Buddha's grace. (November 25, Year 65 of the Republic; Zhenglun Magazine, Issue 99)

◎ On the fourteenth day of the fifth month, several of my friends suddenly developed an urge to take a long trip. I went along, and together we set out in a single car from Taipei, passing through Xindian, Jiaoxi, and Yilan, looking over each place in haste—so hurried that we did not even eat a proper lunch. From Yilan we took the coastal road along the Pacific back toward Keelung, the route that connects to the road leading back to Taipei. A race-like journey of this sort did not interest me in the least, and I felt danger could break out at any moment. Yet everyone was in high spirits, and of course I could not be the odd one out. On the surface I went along with them, but in my heart I kept silently reciting the sacred name of Guanyin. This practice had been taught to me a few years earlier by an elderly lay Buddhist devotee when I was in the hospital for surgery. I had been reciting it without interruption ever since, but on this particular occasion I experienced an especially remarkable spiritual response. After the car passed Fulong Beach, in front of a small hamlet with only a single household, we suddenly noticed a man in a white shirt—whether a farmer or a laborer we could not tell—waving at the car, as though something had fallen off the vehicle. Seeing this, I hurriedly called for the car to stop. Once we had stopped, we discovered that the brakes had failed; the rear wheel had already come loose from the chassis. The spot was on a mountaintop, with the Pacific Ocean directly below. Had the car rolled forward even a little, the danger would have been terrible. By that time, the man had also disappeared. We repaired the car and found the whole affair exceedingly strange. First: a mechanical failure on the vehicle could not have been perceived from the road—so why did he wave us to stop? Second: the place had only one household, with no one seen coming or going; for several li around there was no other home at all—so where had he come from? Third: if he had directed us to stop, he must have been a kind-hearted person—so why did he vanish once the car was stopped? Fourth: afterward I asked my fellow passengers, and none of them had seen this man; only I had seen him. On the basis of these four points, I consider this to be a spiritual response from reciting the sacred name of Guanyin. (July 1, Year 52 of the Republic; Jueshi Ten-Day Journal, Issue 221)

