Your family, your children, your parents—those things you call “mine”—are sometimes things you can sacrifice yourself for; you can give up anything. But when it comes to your friends, friendship, loyalty, and all those things of honor, you can go to any lengths for someone else.
But you cannot break through that sense of loyalty and all those things. You cannot break through “mine”; when it comes to matters involving your friends, you cannot break through them either. You would rather die than betray that loyalty. This is not always selfish; in fact, sometimes it is even selfless.
It is just that, sometimes, those things emerge in that moment. They are deeply self-oriented: “I should be this way.” Sometimes you cannot see them clearly: my children, my parents, my friends—because he is my friend, because he once helped me, and so on.
On the path to attaining enlightenment, we can set ourselves aside; to finish these things, we can put the path to enlightenment on hold and put the path of cultivation on hold. I can die, I can choose not to become a Bodhisattva, I can choose not to become a Buddha—I still have to return what is “mine” and settle all this.
On this entire path, sometimes it is “mine,” not “me”; sometimes it is actually easy to let go of our likes and dislikes. What you cannot let go of as “mine” is still “me.” Throughout this path, the “I” and “mine” that are continually being broken through are all you—the self.
Even at the end, you must break through “sentient beings” and the appearance of sentient beings: there are sentient beings to liberate, there are sentient beings to liberate. At that point, if you do something and sentient beings turn around and reject you, you will wear yourself to death, because it is impossible for every sentient being to understand you.
Thus, the whole path goes from breaking through “I” and “mine,” to finally breaking through the “appearance of sentient beings,” and then the “Buddha appearance”: there is no Buddha to attain. That is, there is an appearance of Buddha: our consciousness regards Buddha as complete, and you break through this “appearance of completeness.” Only then do you begin to enter reality. This is truly entering reality. Reality means everything is Buddha; you enter reality and no longer make distinctions. Only then is everything broken through.
This process is very arduous. Breaking through “I” and “mine” is especially arduous because the self is resisting. That is why view is so important: you must have a truly correct view leading you forward.
Because in this process, if your view is not sufficient, if you do not have a view of the Dharma ahead of you as a guide, as a beacon to steer by, your habitual tendencies and desires cannot be exhausted; you must exhaust them before you can move forward.
But our habitual tendencies and desires cannot be exhausted. So we rely on the Buddha’s view, and while they remain unexhausted, we can still keep moving forward—on and on—until we reach the point of breaking through the “appearance of sentient beings” and the “Buddha appearance.” Then you need pointing-out guidance from a very accomplished teacher. He must have broken through it himself before he can point it out to you; he knows that you have reached this stage.
The earlier process is a process of continually circling; “I” and “mine” keep circling. As long as the final goal carries you along, you can circle around here. You can go around in a figure eight if you like; just keep turning, turning, turning, and roll forward.
But in the end, principle becomes more and more important. In the end, the “appearance of Emptiness,” the “Buddha appearance,” and the “appearance of sentient beings” all become impossible to see clearly. You feel that there is no-self, because “I” and “mine” have been broken through, so there really is no-self. But “Buddha” and “sentient beings” are still there, and you are still there. Because sentient beings represent you: when there is no-self, sentient beings are you. So you are still breaking through the self, except that this self is a great self, because everything is you.
As for the “Buddha appearance,” it is another appearance you can never break through: because you need to have a “Buddha appearance” there, you can never enter. You think Buddha is complete and you are flawed—otherwise, what Buddha would you become? There would be no possibility of becoming a Buddha; why else would you move forward? So there are appearances within it that you are not conscious of; the farther you go, the less clearly you can see them.
(So, is breaking through “I” and “mine” altruistic action?)
There is only altruistic action all the way through; there is no other path. It is the practice of benefiting others; it is practicing the Bodhisattva Path. Keep using a gentle heart to practice patience, because throughout this journey, breaking through the self means practicing patience: other people cannot possibly understand you, so you keep walking on with patience.
When you can benefit others, practice benefiting others; practice giving. In fact, giving is fastest, because what we are attached to is precisely those things—the things we cannot bring ourselves to pick up or let go of.
So the Buddha placed giving first. This ordering was something the Buddha had thought through; it was not something he had failed to consider. He placed giving first: give away what you cannot bear to part with. The thing you are most reluctant to part with is like a wrenching of the heart. If you can let go of what you are most reluctant to let go of, you will certainly have let go of everything else—it is that simple.
We even cannot let go of the toys of this world; many things are our toys. So we keep teaching the Dharma: everyone must grow and mature. When you grow up, you stop playing with small cars and play with big cars; then, when you are more advanced, you play with flying saucers instead of big cars. This is a process of growth. Your nature of mind has to grow up; once it has grown up, you stop playing, and it is no longer so painful.
If you are still very young, and I forcibly snatch that car away from you, that is not necessarily wrong. I snatch it; you are still young, only five years old. I take it away, and you cry a couple of sobs, and it will be over, won’t it? But I know that sooner or later you will stop playing with it. You cry a couple of sobs; at worst, you still have to move forward. But it will feel very hard. Rather than that, if you grow to ten, you will naturally throw it away; you will feel that it obstructs the Way. This is the process.
Giving is not about giving away everything—the clothes on your body and your entire household fortune—so that you have nothing left and become penniless. That is not what giving is. It means letting go of your clinging to appearances and greed in your heart. Suppose you give me a gold necklace. If, in your eyes, that gold necklace is valuable, and you still think it is important, then this offering has not broken through your clinging to appearances.
But suppose this thing is generally considered valuable in the marketplace. You take the finest thing and make an offering before the Tathagata, and all sentient beings agree that it is valuable—but to you it is just a stone. In your case, you have already broken through it; you already regard it as not very valuable.
Or suppose you are attached to this thing: you think it is priceless. For example, a piece of jade—it is priceless. When you put it there as an offering, what are you thinking at that moment? Do you think you have thrown out the most valuable thing? If so, your merit is very small; that offering has little value.
So ultimately, when you give, whether it is five yuan, ten yuan, or twenty yuan, what you are ultimately letting go of is your greed and clinging to appearances. If the greed and clinging to appearances in your heart have been completely broken through, your giving is complete.
It is not about how much you give. Even putting one yuan in the merit box every day is breaking through your attachment to money’s appearance; it is not about the amount. Some people say, “Ten yuan won’t do; twenty yuan.” They have a certain capacity to bear it; at a certain point, they can no longer bear it and begin to waver.
When giving, it continually stirs up in him that greed and his clinging to the appearance of money. Because money has the greatest value in our world, many people are easily shaken when they give money.
Giving away a garment is no big deal, nor is giving away a small item. But when giving money, he starts speculating and doubting: “This teacher is asking us to give money—is this teacher too greedy? What does this teacher plan to have us do?” First comes suspicion; second, he cannot bear to part with it—these are what stimulate him most. That is why the Secret School has the practice of making offerings—this is the Secret School teacher speaking: “I teach you the Dharma, so you must make an offering. If you do not, I will not teach you.”
In fact, disciples cannot attain realization; if you do not do this, they cannot attain realization. That is how it is. For a teacher who can truly lead you to enlightenment, it is impossible that he lacks money; he can find it elsewhere. He is simply willing to help you attain enlightenment. He has many ways to find money; that is all.
The most valuable thing in your home—you have never brought it over. Do you know what it is? Where is the mani jewel? It is that selfless love of yours. So you have never brought that selfless love into the company, that selfless love of yours—that is all.
Note: This text was prepared from a teaching video by Yang Ning. If it differs from the video, the video takes precedence. Watch the video.