Practicing Medicine and the Four Kinds of Illness (2of2) — Emei, Jiuhua, and the Non-Attached Mind
When I examine patients, I consume a great deal of energy. In the beginning I could see ten patients each morning; the afternoon required approximately eight hours of sitting to restore the energy. Later, as my samadhi deepened, two hours of sitting per day was sufficient — but the toll on the mind’s energy was still considerable. Sometimes I would be so tired my heart would tremble, and I would experience significant hair loss. But the entire process of cultivation is in itself a process of releasing the self and giving selflessly. For the sake of forming karmic connections broadly and of completing the fullness of merit and virtue, I gave no thought to these things. What genuinely grieved me was patients’ misunderstanding. Some came not because they were ill but to test me or out of curiosity. In the early days of my practice this happened every day. I would do my best to examine every patient carefully from head to toe — and it was free of charge. What consoled me was that every one of these patients left satisfied and expressed apology before they went.
There was also the fact that almost eighty percent of patients were unwilling to describe their condition when they came to see me. So if someone came in with leg pain but said nothing, I had to check everything from head to toe, inside and out, before eventually reaching the leg. Many patients focused entirely on my diagnostic method, finding it remarkable; but what I felt was more important was my treatment. The unique herbal combinations I learned from the Master were certain to bring benefit to every patient with whom I had a karmic connection.
The patients’ mindset is understandable — I don’t wish to reproach anyone. But when I was very tired, the thought would come that I didn’t want to be a doctor anymore. At those moments the Master would offer comfort and encouragement: “Don’t be afraid of patients not understanding or not trusting. Your own merit and virtue are not yet fully complete, and sentient beings’ greed, anger, delusion, pride, and doubt are substantial by nature. Since you have set your heart on the Bodhisattva path, treat every sentient being as your own kin. They are tormented by illness — you understand medicine, so you cannot stand by and do nothing. There are genuinely people who deceive patients under the name of medicine, so patients are afraid of being cheated. Practice freely and openly with whatever comes — and those patients who have a karmic connection with you will naturally trust you and will recover under your care.”
Throughout the years of medical practice, I continued to carve out time to sit in meditation and read Buddhist sutras. The Master recommended was just one sutra: the Vimalakirti Sutra. During this period I also sometimes used Vajrayana mantra recitation and hand seals in my sitting to help open the chakras. In my samadhi I would sometimes recall cultivation methods and practice them. The Master wasn’t particularly concerned about which dharma doors I studied, saying only: “No dharma door is better or worse than another — as long as the view is correct, that is enough.” In samadhi I also learned from a female Master the Sacred Mother Method of Bashan, and from Primordial Heavenly Worthy a superior inner alchemy practice for women.
The Master notified me that the third pilgrimage would be to Mount Emei — the sacred site of Samantabhadra Bodhisattva. This time my brother accompanied me. The family expressed some reservations, but the opposition was not fierce. The Master said this was the merit of my practice of the precept of patient endurance. I stayed at Emei for half a month, lodging at monasteries along the route, walking and taking in the scenery, entering every monastery we passed, and staying in nearby monasteries when night fell. What stayed with me most from Mount Emei was the excellent vegetarian food at the monasteries and the beauty of the landscape. At the Golden Summit I encountered Samantabhadra Bodhisattva. She had also just returned from afar, and the moment she saw me she leapt down from her white elephant’s back. She appeared as a beautiful young woman, her hair done up in many small braids tied with colorful ribbons. She was warm and cheerful, laughing easily. We sat together drinking tea and talking, and as she left she gave me many sutras and gifts.
Shortly after returning from Mount Emei, the Master informed me of another pilgrimage — to Mount Jiuhua, the sacred site of Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva. We again lodged at monasteries along the way. On the summit of Mount Jiuhua something unpleasant occurred. I had been hoping to stay at the monastery at the top of the mountain, and my brother went to the guest reception hall to request lodging. The monk on duty was already angry about something; he flatly refused, his tone harsh. My brother tried once more to ask, and the monk grew even angrier, shouting and threatening to throw my brother out. I stood at the entrance of the guest hall feeling deeply saddened — how could a monastic behave this way? Never mind compassion and accommodation — even basic courtesy was absent.
We came down from the summit and stayed at a small, rather remote monastery not far from the top. That evening in samadhi I ascended to the Golden Summit. Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva walked out — he appeared in masculine form, very tall, with a dignified countenance, holding a tin staff, carrying himself with a regal bearing. I brought up what had happened that day and said: “How can your disciples behave like that?” The Bodhisattva was untroubled. He said: “How? My disciples are just like that. Why did you insist on staying at the top?” I said the energy there felt good and I wanted to sit in meditation that night. The Bodhisattva said: “If you had not given rise to discrimination about this, had not become angry — then you would already have been sitting at the summit all night.” On hearing that, I came to my senses, inwardly calling myself foolish. When had I become so attached to external conditions? Afterward I encountered Ksitigarbha a few more times in samadhi. He appeared in different forms but never with that day’s severity — never that blunt, unsparing manner. He was always compassionate and gentle.