◎ Some time ago, a group of more than ten male and female fellow practitioners, all of us living in Taipei, traveled far to Ciming Temple in Taichung to receive the Bodhisattva Precepts. For seven days in a row, we lived a life just like that of monastics—a chapter well worth remembering. One morning, while we were resting in the dormitory, an elderly lay practitioner surnamed Yu and his wife, who had come with us to receive the precepts, brought along the noble lady who, a few days earlier, had solicited donations from us for a life-release ceremony. She came to chat with us in the dormitory. A lively talker, in the course of conversation she told us the strange circumstances that had led her to take faith in Buddhism. The story was both interesting and moving—the tale of a soul that set out from the crossroad and walked onto the path of the swastika. This noble lady was the fair and virtuous daughter of a wealthy household. She had gone on to a university founded by Christians, received the training of the modern sciences, and even attended Sunday services of the Christian church. Yet her mother was a devout Buddhist, indeed a great patron of the Buddhist world, spending every day absorbed in Buddhist charitable activities—running between Dharma halls, giving alms, and performing meritorious deeds. To the eyes of her fashionable young daughter, the old lady's ways were, of course, highly disagreeable, and at times the girl would utter a few cutting words of mockery toward her mother, venting a young lady's temper. Yet the person on the receiving end was her own beloved mother, and she did not dare go too far. The old lady, however, paid no heed to whatever unpleasant things her daughter said—it was as if they passed by her ear like wind. And the old lady had her own philosophy, her own optimistic way of thinking—call it a kind of wisdom. She thought to herself: once the conditions ripened in the future, her daughter was sure to change her faith and turn toward the Buddha, for she was convinced that her daughter, too, possessed the Buddha-nature. On one occasion, her daughter fell gravely ill, which frightened the mother so badly that the old lady could neither eat nor sleep in peace, imploring the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas to bestow their compassionate aid, afraid that something terrible should befall her precious child. The daughter's condition at the time was not merely serious—it was a matter of grappling with the King of Death. She seemed to have already stepped through the gates of the netherworld and to have tasted the agonizing struggle of a person about to die. It was like a turtle struggling out of its shell; body and mind racked with unbearable pain, she was trapped in terror and confusion. Just as she was on the verge of death, the breath flowing in would not meet the breath flowing out. Her mother, seeing this, was beside herself, her heart torn as if by a blade. Driven by the bond between mother and daughter, with single-minded devotion she strove to save her daughter's life, ceaselessly crying out the name of the Savior from Suffering and Difficulty, Guanyin Bodhisattva. In her panic, she pressed her thumb hard against the daughter's philtrum (the groove beneath the upper lip). The daughter suffered immensely; her mind was perfectly clear, yet no sound could escape her throat. Fortunately, in her confused state, she somehow came back to life. After this lady had come to Taiwan, in the third or fourth year she unfortunately contracted a grave and terrible illness—leukemia. The doctors were at a loss. When she was sent to the Veterans General Hospital, the physicians, after examining her, gently refused her request for admission. As we all know, a hospital will refuse a patient only if the patient has no money, if there is a shortage of beds, or if the hospital lacks the appropriate specialists and equipment. But once a hospital refuses to admit a patient for treatment, is that not tantamount to pronouncing a sentence of waiting for death? It is said that those who suffer from leukemia endure, day after day, pain that is almost unbearable throughout the body. This was her second struggle with the King of Death, and her heart was filled with boundless sorrow, for she felt she was unlikely to survive. All people fear death, and all harbor the desire to live. To be able to go on living is what everyone prays for, no matter how harsh the circumstances; one always wants to keep on living. The ability to cling to life a little longer is the refusal to give up the chance to survive. The instinct to live is part of being human; the reason sentient beings are sentient beings is, perhaps, precisely this. Awakened by the King of Death, in the midst of utter agony and helplessness, one day a thought suddenly arose within her. Perhaps it was the residual merit of a former life; perhaps a spirit of repentance had awakened in her; perhaps she realized that faith in the Lord could not resolve the suffering of her illness nor the anguish of dying; perhaps the conditions for her to study Buddhism had at last matured. All at once the image of her mother—long ago, devoutly believing in the Buddha, bowing before the Buddha, reciting the Buddha's name—flashed before her eyes, scene after scene, like frames in a film. And so she said to herself: Why, with this incurable illness of mine, do I not seek the aid of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas? She had also heard her mother say that the Buddha is the most compassionate, capable of pulling beings out of suffering and giving them joy, that so long as a person holds firm faith, that person will naturally resonate with the compassionate vows of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. Karmic obstacles and disease-demons will then dissolve of their own accord, and one will attain great liberation. She thought: rather than waiting for death like this, it would be better to single-heartedly recite the sacred name, praying for the grace and aid of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas—perhaps her suffering could be relieved. And so she resolved to let go of everything else, heedless of the pain in her body, and day and night devoutly recited the sacred name of the Great Bodhisattva Guanyin—"Namo the Greatly Merciful and Greatly Compassionate Guanyin Bodhisattva." One night, in a haze, she had a rare dream: she beheld a pillar of golden light, ten thousand fathoms tall, shining upon her. Within the light she saw the sacred image of Guanyin Bodhisattva—a golden body several zhang in height, majestic in bearing, with magnificent features. She, being quick-witted, hastened to greet the Bodhisattva and prostrated herself on the ground in reverence. The solemn and compassionate Bodhisattva reached out and touched the top of her head, then said to her: "Your illness is the karmic obstacle accumulated over many lifetimes. Because of the sincerity of your faith, your suffering can now be relieved. Tomorrow a country doctor will come to treat you." After speaking these words, the Bodhisattva's golden form soon vanished into the light. That dazzling golden radiance, too, gradually faded away. Touched by the Bodhisattva's revelation, and overflowing with gratitude, she immediately bowed devoutly toward the sky. When she awoke, it turned out to have been a dream. The very next day, an old country man indeed came to her home, saying that he was a "country doctor" and that he had heard there was a sick person in the household, so he had come especially to see the patient. Her family at once led the old man to the bedside. The old man said to her: "Are you feeling unwell? I have brought some herbal medicine to apply; let us try it and see how it works." "Yes, yes!" she nodded again and again, expressing her gratitude. The country doctor took out the herbal remedy and applied it to her arm—strange to say, at that very moment her body felt a great sense of relief. The country doctor, refusing any payment for the medicine, simply picked up his medicine chest and went off with a broad smile. Strange to relate, from that day onward her illness improved day by day. About half a year later, her body gradually recovered. It was like something out of a legend—truly an inconceivable miracle. I asked her whether, after her recovery, she had gone to the hospital for a check-up. She replied: "Yes, I went specially to the Veterans General Hospital for an examination, and the result showed my physical condition to be satisfactory. Even the doctors could not understand how my terrible illness had gotten better." I then said: "Having narrowly escaped death, you are surely blessed with good fortune to come. This is entirely owing to the single-minded sincerity of your faith, which moved Guanyin Bodhisattva to bestow her compassionate aid." With great reverence she pressed her palms together and said: "Yes. As long as I live, in gratitude for the Bodhisattva's kindness, I wish to dedicate all my strength to charitable causes in Buddhist society." As she spoke these words, she added special emphasis, accompanied by a clear, hearty laugh, and all of us precept-receiving companions in the dormitory listened with deep sighs of emotion. (June 1, Year 58 of the Republic; Haichaoyin Monthly, Volume 50, June issue)

◎ In Taiwan there is a Buddhist hall whose board chairman is Cao Gang, a devout Buddhist. His wife developed cancer. Having heard that this disease was incurable, they sought treatment everywhere. Neither Chinese medicine nor Western medicine could help. The doctors told him to go to Taipei, where the larger hospitals were, and to seek treatment right away—if delayed, the danger would only grow. Cao Gang therefore arranged for his wife to go to Taipei. As he was in the Air Force, they stayed at the Air Force General Hospital. The doctors, upon examining her, said that an operation had to be performed at once; if the surgery were delayed even two more days, they could not guarantee the outcome. The operation was thus scheduled for that very afternoon. Both Cao Gang and his wife were devout Buddhists. When his wife heard that the cancer was inside her abdomen and that surgery was required, she, being a woman, was terrified. But what could be done? She could do nothing but single-heartedly recite the name of Guanyin Bodhisattva. She also made vows: how she would cultivate, how she would cultivate, how she would ferry and save all beings, how she would recite more of the Universal Gate Chapter of Guanyin Bodhisattva; what repentance ceremonies, what vegetarian practice, what practice of ferrying beings in accordance with the heart-method of Guanyin Bodhisattva—just as Guanyin Bodhisattva has no fixed mind of her own but takes the minds of all beings as her own, so that whenever beings seek her, she goes to save them. Thus she sat, terrified and frightened, worrying about herself......

She began reciting the Holy Name of Guanyin Bodhisattva, deeply devout, with single-minded sincerity beseeching the Bodhisattva's compassionate blessing. Before long, the nurse came to tell them it was time for surgery. Her husband helped her along—she was trembling so hard she could barely walk. The doctor directed her into the operating room and had her placed on the table. Once she was positioned and her belly exposed, the nurse covered her legs with a white cloth, draped her head, blindfolded her, wrapped her hands, and after a long stretch of preparation brought out the surgical basin along with knives, scissors, and instruments of every kind, large and small. Only then did she call for the surgeon.

Just as the doctor was about to reach for his instruments, the patient blurted out: "I can't hold it—I need to go." As it turned out, she needed to urinate. The tension had become unbearable. "I've been holding it forever, and you covered me in white cloth and opened up my belly—I can't hold it any longer," she said. The doctor asked: "Can't you hold on a bit longer?" "I can't," she replied. "I've been holding it for ages. I had no idea it would take this long. I have to go first—we can do the surgery after I come back!" The doctor, displeased, said: "Fine! This patient is so fussy. I have many other patients to see. We'll wait until she returns." So she was helped by her husband, one hand bracing against the wall, the other leaning on him, to the restroom.

When she finished, her husband assisted her back and they made their way slowly to the operating room. She got back on the table, the nurse prepared everything again—covered her in white cloth, draped her legs, wrapped her hands, brought out the basin, set out the anesthesia needle—and the doctor returned. Just as he was about to administer the injection, she said: "I can't hold it again." "What's wrong this time?" the doctor asked. "I need to urinate again," she said. "Can't you hold on a bit? The surgery won't take long," the doctor said. "I can't," she said. So the doctor said: "Then we can't operate today—tomorrow instead!" Her husband said: "If we don't operate today, I'm afraid it will be too late." "Fine—go one more time, and come back quickly," said the doctor.

She went to the restroom once more, returned, got back on the table. The nurse prepared everything again; the doctor came back—but she needed to urinate yet again. This time the doctor lost his temper and refused to operate. He muttered a few choice words and went off to see other patients, and the nurse began putting away the basins and cloths. The couple returned to the hospital room with no recourse but to wait until the next day for the surgery.

That evening she recited Guanyin Bodhisattva without ceasing, and her husband recited with her. From that point on she would lie down briefly, then go to the restroom, return for a short while, and go urinate again—the whole night was spent shuttling to and from the bathroom, and she didn't sleep at all. It was probably the fright, which had caused her body to lose its ability to contract; so she spent the entire night running to the restroom. But who would have guessed that, after dawn the next day, when she felt her belly, the discomfort was gone. Despite not having slept all night, her body was not weary, her spirit not fatigued—it was as though she had been cured. When she felt the hard mass in her belly, it was no longer hard, and there was no pain. It struck her as truly strange; she had no idea what had happened. She even felt strength in her body, and when she got out of bed she no longer needed her husband's help. So she called the nurse, and they took her temperature to check. It looked as though she had recovered. The nurse was puzzled too—how could a person who had been saying she was dying and needed surgery just two days ago be perfectly fine after two days? They quickly called the doctor, who examined her and pronounced the illness gone; she was no longer sick. "Even if I'm not sick, let me stay a couple more days!" said Mrs. Cao. "We have too many patients," the doctor replied. "If you're not sick, you have to go home." Later an X-ray was taken, confirming there was no illness. "Then go home!" said the doctor. The nurse comforted her warmly and offered congratulations. So she was discharged.

The couple was inexpressibly grateful in their hearts. Taking their luggage, they walked along saying to each other: "From now on, we two will be fellow cultivators, spiritual siblings rather than spouses—we'll sleep in separate rooms. While living at home, we'll live as though we had left the home. We'll cultivate ourselves, we'll speak the Dharma, we'll devote our hearts and strength to repaying the grace of Guanyin Bodhisattva. From today onward, we'll be vegetarian." They also made vows to recite the Great Compassion Mantra a certain number of times and the Universal Gate Chapter a certain number of times. When people heard of this, they all rejoiced for the couple and offered their congratulations. Now Mr. Cao is not in closed-door retreat at a monastery, but in closed-door retreat at home. He has retired, and spends his life reciting the Holy Name of Guanyin Bodhisattva, chanting the Universal Gate Chapter, and upholding the Great Compassion Mantra. (This text is a segment from a lecture delivered by Master Chanyun in Kuala Lumpur, transcribed by Wen Yijing, and published on April 30 of the 62nd year of the Republic, in Nanyang Buddhism Monthly, Issue 48.)

◎ You ask whether this is a miracle? Indeed it is—something I myself most recently experienced firsthand. I won't embellish it; I only want to give an honest account. First, I should make clear that I've never written an article before, so this piece won't contain the polished phrasing you might expect. But, my friend! Please be patient and read it through. At the very least, it'll let you know of a miracle, and its merit and virtue are inconceivable.

I'm a soldier stationed at the front line. In mid-October of the 50th year [of the Republic], during a mission I carelessly scraped my ankle. After treatment it had already healed, but I unfortunately developed an infection in my buttocks from improperly sterilized injections. I took large doses of antibiotics in an attempt to clear it, but to no avail. The inflamed area swelled worse and worse, spreading from the left buttock across the sacrum to the right buttock, causing excruciating pain. I had no choice but to be hospitalized and request the medical officer to perform surgery. An incision was made in the left buttock, more than two inches long and an inch and a half deep, to allow the pus and blood to drain. Though the affected area appeared merely swollen on the surface, the inside had already rotted hollow, so this single incision released three hundred cc of pus and blood. Another swollen area remained above the sacral bone, where the internal pus and blood could not drain, requiring a second operation. But according to the officer: "Near the sacral bone runs the sciatic nerve. Because everyone's constitution differs, if the nerve is inadvertently severed, the entire leg will be crippled. Yet if we don't operate and the pus and blood aren't fully drained, once it spreads, the consequences will be equally worrisome." So the matter was delayed for nearly a week, the decision wavering between options. When I learned how grave it was, my heart was overcome with fear and my spirit was extremely disturbed. That very day I received a letter from my uncle and aunt, and the miracle began from that point. These two elderly relatives told me that this illness was the result of karmic debts from past lives. They had already recited the Universal Gate Chapter dozens of times and the Great Compassion Mantra on my behalf, and told me to recite the Buddha's name myself, sincerely beseeching the Bodhisattva to bless me, avert disaster, and help me recover quickly.

As for the idea that reciting the Buddha's name can avert disaster, I had previously been doubtful. Viewed from a superficial scientific standpoint, I would have called it the talk of a fool, no better than a dream. But now I can no longer doubt, because the plain and unvarnished facts have established my faith.

At first I quietly and calmly recited the Holy Name—Namo Guanyin Bodhisattva—over and over without stopping. When I grew tired, I rested; when I woke, I recited again. The next day I found a scripture, and so I recited the Universal Gate Chapter and the Great Compassion Mantra by following along in the book. I continued reciting them over and over in the same way. After only three days, strangely enough, the swelling above the sacral bone had completely disappeared. There was no need for further surgery, and there would be no crippling. My illness therefore quickly healed, far beyond the medical officer's expectations. Curing illness certainly requires medicine and treatment, but how could the healing be so rapid? It's abundantly clear that this was the Bodhisattva's blessing—inconceivable merit and virtue. Today I've obtained a proof of it in my own person.

With this experience, I applied myself even more diligently to Buddha-recitation. Around that time, as my illness was nearly healed, one night an ambulance brought in an emergency casualty. A piece of shrapnel had pierced his right arm and exited through his abdomen, injuring his lower belly and liver. The bleeding wouldn't stop; the wounds were severe, and his life hung by a thread. The medical officers busied themselves performing surgery on him—opening his belly, reconnecting his intestines, repairing his liver—exerting every effort in the emergency treatment. Bottle after bottle of blood was transfused, but the attending officer said: "We're only doing our human best; hope is faint." After the surgery he was carried to a bed near mine to continue receiving blood transfusions. Near daybreak, his spirits suddenly revived; he spoke naturally, giving an account of how he was wounded. Seeing this, the medical officer recognized it as the final rally before death and broke out in a cold sweat. When I learned how serious his condition was, I resolved to silently recite the Universal Gate Chapter and the Great Compassion Mantra on his behalf—reciting without interruption, beseeching the Bodhisattva to compassionately bless this brave warrior, who had been wounded for the sake of saving the country and its people. I recited with single-minded sincerity, praying for the Bodhisattva to protect him. I recited, and recited; when I grew weary, I rested a moment, then began again. I recited continuously for three days, and he actually turned from a critical state to a stable one, finally emerging from danger and entering the smooth road of recovery. At that time my heart was filled with inexpressible joy. Although he didn't know I was helping, I had finally performed a deed of inconceivable merit. The facts I wished to relate are as described above. I'm not skilled at writing articles; I can only convey a true account, and I hope the reader will perhaps give it a try—because the Greatly Compassionate, Greatly Merciful, Rescue-from-Suffering-and-Difficulty, Vastly Perceptive Guanyin Bodhisattva, whose vow-power is profound and vast, who hears the cries of those who seek and rescues them from suffering, truly responds in a thousand places to a thousand supplications, and is the ferryboat that constantly plies the sea of suffering. By making this matter public, I've repaid only one ten-millionth of the Bodhisattva's grace. (April 1, the 51st year [of the Republic], Jueshi Xunkan, Issue 176)

◎ On Sunday, July 3rd—a rare day off—I eagerly returned to the countryside, hoping to enjoy my parents' "tender loving care." But I encountered a strange event, and upon reflection, it really does seem a bit inconceivable. Perhaps it was arranged by Heaven! The strange event really begins the next day. My parents are both early risers; they sweep the courtyard at dawn, make breakfast, and prepare for the day's work ahead. That day was no exception. After much effort they woke me, urging me to get up and eat. As I ate, my mother said happily beside me: "I dreamed of the Bodhisattva last night!" Still drowsy, I immediately opened my eyes wide: "Really? What did the Bodhisattva say?" My mother spoke with great sincerity and devotion: "The Bodhisattva appeared very compassionate, with a dignified countenance, a face radiant with light. It was just an appearance—the Bodhisattva did not speak."

The strange coincidence came that very day. Just as my mother pulled open the iron gate to begin the day's business, Mrs. Zhang from the village had already been waiting for some time. The moment the gate opened, she rushed in, exclaiming: "The Bodhisattva wants your daughter's help, the Bodhisattva wants your daughter's help!" Her words left me completely baffled. It was only after Mrs. Zhang explained that I understood her purpose.

To begin with, Mrs. Zhang, now in her sixties or seventies, comes from a family of farmers for generations. More than ten years ago, during the busy farming season, unable to bear the cost of hiring workers to spray pesticides on her fields, the elderly woman had to carry the pesticide sprayer on her own back to spray the rice crops across seven-tenths of a field. After a full day of battling this, she was already in a daze. Dragging her exhausted body home, she collapsed and fell into a deep sleep. In her hazy state, Guanyin Bodhisattva appeared and instructed her: "Quickly boil water spinach. Do not add sugar, salt, MSG, or any seasoning at all—it can detoxify the poison." Mrs. Zhang woke up, forced her ailing body to the fields, dug up a handful of water spinach, and following the Bodhisattva's instructions, boiled three large bowls of it and drank them down. She slept through until dawn, and upon waking felt clear and refreshed; most of the residual pesticide poison had been neutralized. She continued to dig water spinach from the fields for a week, boiling it as a soup to drink in place of tea. The ailing woman gradually recovered and was able to return to working in the fields.

Seeing my half-understanding expression, Mrs. Zhang hurriedly added that her son, when young, had been addicted to cold water—after any work or exercise he would always gulp down iced water and cold treats, pouring them into his stomach. Over the years this damaged his lungs, and he coughed incessantly year-round. Though he sought out famous doctors far and wide, treatment was hardly effective. At this point Mrs. Zhang again recalled the Bodhisattva's "prescription," and thought to herself: regardless of whether it works or not, she might as well give it a try. After her son drank the soup for several months, the poison in his lungs was indeed dispelled, and the stubborn cough was cured. From then on, Mrs. Zhang's faith grew greatly, and she widely spread this detoxifying remedy—to close relatives, friends, neighbors on the street, and to every person in the village. She painstakingly told them all about it, broadly sharing the Bodhisattva's prescription. Eventually, the former village chief's wife, having personally experienced the benefits of taking it, also wished to help Mrs. Zhang achieve her wish of spreading the word, and hoped to invite the media to broadcast this wonderful detoxifying remedy. The illiterate Mrs. Zhang thought that "a person who works at a newspaper" could fulfill her wish. She suddenly thought of that "grocer's daughter" (that is, me), but she hesitated, not knowing if it would work, so she decided to let the Bodhisattva choose the right person.

Early that morning of the fourth, Mrs. Zhang, as usual, lit incense before the Buddha, chanted scriptures, and transferred merit. After completing her morning devotions, she insisted on letting the Bodhisattva decide: should this matter be handed over to the former village chief's wife to invite media reporters to handle? The result was "laughing blocks"—a negative divination. What about entrusting it to that grocer's daughter? Three "upper blocks" appeared—an auspicious, affirmative answer. At that moment, sitting before me, Mrs. Zhang looked at me with sincere, expectant eyes, afraid I would refuse, repeatedly urging me to help, even pulling out a hundred-dollar bill and asking me to use it to buy paper and pens. My parents, who have been vegetarian for years and devoutly worship the Buddha, seeing this scene immediately pushed the money back. "No wonder we dreamed of the Bodhisattva yesterday. Rest assured, we'll certainly handle the Bodhisattva's matter properly!" My parents agreed on my behalf. Mrs. Zhang looked at me again, earnestly saying: "Please don't misunderstand that I have any ulterior motive! I'm merely a person who worships Guanyin Bodhisattva and has received the Bodhisattva's grace. I only wish to serve the Bodhisattva life after life, and hope that more people will take faith in the Bodhisattva and experience the benefits of that faith." At that moment I was deeply moved, as if I were seeing a devout elder holding three sticks of incense, giving thanks to Heaven, Earth, and the Three Lights in the morning light—I felt an impulse to bow down in worship. So I picked up my pen and recorded this karmic connection, hoping it may save more suffering people, help those with affinity to escape illness and affliction, and allow everyone to maintain health. (This text is reprinted from July 25 of the 83rd year [of the Republic], China Daily News, page 12. Strange Affinity, Strange Event—The Bodhisattva's Prescription)

Most people in the world hold the notion that the more Buddhas one recites to, the better. They don't realize that too many thoughts in the mind give rise to too many delusive fancies, which isn't at all ideal for cultivation. Regardless of what one does, the key lies in single-minded focus; this applies to one's practice as well. If one can focus on a single practice, one will achieve twice the result with half the effort. I often see many Buddhist practitioners who, one moment, want to recite this scripture, and the next moment want to recite that one. Every few days they want to learn how to perform repentance ceremonies, and they also want to recite esoteric mantras—so busy that both body and mind are exhausted, yet their harvest is meager. Sometimes this busyness unsettles the spirit and becomes an obstacle to cultivation instead. It's far better to sincerely and single-heartedly uphold a single name, which yields far deeper insight.

Speaking of this, I recall an interesting analogy: There were two people. One believed in everything; his pocket was filled with many protective talismans from various deities. The other believed only in Guanyin Bodhisattva, and in his pocket he also kept Guanyin Bodhisattva's Holy Name. One day the two went out together and got into a car accident. One was slightly injured; the other was completely unharmed. The injured one was rather unhappy and kept complaining: "My faith is no less than his. I believe in many gods—the things in my pocket, the charms around my neck, they're all divine talismans. How come with so many gods, not a single one protected me?" While the injured man was grumbling in frustration, the gods in his pocket suddenly spoke: "We're really sorry! It's not that we didn't want to help you, but you worship so many gods that it would be rude to come protect you before the others. When you were in danger, we asked the Jade Emperor to save you; he declined and asked the Queen Mother of the West; she declined and asked Mazu; Mazu declined and asked the North Star Lord. While they were all deferring to one another, you crashed and got hurt." The other man's pocket held only one Guanyin Bodhisattva, and so he was saved quickly. Although this is a lighthearted analogy, it's worth our careful reflection on the principle within. If our faith is correct and single-minded, we'll attain whatever we seek.